by Marina Adair
“Which is why you’re going to go grab a towel before we both wind up drunk and crying.”
“I don’t want to go—”
“Grab a towel.” Abby gave Lexi one last look and then started down the ladder.
Lexi wiped her face on the hem of her tank top and gave a little sniffle. When she could take in air without pain shooting through her chest, she leaned over the sill and looked down at Abby, who was on the alley floor. “Where are we going?”
“The lake.” Abby held up a familiar set of keys. “Now hurry up before Pricilla figures out that I stole her car.”
Lexi stumbled to the bathroom and, avoiding a peek in the mirror for fear that she would never leave the house again, brushed her teeth. She was about to leave when she stopped to smell her shirt. Vat was putting it mildly.
Grimacing, she shucked the tear-and-snot-stained tank and headed back to the bedroom, grabbing the towels.
“Why don’t you go out the front door?” Abby suggested when Lexi stuck her legs out the window and nearly tumbled down the ladder.
“This is more fun,” she hollered back, tossing the towels to the ground, hoping they landed on Abby’s head while silently counting each rung of the ladder as she descended.
“Um, Lex?”
“Don’t talk to me. I’m counting!”
“Yeah, well, you might want to count your way back up to your room and get some clothes on.”
Lexi got to the bottom rung, number fifteen to be exact, and hopped off. “No way. Last time we did this I played it half-assed and look where that got me. Married”—she counted off each infringement on her fingers—“divorced, in debt, jobless, and with a broken heart, courtesy of my fake boyfriend.”
The last infringement counted for five on its own, which brought her loser grand total to a whopping 90 percent.
Abby gave her a long look and cracked a smile. “Well, you don’t have to worry about half-assing it this time, because I can see your whole ass.”
CHAPTER 18
Marc stood at the back of the ballroom, watching people mingle and chat and fill out checks big enough to pay for a year of medical and educational needs for the entire town. From the way the mayor kept grinning and pumping the hands of the guests, Marc knew that even though the night was only half over, they had already reached their mark. Just like he knew that he should be out there welcoming his guests, drumming up support for next year’s event—doing his job.
But the only thing he could do was think about Lexi.
He knew she was there. Her first course had been served, and devoured, and now the waiters were bringing out the entrées. But Lexi hadn’t come out of the kitchen. And Marc, not wanting to make this night any harder on her, had kept his distance.
The summer his parents died, Abby had locked herself in her room for three months and posted a sign that read Need Space. Earlier that afternoon, Marc had seen Lexi in the lobby of the hotel talking to Abby, and when he gave her a little wave, she gave him a look that pretty much read the same as Abby’s sign. The only difference was that by the time school rolled around, Abby had taken down her sign. He didn’t think he’d get that lucky with Lexi. Hers looked to be permanent—with regard to him.
“I just overheard the mayor talking to the press about how great tonight turned out,” Nate said, walking up beside him with Trey in tow. “Said it was the best Showdown St. Helena has hosted in recent years.”
“It’s the first Showdown St. Helena has hosted in recent years,” Marc mumbled, tugging at his bow tie and knowing it wouldn’t make one ounce of difference. He felt like he’d been slowly suffocating all night.
“Good thing the bar wasn’t set very high, then,” Trey said. “Just means next year it won’t be hard to beat.”
Marc didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if there would be a next year, not at the Napa Grand, at least. At the rate his chest was struggling to expand, he didn’t know if he’d make it to tomorrow.
“Some dumb-ass said I have to sit at the head table,” Frankie said from behind. All three men turned and stared in shock. Someone actually moaned; it sounded like Nate.
“What?” Frankie said, looking from one brother to the other. “Oh right. I’m late. Sorry,” she snapped, and that was the only Frankie-like trait about her. Gone were the black leather and steel toes, and in their place were fitted red silk, strappy heels that brought her to at least six feet, and enough skin and cleavage to make Marc wonder if the whole tattoo rumor was just that—a rumor.
“Francesca,” Nate stuttered. The assured, never-show-emotion, ever-so-logical brother actually had to snap his jaw shut and wipe off the drool. “You look great.”
Frankie bent her knees enough to meet Nate’s eyes, which were currently glued to her chest. “They’re called boobs, Nathaniel. They come with being a woman.”
Nate looked up and flashed a rare smile. “I know what they are. I’ve just never seen yours before.”
Marc had to pause. He wasn’t sure if Nate was flirting or sparring.
Either way, Frankie’s eyes went hard and her lips thinned. “Just tell me where I have to sit or I’m gone.”
“At the front table,” Marc said.
“See, the dumb-ass was right,” Gabe said, walking through the crowd and resting a hand on Frankie’s elbow. “Would you like me to escort you there?”
Frankie blinked. And took a step back, as though thrown by the gesture. “If you’re being nice because of the dumb-ass comment, I’m sorry. It’s the DeLuca hair and eyes. They’re so dark I just assume they’re full of shit.” Her eyes narrowed and darted around the room. “And if you’re offering because your wife made you, tell her I’ve been walking since I was seven months old, so bite me. Oh”—she looked at Marc—“you have ten minutes to start the tasting, because I’m thirsty.”
