White Wedding: A Christmas Romantic Comedy (Blackwood Cellars Series Book 3)

by Carla Luna

  Right?

  Once she got home, she changed into an oversize sweater and a pair of yoga pants and curled up on the couch with her laptop. A quick check of her Blackwood Cellars inbox revealed no pressing crises. She uploaded the photos she’d taken at Araceli’s craft party and perused them carefully. After selecting the best ones, she attached them to an email and sent it to Missy.

  The wedding was coming together. And she couldn’t have pulled it off without Rafael.

  When her phone rang a few minutes later, she gave it a quick glance. Missy.

  She’d better be calling to tell me what a fabulous job I’m doing.

  As if. In all likelihood, she had another set of demands.

  Putting on her cheerful, event-planner voice, Victoria answered the phone. “Hello, Missy. How may I help you?”

  “Finally. Why haven’t you answered my emails?”

  Victoria checked her inbox again to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Is this about the gingerbread houses? I just sent you a bunch of photos from last night’s craft party.”

  “I got them. Thanks.”

  She said it so grudgingly Victoria felt a twinge of satisfaction. But Missy wasn’t one to concede easily. “I’m calling about the signature cocktail.”

  Victoria tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. “I told you I’d work on it.”

  “I know, but that was on Saturday. What have you come up with since?”

  Did Missy realize she had an actual job that involved her being on-site during the weekend and working with other clients? Probably not.

  “I talked to Rafael about it,” she said. “We’re getting together tonight to test out recipes. I can give you a list of our top three drink choices tomorrow, and you can pick one. Does that work?”

  A long pause followed, making Victoria wonder what the issue could be. When Missy resumed speaking, her tone was frosty. “There’d better not be anything going on between you and Rafael. The last thing I need is your drama derailing my wedding.”

  Shit. If Missy suspected anything, she’d tell Ben. Who would not approve. Victoria switched to her nineteenth-century schoolmarm voice. “I wouldn’t dream of letting my personal life impact my job. That would be most improper.”

  For that, she got a snort. “Most improper? Ben was right. You are a cold fish.”

  Victoria choked out a reply. “Excuse me?”

  “When Ben told me you were coordinating the wedding, I was afraid you might use your feminine wiles to steal him back. But he told me I had nothing to worry about. Because you’re such a cold fish.”

  A cold fish. Though she knew better than to let Ben’s words affect her, they still hurt. Back when they were dating, she’d never felt the same passion with him that she’d experienced with Rafael. Even so, she’d tried to meet Ben’s needs like a loving partner would. Agreeing to his demands. Praising his technique. Faking orgasms when need be. But the longer they were together, the less attentive he’d been in bed. Like she’d lost her appeal once he’d won her over. By the time she took him back after he’d cheated on her with Missy, he didn’t seem to care anymore. So, she’d reacted with equal indifference.

  She cleared her head and responded with measured calmness. “I’m just trying to maintain a level of decorum appropriate to my position. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Not right now. Text me the choices tomorrow morning.”

  After Victoria agreed, she hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

  Don’t let Ben get to you. After this wedding, you’ll never have to see him again.

  Victoria’s pulse raced as she buzzed Rafael through the entry gate at five. Wanting to entice him, she’d changed into a low-cut, red silk blouse and a tight-fitting pair of jeans. She couldn’t believe they’d get to spend the whole night together. If they wanted, they could have sex in the living room. Or the media room. Or the pool. Although her queen bed with its thousand-count thread sheets and silken pillows was also an inviting choice.

  When Rafael walked through the door, in jeans and a snug-fitting black shirt, she repressed the urge to throw herself at him. They had a job to do, especially since Missy was expecting results. So, instead of luring him into bed, Victoria kept her libido in check and ordered a pizza. They ate it while watching a reality show about people who viewed holiday decorating as if it were an extreme sport.

