Cupcakes & Chardonnay Page 3

  Back when they were a couple, Daryle had brought her here just once, to his older sister's birthday party. He hadn't been working for his mother at that point, or working at all. Not long after she opened The Cupcakery, Brent had suggested she try selling her cupcakes to some of the wineries in Napa and Sonoma. Many of them ran restaurants on-site. Suzanne had mumbled something about looking into it, but she had never followed up on his advice. She hadn't wanted to risk running into Daryle.

  As soon as the car stopped, Suzanne jumped out of the car and headed straight for the building's imposing oak doors. But before she could get there, Daryle grabbed her arm and began to pull her back. She tried to shake him loose.

  "I'm going inside to make a call, to a friend who will come and pick me up. It was a lovely drive up here, Daryle, but this evening is over."

  Daryle tightened his grip on her arm. "Just come with me for a few minutes, first. I want to show you the vines." He looked up at the moon, bright and round, in the night sky. "It's a pretty night. Indulge me."

  She followed his gaze upward. The sky was crystal clear, not a cloud to be seen for miles. Stars dotted the velvety blackness.

  "Oh all right," she sighed. "For a few minutes and that's it."

  Daryle released his grip on her arm and placed his hand lightly on her back, between her shoulder blades. They walked around to the back of the manor, where Suzanne saw row after row of grape vines spread out before them. He led her straight into the heart of the field, where the overhanging vines blocked out most of the moonlight. The vines were heavy with bunches of glistening red fruit. They walked in the darkness, not speaking. Suzanne couldn't help being impressed by the sheer number of grape vines needed.

  Daryle reached up and plucked a grape from a vine. He handed it to her. She popped it in her mouth. Immediately her lips puckered. "Still a little tart?" she said.

  Daryle laughed. "They're not ready to be picked yet."

  "It's beautiful out here," she said. "Peaceful."

  He laughed again. "You should see it during the day. Between the workers in the fields and tourists coming for tastings in the house, it gets pretty busy."

  She ran a finger over a gnarled branch. "How long have you been working here, Daryle?" She laughed quietly. "What is it you do here, even?"

  "I've been working here for the past two years. I'm vice president of operations. At the moment. I would like to succeed my mother as owner and president." He turned toward her and took her hand in his. "But for that to happen, I need that favor from you."

  "Pretty big favor," Suzanne replied.

  "Not so big, really. " He let her hand drop. "What do you want for your business, Suzanne? For your life?"

  She was quiet, as her mind ran through all the hopes she had for The Cupcakery. He tweaked her chin. "Hmm? Tell me what's important to you."

  "Well ..." She was hesitant to admit to her dreams. Dreams out in the open, exposed to bright light and scrutiny, were vulnerable, delicate things. Suzanne preferred to keep them inside, protected, sheltered. And there was another thing, too. If dreams weren't spoken out loud, it was easier to pretend they didn't exist and easier to not get hurt if they didn't come true.

  She felt Daryle's thumb glide along her jawline. "You must know what you want," he said, his voice husky in the dark. "I know you better than that, Suzie Q."

  She took a step back, to shake off Daryle's fingers that now were tracing their way along her cheekbone. She took a deep breath, trying to get her lungs functioning again and some oxygen into her brain. "I have a business plan," she asserted.

  Daryle looked at her intently, a smile playing around his lips. "Then what is it?"

  "I ..." She looked out into the tangle of vines that went on for as far as she could see. "I'm planning to open new locations."

  "Where?" he challenged.

  "Noe Valley. Berkeley. College students have an insatiable appetite for cupcakes."

  "Insatiable." He repeated the word, letting it roll around in his mouth like a fine cabernet.

  Suzanne was feeling more confident. "And my catering business is booming. I'll be opening a new, larger kitchen just to handle that."

  Daryle nodded thoughtfully. "And where will you get the money?"

  Suzanne turned her gaze back to Daryle and looked him straight in the eye. "I have potential investors."

  "You'll have to pay investors back."

