by Teri Wilson
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He shook his head. “I’m right. You know it, and I know it.”
She couldn’t even meet his gaze. It was as if he could see right into her thoughts, wanton and inappropriate as they were. “For the time being, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
He said nothing. He didn’t have to. The smug look on his face spoke for itself.
She peered up at him. “You’re going to tell your uncle what happened in the vineyard, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Miss Arabella.” He placed special emphasis on her last name, drawing out each syllable. “Refresh my memory.”
Juliet huffed out a sigh. “I kissed you.”
“And you would prefer that to be our little secret?” There was that naughty smile again.
Boy, was she in trouble. Trouble of the worst sort. “Yes. Very much.”
The music stopped. All around them, the other couples drifted apart and left the dance floor. An eerie quiet fell over the ballroom. It was then, and only then, that Juliet finally took her eyes off Leo. And when she did, she saw that every pair of eyes in the room was watching the two of them.
“Thank you for the dance,” he said politely, just loud enough for people standing nearby to hear.
“You’re welcome. It was nice meeting you.” It had been nice. Not in the conventional sense, but definitely nice. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have been, if he weren’t a Mezzanotte but someone else. Anyone else.
He leaned close one last time and whispered in her ear, his breath warm and sultry against her skin. “The pleasure was all mine. Not to worry, Juliet—I may be many things, including a Mezzanotte. But I’m not the kind of man to kiss and tell.”
Then he walked away, toward his uncle, who’d been joined by Gina Mezzanotte and her husband. More of Leo’s relatives. All three of them looked as though they wanted to rip him apart limb from limb.
It gave Juliet the creeps, until she turned around and saw a similar expression of disdain on George’s face. How was she going to explain the dance? How could she explain any of this?
I’m not the kind of man to kiss and tell.
She wanted to believe him. She really did.
But a lifetime of loathing told her things weren’t quite so simple.
4
“Hello? Anybody home?” From the moment Juliet walked through the front door of her parents’ house with her big dog, Cocoa, trailing beside her, she knew something was dreadfully wrong.
Where was the usual chaos?
Sunday was the one day of the week that Arabella Chocolate Boutique was closed, and she was right on time for their big weekly family breakfast. Where was the smell of bacon? And hot coffee?
After the disastrous night she’d had at the Mezzanotte ball, she could use some coffee. Lots of it. Although she feared there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to help her process the fact that she’d kissed a Mezzanotte.
And she’d liked it. She’d liked it a lot.
What she didn’t like was how often her thoughts had drifted to Leo in the twelve short hours since they’d met. He’d even made a rather hot appearance in her dreams. It was downright irritating.
She was certain he hadn’t spent the night pining away for her. He’d probably forgotten about her altogether. And moved on to someone else. A man didn’t learn how to kiss like that by embracing celibacy.
Her lips tingled.
Why was she thinking about kissing him again?
Because kissing Leo had been nothing short of divine.
She bit down on her bottom lip as a form of self-punishment. She had no business thinking about kissing Leonardo Mezzanotte. None at all. The first time had been an honest mistake. It could have happened to anyone.
Anyone who went around making out with anonymous strangers, which was a category that didn’t include Juliet...until recently. But that was beside the point. Now she knew exactly who he was. She wouldn’t be repeating that horrific mistake. Kissing him again would be suicide.
But what a way to go...
“Ugh.” Disgusted at herself, she shook her head.
Cocoa reached up and licked her hand, which made her feel marginally better. She gave the dog an affectionate pat on the head. Puppy kisses would be the only type of kisses in her future, at least until she managed to get Leo out of her head.
“Mom? Dad?”
Where was everybody? Her stomach growled. She unclipped Cocoa’s leash and headed toward the dining room with the scruffy dog on her heels.
“Oh, here you all are.” Juliet’s smile faded as she took in the empty table and the somber faces of her relatives.
The gang was all there—Mom, Dad, her brother, Nico, and even her cousin Alegra, who doubled as Juliet’s closest friend. She was practically a sister, since she’d been orphaned when she was only twelve and Juliet’s parents had taken her in as if she was a daughter rather than a niece.
Yep, the entire cast of characters was present, but there wasn’t a strip of bacon in sight. And everyone was stone-faced.
“What’s going on? Is this a hunger strike? Or some kind of intervention?” Juliet snickered, but the laughter died in her throat when she realized no one else seemed to think it was a joke. “Wait. This is an intervention, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly. We all just want to sit down with you and have a rational, calm conversation.” Her mother’s voice was as serene as a yoga teacher’s. Juliet had never before heard her mother sound that way.
It was eerie. Like the calm before a very intense, very bad storm.
Juliet gritted her teeth and waited for her mother to lose it. The wait would be brief, if past history was any indication.
“Have a seat.” Her father motioned toward the chair at the head of the table. The turkey-carving chair. If memory served, neither she nor her brother had ever occupied that place at the table.