  Once they were done, she prepared the bar, setting out bottles of liqueur, along with a variety of glassware and a wide selection of juices, sodas, mixers, and garnishes.

  “That’s an impressive arsenal,” Rafael said. “Did you have to buy a lot?”

  “Not really. My parents like to entertain, and my father prides himself on having a well-stocked bar. I just bought the unusual ingredients like the candy cane vodka and the coconut cream.” She grimaced. “To be honest, a few of these cocktails are too sweet for my tastes, but Missy might like them.” She handed him the list she’d made.

  He gave it a once-over, then went behind the bar and pushed up his sleeves. “Which one should I start with?”

  Seeing him in the role of bartender brought back steamy memories of Baja. Meeting him at the end of his shift, sharing a drink, and then venturing out to explore the nightlife—with copious time set aside for sex in her suite. “You look really hot, standing behind the bar.”

  He shook his finger. “None of that, now, or we’ll never get the job done. If you’re a good girl, I might reward you.”

  “Oh really?” She licked her lips. “What kind of a reward?”

  “Let’s just say I’ll let you be as loud as you want. No throw pillows needed.”

  Damn, if that didn’t fuel her lust. She leaned over the bar, allowing him a glimpse of her cleavage. “All right, barkeep. Let’s start out with the first drink on the list. A cranberry mojito cocktail. I like this one because it includes a mocktail version using ginger ale.” She held up a small container. “I already muddled the fresh cranberries and mixed them with the lime juice and mint leaves.”

  He gave her a cheeky grin. “Aren’t you the helpful one? All right, one cranberry mojito coming up.”

  The first few sips of the reddish-pink cocktail confirmed her suspicions. A perfect holiday beverage—light-tasting yet packing a definite punch. “I like this a lot. We should put it on the short list.” Rather than pace herself, she downed the whole drink.

  Rafael refilled her glass from the cocktail shaker. “Have a little more. I have a feeling some of these drinks are only going to merit a few sips, at best.”

  It went down far too easily. By the time Rafael started mixing the second drink—a riff on a screwdriver called a sleigh driver, with blood orange and pomegranate juice, she’d loosened up a little. But she still couldn’t shake her earlier conversation with Missy. Ben’s comment nagged at her like a sore tooth.

  She looked Rafael in the eyes. “Do you think I’m a cold fish?”

  He divided the sleigh driver between two highball glasses and passed one to her. “What? Where did that come from?”

  She took a tentative sip. “Nice. Not bad. But it might be too basic.”

  “Maybe. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Missy called me a cold fish. Or rather, she said that’s what Ben called me.”

  He reached across the bar and placed his hand over hers. “Then he’s an idiot. You’re a sexy, passionate woman.”

  “You think so? You’re not just saying that because…”

  “Because of this morning? No. I’ve felt that way about you since I first met you.” He set down the glass. “Although…”

  Her anxiety spiked at his response. “Although what?”

  “You don’t show that side to everyone. There’s poised, professional Victoria and wild, free-spirited Victoria. I count myself lucky to have spent more time enjoying your wilder side.”

  “There’s a reason I prefer to operate in professional mode. I want people to respect me.”

  “I get i
t. And I respect that side of you immensely. But the wild side?” He grinned. “That’s the side I dream about. That’s the woman who bested me in the Quiet Game.”

  She matched his grin with one of her own. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “You did, indeed. We might need a rematch soon. Though not tonight.” He gave her a look that was so thick with lust she felt like she might self-combust. “Tonight, I want to hear you beg. And cry out my name. And make so many sexy, adorable noises that your voice goes hoarse.”

  Whew. She fanned herself as her fantasies took free rein.

  “Next up, a mistletoe kiss. Cranberry vodka, pineapple juice, and coconut cream. I’m dreading it already.” He mixed up the drink with a finesse she enjoyed watching.

  She needed to move past the Ben issue, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “I realize I’m being irrational about Ben. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. I never should have taken him back after he cheated on me the first time.”