  She shrugged. "Isn't that the way it's done?"

  He took a step toward her. "You wouldn't have to pay me back. Two million, no strings attached. I pay for the divorce, we go our separate ways. You have the money you need to expand your business. I have Iris Vineyards."

  Suzanne stepped around him and began to walk down the row of vines. Conflicting emotions swirled in her head. It was ludicrous, she thought. I can't take that kind of money from him. I'm not a charity case. If I'm going to be in business, I have to do it for myself. Otherwise, whose success is it? But another voice chimed in, two million would be a big help. To say the least. No more worrying about making payroll after a rainy week that made customers hurry past the shop, their heads ducked under umbrellas, a cupcake the furthest thing from their minds. No more crunching and recrunching numbers in an effort to make herself feel comfortable with hiring one more employee. No more monthly back and forth on whether to switch to a cheaper brand of coffee.

  She heard Daryle's footsteps on the soft dirt, coming up quickly behind her. He laid an arm across her shoulder and pulled her to a stop.

  "I know how you feel about The Cupcakery. I could see it in the way you spoke about it at dinner tonight. How, even when you're bone-tired, it doesn't matter because you're doing something you love. I've never had that, Suzanne. Something I want to do until the day I die. Until now."

  She looked up at him. Were ... could it be ...? His eyes were shining in the darkness.

  "The thought of losing all this," he gestured with his arm toward the vines and beyond. "I know this sounds crazy, but these grapes are like my children. To not be able to come out here first thing each morning and check on them, watch their progress, plan for their harvest. And then to go inside and pour a glass of our wine for visitors, help them identify all the amazing tastes they're experiencing, send them home with a bottle or two for a special occasion ... To lose all that, it makes my heart just freeze. I've never wanted anything the way I want this winery."

  He leaned his head in closer to hers and for an instant, she was certain he was going to repeat the kiss from the car. Her breath stopped in anticipation. Whatever else they had lost from their relationship—trust, affection, tolerance—the one thing that evidently was not gone was the physical chemistry. Their eyes locked. Suzanne wanted to reach out and grasp his arms, pull his chest against hers, pull his lips down onto her lips.

  Then Daryle straightened up and his eyes went dry and cool. Disappointment surged through her veins.

  "You don't have to give me an answer tonight, Suzanne. And I'm not asking you to give two hoots about whether I inherit Iris Vineyards or not. But do think about your life. Think hard about it. Because doing me this favor could make all those cupcake dreams come true."

  Chapter 3

  When she heard the first opening notes of Pachelbel's Canon, Suzanne took a deep breath, then exhaled as slowly as she could. She looked down at her bouquet of brilliant blue hydrangea. This is it.

  Brent took her arm. "Are you ready?" he whispered.

  She nodded.

  "You look beautiful," he added. "As beautiful as I've ever seen you."

  She did look beautiful in her long ivory dress of duchesse satin, cut in a simple A-line, no long train. Tiny satin roses dotted the neckline and continued down the sleeves to her slender wrists. In the sunlight, her auburn hair looked streaked with golden thread.

  "You're not disappointed in me?" she asked.

  Brent hesitated just a beat too long before answering; it told her everything she needed to know.

  "I understand your
reasons," he said quietly.

  What did it matter what anyone else thought? She was disappointed in herself. She had agreed to Daryle's plan and now here she was.

  "Well then, let's get this show on the road," she said and moved from behind the corner of the manor. At the end of the long aisle waited Daryle in a white tuxedo and blue boutonniere that matched her bouquet. She had let Daryle and his mother plan the entire affair—from the color scheme to the food. The only thing she had done was choose the dress. At least I didn't have to cater my own wedding. She had to suppress a smile at that thought.

  They were outside on the grounds of Iris Vineyards, on a hill overlooking the acres of vines. Two hundred guests sat, expectantly, on white folding chairs with white tulle laced through the seat backs. On the other side of the main building were carefully arranged tables covered with crisp white eyelet tablecloths and sporting individual centerpieces of blue and purple irises. The sun was high and bright in the sky. Mrs. Catterton had stipulated a mid-day wedding; that was when her energy was greatest.

