Francesca wished she could fake a blush, but she didn’t know how. Instead she straightened and pulled her hand free. “Jeff, I heard you’re seeing someone. I’m not the kind of woman who gets involved with taken guys.”
“I’m not taken,” he said easily.
“But Brenna said there was someone else.”
He shrugged. “I date. There’s no one special in my life.”
She happened to know he was living with the bimbo, but she wasn’t about to let him know.
“Oh. Wow. That’s…interesting.”
“Is it?”
She heard the hook snap as he took the bait. “Jeff, come on. Of course it’s interesting. After nine years of watching you with my sister, this is exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my fantasy.”
For a second she thought she might have gone too far, but after sucking in a breath, Jeff grinned. The idiot.
“You’re my fantasy, too,” he admitted. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to tell me you wanted me, too. Come on. Let’s go get a hotel room. I want to fuck your brains out for the next three days.”
Bingo. Francesca shook her head. “No, thanks. Amazingly enough, I’m going to have to turn down that very romantic offer.” She picked up her purse and started to slide out of the booth.
Jeff looked confused. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving. I have what I came for.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, I know.” Careful not to disturb the tape recorder in her purse, she pulled a second one out of her pocket. Earl had suggested the duplicate. They had made her feel twice as secure.
She punched the rewind button for a couple of seconds, then shifted to Play. Jeff’s voice was tinny but clearly audible.
“I date. There’s no one special in my life.”
“The woman you live with will probably find that really fascinating,” Francesca said. “Although I’m guessing the ‘fuck your brains out’ remark is going to be the real kicker.”
Jeff turned pale. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Playing dirty. Back off on the winery, or the bimbo gets a copy of the tape. Clear enough?”
Jeff swore, then lunged for her. Francesca might have only made it to a green belt, but she knew enough to sidestep him and turn gracefully while he tumbled to the ground. In the process he bumped several patrons who were trying to balance their drinks in the crowded bar area. There were cries of “Watch out!” and “What the hell are you doing?”
While a tall, burly guy who looked very unhappy and very wet grabbed Jeff by his shirt, Francesca made her way to the exit.
She’d given the valet an extra twenty to keep her truck handy. Now she climbed into the cab and headed for the freeway. Ten minutes later she was driving north, back for home. Mission accomplished. The winery was safe, Brenna could go after Jeff for repayment of her effort to put him through school, and Francesca had done her good deed for the week. She was thrilled…and fighting the need to throw up.
“I’m sorry,” David said miserably.
Mia paced the length of her living room. It was late-after midnight-and they’d been at this for hours.
“It didn’t mean anything,” he told her for the hundredth time.
Forty-eight hours after denying his relationship with Julie, David had showed up on Mia’s doorstep and come clean. Claiming it was little more than prewedding jitters, he’d confessed to hanging out with her, some kissing, and nothing else. Mia had yet to decide if she believed him.
“It meant something to me,” Mia told him. “You didn’t just cheat, you were sloppy, you publicly humiliated me, and then you lied. In the face of all that, ’I’m sorry’ seems feeble.”
She continued to pace. As she walked past him, he reached out and grabbed her. “Mia, you’ve got to forgive me.”
“Why?” She glared at him. “Give me one good reason.”
“Because you still love me.”
She did-because she was a fool. She still loved him and wanted to marry him. She wanted to move to Washington and explore the city with him. She wanted to get her graduate degree, a great job with the State Department, and have David in her life. She had a plan, and he was as much a part of it as anything else.
“Why would I ever trust you again?” she asked.
He hung his head. “I don’t know. How do I earn that back?”
How did he? Was it possible? Could something broken and shattered be put whole again?
He stepped close and gathered her against him. “Don’t send me away,” he begged. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll do anything.”
She believed him. At that moment he would do anything. But what about in a few weeks, or a year? What about the next time things got difficult? Would he work it out or would he run?
“Are you really sure you want to marry me?” she asked.
He stared deeply into her eyes. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. You’re my world, Mia. Only you.”
He picked her up and she let him…mostly because being in David’s arms was where she belonged. Because she loved him. Because it seemed that Marcelli women were destined to make fools of themselves over the men they cared about.
The phone rang shortly before nine the next morning. Katie munched on toast while she reviewed her to-do list. There were exactly twenty-seven items, which should take her about six hours. That left plenty of time for last- minute things she might have forgotten. She had already had a forty-minute conversation with one of her staff, and a conference call with three others.
“Hello,” she said, her attention mostly on her list.
“Katie?”
She froze. There was something horrible about the voice. Familiar, but horrible. Apprehension crawled up her spine, leaving her suddenly very, very cold.
“Yes, this is Katie Marcelli.”
“It’s Jerome.”
Her throat closed. “Jerome? What’s wrong? You sound awful.”
In the background she could hear voices, then a low groan.
“Katie, I’m so sorry.” Jerome sucked in a breath. “I don’t know, maybe it was the fish. Something.”
Her tight throat made it difficult to talk. “What are you saying?”
He swore softly. “We’re all sick. The entire kitchen staff has food poisoning. They’ve just admitted me into the hospital. All the chefs are here. They’re going to keep us at least a couple of days. There’s some concern that we’ve ingested parasites. We should all be fine, but we won’t be back to work for nearly a week.”
The panic grew and her hands began to sweat. Fish? There wasn’t any fish on her menu. “What are you talking about?”
“We had the tasting dinner last night,” he said weakly. “Remember? For the new restaurant menu. I’m sorry, Katie. There’s no kitchen staff. At least not at the hotel. They’re all here, or at other hospitals.”
He continued talking, but she wasn’t listening. No kitchen staff? None? She had a party to put on in less than thirty-six hours. Over two thousand really well-dressed people were going to be expecting a fancy meal and fine service and what the hell was she going to do?
18