  Rafael set down the shaker. “That’s the one thing I don’t understand. Why did you take him back? He’d obviously shown he couldn’t be trusted.”

  She frowned. “I know, but I still wanted to make things work. If I married him, I’d be back in good with my father. He would have erased my debt.”

  He divided the drink into two martini glasses and passed one to her. “I realize that. But I think there’s more than you’re letting on.”

  The first sip made her shudder, and not in a good way. “Too sweet. And too much coconut. Blech.” She pushed it aside. “No offense.”

  “None taken. Coconut should be reserved for tropical drinks. And consumed in tropical locations.”

  He was still regarding her intently, like he was waiting for an answer. In Baja, she’d kept things from him. But now, she wasn’t trying to hide who she was. She wanted to be honest.

  “When I took Ben back, it wasn’t just about the money. I was still desperate for my father’s approval. I not only cost him thousands of dollars, I completely lost his respect. When he told me he wanted to build his ties with Senator Macalister, I was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant marrying someone who might not be faithful. I wanted my father to trust me again.”

  But she’d disappointed him a second time by losing Ben. Even now, she worried he’d never respect her the way he once had.

  “What could you have possibly done to make him think so little of you?” Rafael held up his hand. “Sorry. Not my business. You told me before that you couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Because the pain was still so fresh. But that was five years ago.” Now, the memory didn’t hurt as much, although the betrayal still stung, like a cut that had never healed completely.

  He collected the martini glasses and dumped the remainder of the mistletoe kiss into the sink. “How bad could it be? It’s not like you posed nude or anything.”

  She swallowed, stunned by the accuracy of his guess. “That’s exactly what I did.”

  Chapter 21

  Rafael stared at her in shock. “I was joking.”

  “I wasn’t.” She looked away, drawing her nails along the ridge of the bar.

  Guilt stabbed at him. He’d only been trying to lighten the mood, never realizing how closely his words would hit their mark. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  “It might be nice to get it out there. If you’re willing to listen?”

  If he was willing? He couldn’t imagine turning her down, not when she was sharing so much of herself. He kept his voice soft, like he was coaxing a stray cat out of an alley. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “But…um…can you keep making drinks? It’ll be easier if you’re doing something else. Because I’m still so ashamed.” She leaned down and placed her head in her hands.

  His heart swelled with empathy. He reached over and tugged one of her hands aside. “Victoria. Look at me. Please.”

  When she lifted her head, her eyes glistened with tears. “I was so stupid.”

  With gentle fingers, he stroked her cheek. “Remember I told you I smashed up the family car? That last year of high school, after my dad died, I did more than that. I ran with a shitty crowd and almost got arrested. I got drunk and got into fights. My brothers couldn’t deal with me. That’s why they shipped me off to my uncle in San Diego, to work for his restaurant.”

  “But you were dealing with the grief from your father’s death. You had a reason.”

  “Maybe so, but even after I came back to Escondido, after I’d cleaned up my act, I still screwed up.” When she gave him a curious look, he abandoned all hope of hiding the truth. “At a rehearsal dinner we catered two years ago, I hooked up with the bride’s younger sister. We had sex in the supply closet.”

  She smiled. “It wouldn’t be my top choice for a rendezvous, but it’s not that shocking. As long as you both wanted it.”

  “We did, but we weren’t that discreet. And her parents were pretty old-fashioned. They thought their youngest daughter was this sweet, innocent virgin when she’d been pulling that shit for years. It took a lot of finessing on Martin’s part to stop her father from beating the crap out of me. He had to give them a substantial refund, and he still hasn’t let me forget it.”

  Nor had anyone else in the family.

  “My mistake wasn’t that impulsive, but I was so gullible. The worst part was that I let it happen.” She took a deep breath. “You already know I spent a semester in Paris.”

  “Sure. It was just before we met.” Her tales of all the food she’d tried—especially the French pastries—were one of the reasons he’d started experimenting with other cuisines.