  A warm breeze caressed the bare skin of her upper back. Suzanne plastered a smile on her face as she walked resolutely down the aisle. She scanned faces as she passed. She recognized no one. Brent was the only person she had invited. He didn't approve of what she was doing, but he understood better than anyone how much The Cupcakery meant to her. She would do anything for her business. Well, I'm certainly proving that today.

  Halfway down the aisle, she was no longer hearing the lovely string music. She was barely aware of Brent's hand resting lightly just below her elbow. I'm getting married. The full force of what was happening suddenly struck her. She swallowed the lump of emotion rising up in her throat.

  Here I am in my beautiful dress, on this beautiful day. Here are all these guests, in their lovely dresses and suits. There is my handsome groom, in his perfectly-tailored tux and shining shoes, his hair elegantly slicked down. She knew her real wedding—to the man she would someday meet and love, for real—would never be this nice. This was a society wedding. Mrs. Catterton had pulled out all the stops. Suzanne wondered how many of the guests knew that the wedding was a complete sham.

  An immense wave of sadness swept through her and she slowed her step, Brent almost tripping on her change of pace. Except for Brent and Daryle, there was no one here she knew. The guests were all from Daryle's family and the Napa community. Her mother was deceased and she hadn't wanted any of her own friends to witness this. She'd explain the marriage in private, later.

  Brent tightened his grip on her arm and gently nudged her to pick up the pace. She noted a quick frown take over Daryle's eyes and then disappear, though his smile remained fixed in place. When she had moved to California, this was what she had assumed her relationship with Daryle would lead to. Now here she was, walking straight toward him, wedding music wafting on the breeze, and her heart was completely, utterly empty.

  Daryle let a quiet sigh of relief escape when Suzanne finally took her place beside him, and Brent stepped back. There had been a moment there when he'd been certain she was about to turn around and run back down the aisle. He'd seen the hesitation in her step.

  "You look gorgeous," he said. She rewarded him with a quick, wry smile. He took her hand as they turned to face Reverend Whittaker.

  Daryle barely heard anything Reverend Whittaker said. The feel of Suzanne's soft hand in his was too great a distraction. The sensation running from his palm all the way up his arm was like the warmth one felt from that first sip of a really great wine. It slipped down your throat and spread out into every nerve ending in your body, warming your skin and your soul.

  He heard someone saying "I do" and realized that it was his own lips moving, uttering those momentous words. Years ago, he had thought he would one day say them to Suzanne. Despite what she believed, his intentions regarding her had always been good. Better than she would probably ever give him credit for.

  "You may kiss the bride."

  It took those words to jolt him back into the moment. He could see the apprehension in Suzanne's eyes, as if this was the moment she had not been waiting for. But they had to put on the show—for his mother and for all of Napa. He lowered his lips onto hers, slid his hands around to the small of her back and pulled her closer. He gave her a longer, deeper kiss than was necessary. She struggled beneath his embrace.

  "Pretend this is real, for the sake of the guests," he muttered against her teeth.

  "This is a business arrangement, Mr. Catterton," she replied, pulling away and smiling sweetly. The guests aahed, then began to titter when he pulled her back.

  "Contract starts tomorrow," she said, barely moving her lips.

  "Contract started when you said, 'I do.'"

  Finally, he released her lips and let her step back. They turned to face their guests. The string quartet launched into a joyous version of Copland's "Simple Gifts." When he took her hand, he rubbed at her wedding band with his thumb. She tried to pull her hand away but that only made him grip it tighter. They stepped down into the aisle. He was beaming, he could feel it.

  They passed his mother first, in her wheelchair. She was glowing in a way he hadn't seen her do in months. The chemotherapy was hard on her spirits. But today, dressed in an impeccable day suit, her face made up perfectly as she used to do, her headscarf hidden away beneath a hat, he could almost push the heartbreaking reality of her illness from his mind.

