by Teri Wilson
His hands found her face, tipped it back so his lips came down on hers instead of the other way around. He kissed her with purpose, as though he was dying of thirst and she was a pool of glistening water. And she found she was no longer capable of coherent thought. Everything slipped away—the limo ride, the party, even that elusive memory of her first kiss.
There at the Mezzanotte Masquerade Ball, Juliet Arabella was swept off her feet by a man whose name she didn’t even know, carried away on a wild grape-scented river of kisses, sweeter and more decadent than any chocolate she’d ever tasted.
2
Two hours earlier...
“A plague on the house of Mezzanotte!”
Juliet’s father uttered those archaic words while her mother pushed her into the limousine bound for the heart of Napa Valley. The uniformed chauffeur somehow managed to keep a straight face as he held the car door open, and Juliet’s father continued his rant, his face turning a more vibrant shade of crimson with each expletive. He shook his fists and cursed the heavens for allowing a family as corrupt as the Mezzanottes to walk the earth. He might have even spit when he said their name, as though they were living in the Old Country. Or a Godfather film. The idea would have been utterly ridiculous, except that it was true.
Sort of.
Not that the Mezzanottes or Juliet’s own family, the Arabellas, were Mafia. As far as she knew, none of her ancestors had ever been involved with any kind of crime syndicate.
Although at times, their family business was arguably more contentious.
Running a chocolate shop wasn’t all sugar and bonbons. It was a business, like any other. And if the fact that everyone who collected a paycheck shared the same last name didn’t complicate matters enough, the only other gourmet chocolaterie in town was located right across the street.
Napa’s foodie scene was intensely competitive under normal circumstances, but there was nothing normal about the rivalry between the Arabellas and the Mezzanottes. Tonight Juliet was scheduled to attend the annual Mezzanotte Chocolates Masquerade Ball, and dealing with the Mezzanottes was never normal. Or pleasant. Or anywhere near the civil end of the spectrum.
The Mezzanottes had been crafting artisan chocolates in Napa Valley as long as the Arabellas had. At one time the two families had even worked alongside one another, Juliet’s grandmother pouring dark couverture chocolate into delicate bonbon molds while her best friend, Donnatella Mezzanotte, ran the business end of things. But that was years ago. The relationship had long since soured into a bitter rivalry.
Emphasis on bitter.
Now Mezzanotte Chocolates could be found in grocery stores around the state. And their shop still stood right across the street from Arabella Chocolate Boutique.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit.” Juliet’s father aimed a glare at George as he helped Juliet into the car.
Her head began to throb as she slid into the buttery interior of the limousine and waited while George exchanged quiet words with her parents. George had always been a calming influence on her father. She wanted to think this was because he was her boyfriend, but in all likelihood it had more to do with the fact that he was also Arabella Chocolate Boutique’s biggest champion.
George Alcott III was the heir apparent to the single most lucrative gourmet food distributor in Northern California. The Arabella Chocolate Boutique had been doing well enough for a small family-run business, but once Royal Gourmet Distributors came into the picture, things turned golden. Now, thanks to George, Arabella Chocolates could be found on the menus of some of Napa’s finest restaurants. For the first time in decades, the Arabellas finally had the upper hand on the Mezzanottes.
“Everything will be fine. I won’t let her out of my sight,” George murmured, his voice syrupy smooth.
Juliet’s father let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
Then her mother weighed in. “We agreed on this, remember? Joe Mezzanotte is making a big announcement tonight about the future of Mezzanotte Chocolates. George was invited. Let him take Juliet. She’ll find out firsthand what exactly is going on over there. You know what they say—keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Her mother’s hatred had always been more shrewd in nature than her father’s, though no less intense.
There were a few more urgent whispers, but Juliet tried to tune them out. Truth be told, she was a little nervous about this whole ordeal. It was one thing to come face-to-face with the Mezzanottes on the street or at the occasional food festival or dessert fair. But it was quite another to walk into their masquerade ball as though her name appeared somewhere on the guest list.
At least her face would be covered. She ran her fingertips over the edge of her rhinestone-encrusted, Venetian-style mask. She’d intentionally chosen the most feathered, bejeweled one she could find. All the better to hide behind.
At last George climbed in, his cell phone already glued to his ear, and sat down opposite her. The car began what seemed like an excruciatingly slow crawl toward the Manocchio Winery, the site of the fancy masked ball. At least the party was being held at a neutral location. She’d sooner die than walk into the Mezzanottes’ family home.
“How are the Cabernet Sauvignon truffles coming along?” George asked when he finally ended his call.
He removed a dark bottle of champagne from the limo’s built-in bar. The movement struck Juliet as profoundly odd. As many times as Juliet had been in his limo, she couldn’t remember drinking anything more exotic than Fiji water.
“Great. I think I’ve finally perfected the recipe.” She smiled.