  “Right. I came home from France in June. Two weeks later, my life fell apart.”

  When she looked away again, he got busy, reviewing the ingredients for the next drink on the list—a cinnamon rosemary old-fashioned. He grabbed a bottle of Valois Brandy, curious to try it after hearing her brother rave about it.

  She continued. “When I was in Paris, I met this artist named Henri. There was an outdoor café near the university, where we went after class. He was often there in the afternoons, sketching. One day, he stopped by my table and flirted with me. I was impressed because he seemed so worldly.”

  “I hate him already,” Rafael grumbled. That earned him a smile from Victoria. He poured the old-fashioned into two highball glasses and added a twist of orange to each.

  She took a sip. “Nice. I like the rosemary. Using Valois Brandy would please my father. Let’s put it on the maybe list.”

  “You got it.” The top-shelf brandy elevated the cocktail above a simple old-fashioned.

  “I went out a few times with Henri,” she said. “But I always felt out of my depth. He was at least thirty, and I was this twenty-year-old sorority girl from Southern California. He took me to restaurants that tourists never visit and to galleries so I could see his paintings on display. When he asked me to pose for him, I was flattered. Until he said he wanted to paint me in the nude.”

  Henri sounded like a total prick, preying on younger women. For Victoria’s sake, Rafael wanted to fly across the Atlantic and punch the guy in the face. “That’s a red flag right there.”

  “I know. That’s why I refused. But he mocked me. Said I was nothing but a prudish American schoolgirl. A Frenchwoman would never have such inhibitions about her body. And he broke things off.” She finished the old-fashioned and pushed the glass toward Rafael.

  Wanting to pace himself, he only downed half his drink before setting his glass next to hers. He wanted to reach over and touch her, just for reassurance, but he sensed she needed her space. “You were better off without him.”

  “I know that now, but at the time, I was hurt. I’d always thought of myself as sophisticated and worldly. After a few weeks, I sought him out and agreed to pose for him.”

  When she looked away again, he concentrated on mixing up another drink. “Next up, a candy cane martini with peppermint schnapps. The recipe calls fo
r heavy cream, but I don’t see any.”

  “In the fridge.” Victoria kept her eyes low as she played with strands of her hair. “Anyway…umm…we had sex first, to get him in the mood. After that, he told me to pose on the bed.”

  “So he could paint you?” Rafael didn’t care if Henri was a fucking Picasso. The guy sounded like a world-class perv.

  “No. So he could take photos. To inspire him in the creation of his masterpiece.” Her voice trembled. “I should have said no, but I wanted to prove I wasn’t an uptight schoolgirl. Since he used an old-fashioned camera—the kind with film—I wasn’t as worried. He wasn’t some horny frat boy taking photos of me with his phone. Some of the poses were very erotic, but I did what he asked.”

  Rafael’s hand shook as he measured out the schnapps and the cream. The whole scenario was fucked up. “Was that it?”

  “Pretty much. I left for a few weeks to visit Spain and Portugal but didn’t tell anyone about the photos because I was afraid of what they’d say. When I got back, Henri told me the portrait was ready. To be fair, he didn’t lie about his artistic ability. Do you want to see it?”

  He wavered for a minute but worried that if he refused, he’d make her feel worse. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

  “I saved a photo of it. To remind me of who I was.” She passed him her phone.

  As much as he was growing to loathe this predatory French douchebag, the painting was exquisite. The woman lying on the bed appeared both innocent and seductive, enticing the viewer in a way that wasn’t remotely pornographic. “It’s beautiful. He really captured you.”

  “I thought so, too. Two weeks later, when the semester ended, we said our goodbyes. It wasn’t that hard because I hadn’t fallen in love with him.” She finally met Rafael’s eyes, giving him a glimpse of the pain she’d suffered. “Leaving you in Baja was much harder.”

  God, if that didn’t hit him right where it counted, knowing her feelings had equaled his.