  He was surprised to find himself feeling so happy today. He hadn't expected to, given the artificial nature of the event. He supposed it was just the pomp and circumstance of a wedding that was taking him over. It was hard not to feel good at a wedding, right? Though clearly Suzanne was doing her best to play the role of mail-order bride.

  Whatever. She's getting what she wants and I'm getting what I want. On Monday, Iris Vineyards would be his.

  Suzanne was grateful for Brent's presence as the afternoon wore on. He managed to stay just a step or two away from her as she mingled, and was introduced to guests and old family friends of the Cattertons. If it hadn't been for Brent's steady support, she probably would have bolted by now. She had hoped that once she'd said "I do," her mind would have been put to ease about the wisdom of this. But it wasn't. One minute, her heart soared at all she would be able to do with The Cupcakery. The next, she felt cheap and disappointed in herself.

  And what was the story with that kiss? An hour later, thinking about it still made her face burn with fury. Having to go through the big, showy society wedding was humiliating enough. Who knew how many of the guests knew the real story, that the entire marriage was going to be fake right from the outset? Napa was a small town. Why couldn't they have gotten married quietly at the courthouse? Instead, every time she was introduced to another person here, she had to wonder what they knew and what they thought about her as a result.

  She felt an arm slip around her waist.

  "Time for our first dance, Suzie-Q," Daryle whispered in her ear. She let him lead her onto the small dance floor that had been set up beneath a canopy of gracious old trees. The band was launching into the first notes of Cole Porter's "You Do Something to Me." They began to glide across the floor. She was surprised to find what an elegant, gracious dancer Daryle was.

  "Where did you learn to dance?" she asked.

  He smiled coyly. "There are things you don't know about me yet."

  He pulled her closer. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead. With the right person, it would have been perfectly, utterly romantic. Daryle kissed her neck softly, just below her ear, and she stiffened as an electric charge surged straight down her spine.

  "Relax, Suzie-Q. You can let yourself enjoy this. It's just a dance."

  He was right. She could let herself enjoy this. And anyway, her body clearly was. Despite her brain's admonitions, her body was melting right into his, her breasts straining against the hardness of his chest. The warmth from his fingers splayed across the small of her back radiated out, encircling her waist and creepi
ng down toward her hips. Their bodies had always felt right together, she remembered. It was the rest of their lives that had never been in sync.

  As he turned and guided her back across the dance floor, she could smell his cologne, the same one he'd been wearing for years, the one she remembered from his shirts discarded on her floor, lingering on the sheets and pillows in the morning. She was dizzy from his closeness, his scent, his heat, the familiar comfort of his arms around her. Suddenly all the memories she'd been holding back started to well up again. Why couldn't their relationship have turned out right the first time? Then all this would be real, this dance would lead to their wedding night, a real wedding night ... stop, Suzanne told herself. This is a business arrangement. That's it.

  Daryle felt her tense up in his arms. For a moment there, he'd begun to think she was enjoying herself. He'd certainly been enjoying himself, he reflected. Dancing with a beautiful woman—even if she was a beautiful woman who hated his guts—what red-blooded mn wouldn't enjoy that?

  As Daryle steered the car down the long driveway, Suzanne was finally able to relax. She let herself sink back into the soft leather of the seat, let her pasted-on smile slide off her face. She closed her eyes and exhaled. The tin cans tied to the bumper of the car bounced and clanked on the gravel behind them but Suzanne didn't notice. A few guests jogged after the car, flinging the last of the red and pink rose petals at them. Suzanne didn't notice that either.

  She did feel Daryle's fingers stroke her arm lightly, clasp her hand and then release it. His touch left a trail of heat on her skin, an altogether pleasant sensation.

  "So that's done with, Suzie-Q."

  She opened her eyes. "I suppose it is. So where to now?"

  "Mother booked us a suite at the California Spa. We can go have a nice relaxing dinner, some spa treatments afterward. My sister swears by the mud baths."