You couldn’t swing a stick in Napa Valley without hitting a piece of chocolate that had been infused with wine. The proliferation of such treats was precisely why Juliet had avoided them like the plague in her own chocolates. She much preferred the challenge of creating something new and unexpected. But the restaurants George worked with wanted Cabernet truffles, so Cabernet truffles they would have.
“Then maybe we should toast in honor of your latest creation.” George offered her a champagne flute.
“Of course. To Cabernet Sauvignon truffles.” Juliet wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to drink to that, but she lifted her glass, anyway.
“To Cabernet Sauvignon truffles.” George tapped his flute against hers.
Bubbles danced on Juliet’s tongue. The champagne was perfect—light, delicate, fizzy. She shouldn’t have been surprised. George had a definite taste for the finer things in life. But she’d never glimpsed a bottle of Dom Pérignon in the limo bar before.
During the course of the year they’d been dating, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him drink. His restraint was noteworthy, a rarity among those living in the wine country. Now here he was—popping open a bottle of Dom on the way to a formal event at a vineyard where, no doubt, the wine would be flowing.
Those Mezzanottes drink like fish.
The voice of her mother. Again.
Juliet drained her glass.
“More?” George refilled her flute without waiting for an answer.
While he poured, she let her gaze fall on the impeccable cut of his tuxedo jacket, the black sliver of a bow tie at his neck and the tasteful silver cuff links at his wrists. He looked perfect. Like royalty, which was fitting since he was the reigning prince of Napa Valley’s gourmet scene.
She glanced back down at her champagne and, for the first time, noticed the Royal Gourmet Distributors company logo on the glass. Why a food company—gourmet or otherwise—needed engraved champagne glasses was a mystery she couldn’t fathom. Of course, the limousine itself didn’t exactly scream practicality, either. The one time she’d asked George about it, he’d shrugged it off and said something about image being everything. Royal Gourmet wasn’t just any food distributor. George’s business catered to the
most exclusive eateries in Northern California. His clients owned the sort of places where people waited months to get reservations. Restaurants like La Toque, Ad Hoc and the biggest jewel in Royal Gourmet’s crown, The French Laundry.
“I’ve been looking forward to tonight for quite some time.” He cleared his throat and straightened his already-straight tie.
“You have?” He’d been looking forward to a party thrown by the Mezzanottes? They were about to be plunged into the den of vipers as her father liked to call them. What was there to look forward to besides an awkward evening of forced merriment?
“Yes. Here we are, all dressed up. Alone.” He took her hand in his. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
Juliet looked down at her dress—midnight-blue, sprinkled with tiny rhinestones on a ruched bodice that led to miles of frothy tulle. She’d found it in her favorite vintage shop in Yountville, just around the corner from Arabella Chocolate Boutique, and was struck by the whimsy of it, even though part of her wondered if George would find it too quirky. Apparently, he didn’t.
“Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself.” She smiled demurely behind her champagne flute.
They didn’t normally talk like this. Had George ever told her she looked beautiful? She didn’t think so. He’d said as much about her chocolate creations on countless occasions. But that was to be expected. Her truffles and other confections were drool-worthy. And Royal Gourmet was responsible for getting those chocolates into Napa’s finest restaurants, so it was completely normal for him to take an interest in her work to the extent that he did.
Sometimes, though, she wondered what it might feel like to be considered drool-worthy herself.
“I’ve been thinking....” George ran his thumb in a gentle circle over the back of Juliet’s hand. It was another atypically tender move.
Finally.
She should have been thrilled. She’d begun to wonder if they were dating or if they were just business associates who hung out together on the occasional Saturday night. Not that George didn’t treat her well. On the contrary, he was a perfect gentleman at all times. That in itself was part of the problem.
She’d seen more passion from him when he bit into a chocolate-dipped pretzel than he’d ever displayed on the handful of occasions when they’d come close to sleeping together.
She was keenly aware of the fact that it took a special man to put up with her unique profession. And in that department, she and George were a perfect match. He never complained when she was late for a date simply because she’d lost track of time and got caught up in the kitchen. Special holidays like New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day weren’t times to be spent on romantic getaways, but days she worked her longest hours. The week of Easter, she’d made so many chocolate bunnies she’d begun to see them in her dreams. She’d drifted off once during a movie with her head on George’s shoulder and awakened from a nightmare of an army of chocolate rabbits with bite marks on their ears coming after her.
George had soothed her back to sleep and given her a rundown of the movie’s plot on the way home in the limo. He never made demands on her, even when they went weeks without seeing one another. The relationship might be lacking in the sparks department, but it was easy. And that went a long way, especially during February when she and her family couldn’t make the candy fast enough to fill the heart-shaped boxes.
George understood. He was patient and undemanding. What more could she want?
Romance.
“Juliet? Did you hear me? I said there’s something I want to ask you.” George leaned forward and cupped her face in his hand.