Nate’s eyes zeroed in on Frankie’s ass and didn’t let up until she had disappeared into the crowd.
Trey whistled. “Definitely worth the risk of castration.”
“Shut up,” all three of his brothers said in unison.
Gabe gave him a long look and placed a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “You got the papers?”
“All ready to go.” Marc patted his breast pocket, and the contract his assistant, Chrissi, had delivered to him earlier in the evening. “Are you guys sure? There’s a lot riding on this. If it goes bad, it’s going to go really bad.”
It was the only thing Jeff had been right about. The play they were about to make was bold and risky and all Marc’s idea. He was willing to risk everything if it meant making things right, but he didn’t want his brothers to suffer if his plan imploded.
“You believe in this?” Trey asked.
“Hell yes,” Marc said. It was the best idea he’d had in ages. It was how his father would have handled this situation. And that made Marc feel confident in moving forward. “But it has just as much chance of succeeding as it does of falling apart.”
“Will there be another girl?” Gabe asked.
Not like Lexi, Marc thought, shaking his head.
“Well, there’ll be other companies.” Gabe clapped him on the back, and they headed toward Monte’s table a united front, DeLuca dialed to high and badass brothers cranked up to one hundred proof.
“Plus, we’re Italian,” Trey said as they passed the front table and made their way around the ballroom.
“Meaning what?” Marc asked. “We’re leaving the gun and taking the cannoli?”
“No,” Gabe said. “Meaning you don’t fuck with our family, our wine, or our women.”
By the time dessert rolled around, Lexi had avocado mousse dried to her left butt cheek, choux pastry permanently attached to her scalp, and enough ganache on her jacket to pass for a chocolate bunny. She also had a heartache the size of Montana and a hangover that made oxygen toxic.
Arranging the chocolate curls on the last plate of cream puffs and éclairs, Lexi picked up the tray and gave herself a gold star for the day. She’d deco
rated the ballroom, prepared a three-course meal for over a thousand, and managed to avoid Marc for most of the evening. The first two she’d managed with the help of her grannies and Marc’s kitchen staff. The last she’d managed all on her own.
Seeing him after his morning run in the lobby had been hard enough, and knowing that as head chef she had to deliver the desserts to the head table made her stomach drop painfully to her toes. But she had to do it. It was the reason she had swallowed the hurt and started prepping the minute Abby had dropped her off at home last night—drenched and naked and ready to take control of her life.
The town was counting on her, Pricilla was counting on her, and she was counting on herself. It was time to grow up and start living the life she’d dreamed of. Even if that dream life didn’t include Marc.
Lexi dusted the hair out of her face, and after shoving a miniéclair in her mouth for strength, she pushed through the swinging kitchen doors, ready to present her family’s pastries to the world. She had meant what she said yesterday. Her grandmother had entrusted her with these recipes; they were her legacy, and she would spend every penny she earned tonight fighting for them.
Lexi rounded the beverage prep station and was headed toward the main dining room when she came to a stop. Because there, just two feet away and on the other side of the pass-through window, stood Marc and his three brothers, deep in discussion with an older man she didn’t recognize. All the DeLucas were dressed in tuxes, all looking beyond handsome, and all exuded so much male swagger that the tall silver fox, who in any other circumstance could have doubled for the Most Interesting Man in the World, seemed to be suffering from DeLuca intoxication.
Lexi felt for the guy. Those brothers packed a powerful punch. In fact, they looked like a sexy group of Italian mobsters, giving the poor man a choice between a single gunshot to the head or concrete shoes. And he’d be so dazzled by their charm that he’d say yes and yes.
A month ago, Lexi would have gone for the gunshot to the head. Quick, painless, and, if done right, wouldn’t ruin her clothes. The new Lexi, the one who streaked down Main Street screaming the theme from Rocky at the top of her lungs, the one who wasn’t ashamed of the woman she had become, would go for the concrete shoes. Because concrete might be heavy, but she would rather go standing up than just lie there.
She should move on, deliver her tray to the tribunal table, and then disappear back inside the safety of her kitchen. Eavesdropping was wrong and rude, which was why she stashed her tray on top of the ice machine, pressed her body against the wall, and squatted down low enough that she could peek over the ledge of the pass-through but remain inconspicuous.
“That’s it?” Silver Fox said, flipping through some papers.
“Yes, sir. And this is a one-time offer,” Marc said. He sounded so confident and so sure of himself that Lexi felt her traitorous heart stand up and cheer. His brothers flanked him, letting him run the discussion but making it clear that they had his back. It was what Marc had worked so hard for. His parents would have been proud.
“You will get the distribution rights for all DeLuca wines,” Marc went on, “in the markets that are specified in the contract. They will be paired exclusively with Pricilla’s pastries, if Lexi and her grandmother agree, so I suggest you make this deal so sweet that they can’t say no. Because understand, if they say no, or if you bring in another supplier to pair with DeLuca products, the deal is off.”
“What about Jeffery and Pairing?” the man, who she assumed was Montgomery, asked, obviously stunned by the turning of the tables.
“He is no longer an approved partner for DeLuca Wines,” Gabe said. “Any company that deals with him will find getting partners in the valley difficult.”