She sat down slowly, half expecting to be electrocuted when her bottom hit the seat. Clearly, some kind of major chastisement was in the works. She wished the yelling and screaming would start. Waiting for the fireworks was akin to torture.
Cocoa sighed and rested her massive head in Juliet’s lap. At least someone was on her side. “I suppose this is about George.”
Her father’s fists clenched on top of the table. One of her mother’s eyes twitched.
Yep, this was about George all right.
Had he already gone behind her back and told them that she’d refused his proposal? What was this—the Elizabethan Era? Did they think she didn’t have any say in the matter?
“Do you have something to tell us regarding your evening with George last night?” her mother asked evenly. How long was she planning on keeping up this whole Stepford Wife act?
“Mom, you can stop pretending. George told me you and Dad knew about the proposal.” Juliet’s gaze shifted toward Nico and Alegra. There wasn’t a trace of shock on either of their faces. If they hadn’t been privy to George’s plans before, they’d clearly been filled in this morning.
Alegra’s expression turned almost sympathetic until Juliet’s mother cleared her throat. Then any compassion in her eyes was replaced with stone-cold fear.
“So, where’s the ring?” her mother said, a hint of annoyance finally creeping into her tone.
All eyes shot toward Juliet’s unadorned ring finger.
She drummed her nails on the table in a defiant tempo. “There is no ring. Actually there was one, but I couldn’t accept it. I don’t want to marry him.”
“So you turned him down. He’s completely devastated. He was practically falling to pieces when he called here last night. You’ve made a mess of things, Juliet. A real mess.” Her father’s disappointment echoed off th
e surface of the bare table.
George had called her parents last night? Had he even waited for the limo to back out of the driveway of her condo before he’d dialed their number?
She found it impossible to believe George had been devastated. If anything, she’d hurt his pride. Certainly not his feelings. She was no longer sure he even had feelings. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t want to marry him.”
“Give me one good reason why not.” Her mother raised an index finger. It trembled with what Juliet could only assume was rage.
Her mother’s whole body could tremble, and it still wouldn’t change her mind. “I’ll give you two. I don’t love him, and he doesn’t love me.”
Her father snorted. “Nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. It’s true. I’m not in love with him. And he doesn’t love me, either. He told me so point-blank. He loves his business. He loves what it would mean for Royal Gourmet if we got married. He wants a merger, not a marriage.”
She buried her fingers in Cocoa’s wiry chocolate-colored coat for emotional support. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. Not over George. But confessing all this in front of her parents, Nico and Alegra made her feel humiliated all over again.
“Like I said—nonsense.” Her father shrugged.
Had he not heard a single word she’d said? “What?”
“Love is certainly a reason to get married, but not the only one. There are plenty of others. Better ones, in fact. You and George work well together. He would provide you with a comfortable living, and he couldn’t be more supportive of your work. Do you think they’d be dining on Arabella chocolates at The French Laundry if not for George? It’s a perfect match. He’s a good man.”
A good man? That was highly debatable.
Would a good man have point-blank said that the reason he wanted to marry her was because it would be good for business?
Her mother’s forced smile wavered ever so slightly. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. You’re not going to do better than George.”
Ouch. “I will not marry a man I don’t love. Period.”
No one said a word for a long, excruciating moment. No doubt they were shocked. Juliet had never gone against her parents’ wishes. Not once in her entire twenty-eight years.
She sneaked a glance at Nico, who flashed her a quick wink. Her brother—the wild child. Who knew they’d ever be on the same side of an argument against their parents? That was something Juliet hadn’t seen coming.
At last someone said something. Her mother, naturally. “Tell her, Dom. She needs to know.”
Her father sighed.
“Tell me what, Dad?”
“We’re ruined, that’s what!” her mother screamed. Her cool exterior had finally cracked. It was almost a relief.
Cocoa’s tail drooped between her legs. Juliet was feeling rather droopy herself at the moment. “Ruined, because I won’t marry George? Isn’t that a tad melodramatic?”
Her father rested his interlocked hands on the table. He might have appeared calm, especially in contrast to Juliet’s mom, but upon closer inspection he had dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there the day before. He looked tired. Tired and very worried. “We’re no longer going to be represented by Royal Gourmet. They’re dropping us effective immediately.”
Juliet’s heart sank. “All because I won’t marry George?”
“That, and the way you carried on last night with Leonardo Mezzanotte.” Her mother didn’t yell this time, but her words dripped with venom. The whole effect was far more terrifying than a raised voice.
Cocoa released a sharp bark, and everyone around the table jumped.
They knew about Leo?
Beads of sweat broke out on Juliet’s forehead.
“Did you think you could let a Mezzanotte touch you like that and we’d never find out? Ha!” This was followed by a stream of curse words in Italian. At least Juliet assumed they were curse words by the way her mother spat them out.
Her Italian was rusty these days. Not that now was the time to worry about her foreign language skills. What exactly did they know? Had her mother somehow found out about the kiss?