He was looking at her exactly the way she’d wanted him to look at her for months now. At least she’d thought it was what she wanted. Now that it was finally happening, the moment seemed strangely out of place.
She saw George gazing tenderly into her eyes and her own reflection mirrored back in the dark brown of his irises, and it was like watching two complete strangers. A perfect couple, riding in the perfect limousine. She was struck with the abrupt realization that something was missing. As perfect as everything ought to be, it simply wasn’t.
She swallowed. “You have something you wanted to ask me?”
Wordlessly, he reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Juliet’s head began to swirl. Suddenly, everything made sense—the compliments, the champagne, the unexpected display of affection. All the romantic trappings were there. Why hadn’t she seen the signs?
George was going to propose.
Panic welled up in her chest at the sight of the black velvet ring box in his hand. She wasn’t ready for this. They weren’t ready for this. What was he thinking, anyway? He was going to ask her to marry him on the way to the Mezzanotte Chocolates Masquerade Ball? She might be dressed in a fanciful cloud of tulle, but this was a business event. A business event she’d been dreading for weeks now. Why would he choose this wholly inappropriate moment to pop the question?
She grew lightheaded from the champagne. Her stomach gurgled, and she wished she’d eaten more than a handful of chocolate-covered strawberries for lunch. She wondered if she might actually throw up all over the interior of the limo when he got to the actual proposal. Maybe she could blame car sickness.
“Juliet, we’re good together.” George’s expression was a mask of calm assurance.
They were good together. They got along. They’d never had an argument. They’d never even raised their voices at one another.
They’d also never made love. A girl couldn’t live forever on chocolate alone. George had never touched her in a way that made her weak in the knees. She’d never grown breathless at the thought of seeing him. Not once.
But was that really so bad? Did that kind of passion ever last, anyway?
Doubtful. Still, she couldn’t imagine actually marrying the man. He was nice. He loved her family. He’d invested loads of time and energy into their business. Were those real reasons to spend the rest of her life with him?
She had to stop him before this went too far. “Yes. Yes, we are, but...”
Unfazed, he pressed on. “I think we’d be even better as husband and wife.”
He toyed with the velvet box in his hand. The sight of it made Juliet a little nauseated.
He popped open the box, displaying an enormous glittering diamond solitaire on a background of stark black velvet. “Will you marry me?”
All she felt was the strange emptiness surrounding his question, and two thoughts crystallized in her mind with perfect clarity. First, she couldn’t marry him. She just couldn’t do it.
And, second, her parents were going to be absolutely livid once they found out she’d turned him down. What would it mean for the business? Would they lose the support of Royal Gourmet?
She couldn’t think about that now. Things were already awkward enough. “George, I’m sorry.”
His expression remained unchanged. “Sorry? I don’t understand.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?” His brow furrowed as realization began to set in. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t marry you. I’m fond of you. You know that, but I don’t think this is the best idea for us.”
God, this was difficult. The look of bewilderment in his eyes was almost too much to bear. If he’d uttered a single word about love, her resistance might have faltered.
He hadn’t. There’d been Dom Pérignon. There’d been a diamond. But there’d been no mention of love.
“So your answer is no?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid so.”
He snapped the jewelry box closed and leaned back in his seat. The confusion in his eyes had morphed into something darker, more dangerous. At last, an inkling of passion. The irony of the situation was hard to ignore. “Not the best idea? I’m afraid your mo
ther doesn’t seem to agree.”
His words fell heavily between them.
The inside of the limo began to swirl around Juliet. “You discussed this with my mother? Why would you do that?”
She wasn’t some virgin ingenue to be sold off to the highest bidder. She was a grown woman, twenty-eight years old. Granted, her relationship with her parents might be a bit atypical due to the family business. Still, the idea of him asking her mother’s opinion on the matter rubbed her entirely the wrong way.
He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Our marriage would affect your family’s business as well as mine. I talked about it with both your parents. They were in complete agreement, by the way.”
She imagined the three of them sitting around a conference table discussing her future. Marriage? We concur. Children, negotiable. Love, optional.
Turning him down was becoming less and less difficult with each passing second. “That hardly seems appropriate. Shouldn’t something this personal be just between you and me?”
His laughter sounded condescending, and Juliet had the distinct feeling they were on the verge of their first argument. “That’s impossible. Our marriage is about more than the two of us.”
She wished he’d stop staying our marriage. There would be no marriage. The reasons why not were becoming even clearer.
George straightened his tie. “The foundation of our relationship is, and always has been...”
Love.
Juliet’s heart gave a little twinge. There was still a tiny part of her that wanted to believe he’d asked her to marry him because he was in love with her, and that someday she could love him, too.
“Business,” he finished, leaving no doubt in her mind exactly where she stood. “Imagine what joining Royal Gourmet with the Arabella Chocolate Boutique would accomplish. I urge you to reconsider.”
She shook her head. A single tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a hot trail of humiliation in its wake.