Lexi almost fell over.
Montgomery played it cooler, and just nodded. “And I have until when to decide?”
“If we don’t hear from the Moreaus that you have reached a deal that works in their favor by next Friday, then we will start negotiations with Hunt Foods and Distributions.”
Lexi didn’t know who this Hunt was, but by the way Silver Fox straightened when Marc mentioned his name, she assumed he was the Baudouin to Silver’s DeLuca.
“You guys play hardball,” Montgomery said.
“That is not our intention, sir,” Marc said, respect clear in his voice. “You chose DeLuca because of the food that was served to you at Pairing.” He did? “Those dessert recipes as well as all of the desserts served here tonight belong to Alexis Moreau and her grandmother. It’s only fair that they benefit from their hard work.”
“I didn’t know,” Montgomery said, and Lexi wanted to find Jeffery and shove him in a tub of curdled cream. That’s why he’d wanted her to make Pricilla’s desserts several months ago. The first time he’d asked for a few desserts, he said it was for an investor, and another time he’d claimed they were for poker night, but she’d bet her éclairs that it had all been for Montgomery. The rat-bastard sneak had been cheating on her and using her for her recipes.
She stood up, momentarily forgetting she was eavesdropping, then dropped back down, this time all the way to the floor.
“And that’s my fault,” Marc said. “This is my way of making this right.”
The talking turned to numbers, and Lexi tuned them out. She snagged an éclair off the tray and sank back against the wall, wondering, over a cream-filled bite, if Marc wanted to make other things right. And if he did, could she forgive him for what he’d done?
Two éclairs, a cream puff, and a handful of ice chips later, she realized that she could. All she needed was to stop being so scared. Life was crazy and risky and it didn’t always apologize when it was rude—and that was okay.
Lexi smiled and grabbed another éclair.
“I hope you brought enough to share with the class,” said a sexy voice from overhead.
Lexi tilted her head back and stared up into the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. Marc was leaning on the pass-through, his forearms leisurely resting on the lower sill, bow tie dangling from his neck, and he smelled so good she wanted to cry.
His eyes were red-rimmed and his smile raw, and she’d bet he was about as miserable as she was. So she held up the last bite—the best bite—and offered it to him.
He didn’t reach out, didn’t take it, just opened his mouth.
Lexi stood up and gently placed it inside. He didn’t nip or lick her fingers; instead, he pressed a gentle kiss to the tips and then straightened.
“I saw you went for a jog last night.”
She froze, her face heating. “You saw?” She was going to kill Abby.
A little smile tugged at his lips. “Not live, unfortunately. But Mrs. Lambert was working late and heard a commotion. She was going to call the cops when she saw a very drunk, very naked woman streaking past. She whipped out her cell and filmed it. You can watch it on YouTube.”
“It’s on YouTube?” Oh God.
“Yup, watched it ten times.” His smile faded and his face went serious. “I am so fucking sorry, Lexi. I screwed up and I got scared, but I never played it fast or loose with you. You have never been a game or a challenge.”
“Marc,” she began, but he placed a finger on her mouth.
“Please let me finish. I have to say this. I fell in love with you when we were fourteen and snuck into the hotel. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I knew I’d never felt it before and I never wanted it to go away. Then Jeff came along and I lost you. And then my parents…” He broke off and swallowed. “When Jeff went to New York, I didn’t know if I was willing to take the risk of loving someone only to lose them again, so I told you to go after him, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. Well, it was the biggest mistake, until I stood by and let him take your recipes and said nothing.”
“Is what you said to Monte true? Did you really get my recipes back?”
“Not all of them, just the desserts. I pointed out that since he failed to disclose in the divorce proceedings that t
here was a deal in the works while you were still married, it might be in your best interest to renegotiate the terms of the settlement. Then I threatened to explain to the judge that your desserts were never on the restaurant’s menu and that he’d set you up.”
“Thank you, but I’m sorry that you got stuck in the middle,” Lexi said softly, knowing it was true. She was beyond angry at Jeffery, but she knew how much it must have hurt Marc to lose his oldest friend. “I never wanted you to have to choose between us.”
“Screw the middle, sugar. And as far as I’m concerned, you are my only choice. Ever.”
Marc took a small step back and dropped down to one knee and looked up at her over the pass-through.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, terrified that she was misunderstanding his intentions.
“Taking the biggest risk of my life. I don’t have flowers or candy or a ring, and you have every right to tell me to go to hell, but I’m offering you my love and loyalty and everything that I am.”
He took a breath and just looked at her, and what she saw in his expression made her chest swell.
“You look like your dad right now,” she whispered.
He rose to his feet and tangled her hands with his. “That’s what I figured out when I watched you fold up your apron and walk out of the bakery. I’m just like my dad, sugar—when I screw up, I screw up big. But when I love—”
Lexi reached through the window, grabbed him by the undone ends of his bow tie, and kissed him. And good Lord, he kissed her back.
It was then that Lexi knew exactly what it felt like to be loved.
“I love you, Marc,” she whispered against his lips. “And I’ve got an apron at home to prove it.”