Oh, God. Please, no.
A wave of nausea hit her hard and fast. Leo had told his uncle, just as she knew he would. And now everyone knew what she’d done. How could she have thought for a moment that she could trust him?
“It’s not what you think....” Juliet said. But wasn’t it exactly what they all thought? “I didn’t know his name.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about? You knew precisely who he was. The two of you had just been introduced, and for some reason you agreed to dance with the man. George was standing right there.”
Oh. Relief coursed through Juliet. So this was about the dance, after all. Leo hadn’t shared their secret.
This pleased her far more than it should have.
She let out a measured exhale. “We danced, Mom. It was nothing.”
“It most certainly was not. George said he was all over you and that you appeared to enjoy every minute of it. He was humiliated.” Her mother’s furious gaze bored into hers.
Once again, Juliet found herself on the verge of tears. So George had been humiliated? As humiliated as she’d felt when he’d told her he wanted to marry her for business reasons? As humiliated as she’d been when he’d introduced her as his fiancée, even after she’d turned down his proposal?
As humiliated as she felt right now, watching her parents take his side?
“Let’s just hope it’s not too late to fix things.” Her mother smiled a dangerously composed smile.
“Mom...” Nico started.
She stopped him with a pointed glare. “As I was saying, you will fix this, Juliet. You will call George today and apologize. Tell him you had too much wine last night, and you let your guard down. Tell him you’ve given it more thought and you realize you can’t live without him. I don’t care what you tell him, or how you do it. Just fix it.”
Juliet’s stomach tightened. She’d made her feelings clear. And still her parents wanted their only daughter to marry a man against her own wishes, simply to profit the family business.
She looked around the table. Her father appeared slightly less anxious now that her mother had issued her decree. Alegra stared down at the table, refusing to meet her gaze. Nico just yawned, as if he’d witnessed this sort of exchange all his life, which she supposed he had.
Juliet, eat your vegetables.
Juliet, put on a sweater. It’s cold outside.
Juliet, marry George Alcott.
They all expected her to comply, and she really couldn’t blame them. That’s what the old Juliet would have done. But something was different about her now. What happened in the limousine had changed her, and what happened afterward in the vineyard had only strengthened her resolve. Even if Leo was a Mezzanotte.
She took a deep breath. “No.”
* * *
Leo had been hoodwinked.
That much was obvious when he accompanied the rest of the Mezzanotte clan to the Manocchio Winery on Sunday morning to retrieve the dried-out chocolate fountains.
“He doesn’t look sick. And he certainly doesn’t act like it,” Leo muttered to his sister, Gina, as he watched Uncle Joe heave one of the fountains on his shoulder and head out of the ballroom toward the parking lot, speaking into his Bluetooth all the while.
“He’s not.” Gina frowned and attempted to lift another of the fountains herself. It didn’t budge.
“Here, let me.” Leo picked it up. The thing had to weigh at least eighty pounds. “Then why did he tell me otherwise? He made his arthritis sound so bad that I half expected to find him crumpled up on the floor when I got back here.”
&n
bsp; “Please. You know why he said that. He wanted you home.” Gina held the door open for him and followed him out of the ballroom.
They stepped out onto the terrace and into the morning mist. The sky swirled overhead in smoky shades of pink and lavender, and the vineyard rustled with the soft footfalls of day laborers tending the vines. Leo had been away so long he’d forgotten how the valley was usually bathed in a thick blanket of fog in the early morning hours. It gave the Manocchio Winery a mysterious, almost-romantic quality.
Not quite as romantic as it had been under the silver light of the moon, however. The memory of Juliet Arabella standing barefoot among the vines was hard to shake—those cool green cat eyes, those porcelain shoulders, those cute pink toes.
Those lips.
“He missed you. We all have. It’s been years.” Gina sighed, dragging Leo’s attention back to the present.
Just what he needed. A guilt trip. He’d foolishly thought that, since his father was buried, he might avoid this part of coming home. “I missed you, too, sis.”
“You could have called me, you know. I would have told you what Uncle Joe was up to.” She squinted into the fog. The cargo van with Mezzanotte Chocolates emblazoned on its side was swallowed up in the mist.
“I called. Didn’t I?” Leo adjusted his grip on the fountain.
He was half-tempted to let it fall. Didn’t Uncle Joe know that once chocolate fountains had made their sticky sweet way into the mainstream, they had no place in a specialty chocolaterie? As a rule, Leo’s plans for overhauling Mezzanotte Chocolates included avoiding anything the average person could buy at a warehouse discount store.
There were no warehouse discount stores in Paris.
Leo’s jaw clenched. How was it possible to feel homesick for a place that wasn’t truly your home?
“Once a month, maybe. You’re family. You belong here, not Paris.” Gina gave him the older sister glare he’d managed to forget about over the course of the past decade.
“Well, I’m here now.”