by Teri Wilson
If he and Juliet could get through this chocolate fair without everything blowing up in their faces, it would be a miracle.
He sneaked a glance at her before he could stop himself. From the looks of things, she’d just about finished getting her entry set up. It consisted of six wineglasses—two white, two red, plus two champagne flutes. They were lined up in an evenly spaced row, as if being presented as a tasting group, better known as a wine flight in Napa Valley. Each glass was filled to overflowing with its own particular flavor of truffle. He was guessing the pale orange confections piled in the first champagne flute were some sort of peach Bellini-white chocolate combination. Other than that, he couldn’t begin to guess what she’d dreamed up.
She’d gotten lucky with regard to the surroundings. A chocolate wine flight would have been nice outside on the grounds with the vineyard and the tasting room in view. Here in the barrel room, it was genius. Clever, creative and perfectly suited to the occasion.
She could win.
He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or threatened. He settled on a somewhat schizophrenic blend of the two. Would he be impressed if she won? Of course. Would he be happy about losing? Absolutely not.
Although the outcome was hardly a foregone conclusion either way. The majority of the judge’s scores would come from the tasting round. He had the utmost confidence in his macarons, and he hadn’t a clue what Juliet’s chocolates tasted like. But he’d tasted her attempts at chocolat chaud. She knew her stuff.
From the looks of things, Juliet’s chocolate wine flight and his macarons were the only serious contenders. The other dozen or so entries looked amateurish compared to the painstaking details of Juliet’s truffles. She’d decorated each one with white or dark chocolate decorative swirls, bows and crisscross patterns. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out when she’d had time to do all that while at the same time cranking out gallons of experimental hot chocolate.
He nudged his center macaron tree forward less than a centimeter. Then he did the same with the two smaller trees.
Finally, he blew out a strained breath. He’d had about enough of this nonsense.
He turned toward Juliet and closed the small space between them. What would her mother, Uncle Joe or Marco possibly do if he and Juliet had a simple, innocent conversation? Leap out of their chairs, teeth bared, claws extended, ready to rip the two of them apart?
Possibly.
So he studiously avoided looking anywhere but at Juliet as he stood at her side. She, on the other hand, acted as though she was wholly unaware of his presence, busying herself with doing nothing. Polishing a glass. Twirling the slender stem of a champagne flute between her fingertips.
How he itched to feel those fingertips dance across his skin again. Desire welled up inside. He all but burned with it.
She did, too. He could see her pulse booming at the base of her throat, the flush of color in her softly parted lips. She burned just as brightly as he did. As brightly as the torches overhead.
“Good morning,” he said as softly as he could.
Her hands trembled. A truffle went rolling from one of her wineglasses.
He picked it up and returned it to her, pausing to caress the palm of her hand with an understated swipe of his thumb. She shied away. Oh, how he hated that. It was all he could do not to grab her slender wrist and reel her back in.
“What are you doing?” she asked through lightly clenched teeth.
“I’m talking to you. Surely there’s no law against that.” He concentrated very hard to keep his expression neutral. “Would it really be out of the ordinary for us to exchange pleasantries?”
She looked at him. Finally. “You know it would.”
“Don’t pay any attention to them.” He gave a slight nod in the direction of their families. “I’m not.”
It was almost the truth.
“That’s not going to work, Leo. It’s not just you and me this time. It’s everyone. My whole family is here. And yours.” Her gaze flitted to the barrel room’s big double doors, and she stiffened. “And apparently, so is your new business associate.”
“What?” He took his eyes off her long enough to see George Alcott III saunter in and shake hands with Uncle Joe.
He took the seat beside Uncle Joe as if the two of them were long-lost friends. Then he removed a large manila envelope from his slim leather briefcase and offered it to Uncle Joe.
The contract between Mezzanotte Chocolates and Royal Gourmet Distributors. Leo didn’t need x-ray vision to know that’s what was inside. His gut tightened. He’d known he couldn’t put this moment off forever, but he hadn’t anticipated having to deal with it here in the middle of the chocolate fair.
“Look, about that proposed business arrangement...” he began.
“Yes?” The expression on Juliet’s face was half wary, half hopeful.
“I...”
Before he could utter another syllable, someone rapped on a wineglass with a piece of cutlery and the room grew quiet.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Twenty-Sixth Annual Napa Valley Chocolate Fair.” The announcer waved a sweeping arm toward the banquet table. “Today’s contestants are competing for the title of Napa Valley Chocolate Fair Grand Champion, and they represent the very best culinary talent that the bay area and accompanying wine country have to offer.”
Leo took another look around at the other competitors. All appeared to be professional chefs. But unlike him and Juliet, none were specialty artisan chocolatiers. Mezzanotte Chocolates and Arabella Chocolate Boutique were the only such shops in the area. This competition was theirs to lose.
Well, one of theirs.
The announcer continued. “I’d like the esteemed judges to step forward, please.”
Even after the judges were introduced, Leo still had no idea who they were. To say he was having trouble focusing was an understatement. The envelope in George’s lap and the accompanying battle he was sure to have with Uncle Joe over its contents...Marco and the daggers he was staring at Juliet...all those angry Arabella faces watching his every move. He was being bombarded on all sides. A simmering discomfort started low at the back of his head as the judges moved from one competitor to the next, examining the entries.
When they reached him, he explained the flavors of each macaron and presented them with a tasting plate.
“Very nice.” One of the judges—Leo really should have paid attention to who these people were—smiled and nodded.
The other two looked equally pleased, so he figured he was in excellent standing. Next up was Juliet.
Leo stood back, crossed his arms and pasted on an expression of unwavering confidence, all the while straining to hear her describe her creations.
“Good morning, Ms. Baker, Mr. Collins and Mr. Weatherton,” she said, her voice smooth and professional.
Leo suppressed a smile of approval. Addressing the judges by name. Nice move.
“In keeping with the spirit of the wine country, today I offer you a chocolate wine flight, showcasing two each of red, white and sparkling wine varieties.”
The judges looked as though they were hanging on her every word. Leo couldn’t really blame them.
She picked up one of the red wine balloon glasses. “Here we have a heart-shaped pinot noir truffle with a sweet cream cocoa center that’s been injected with a shot of raspberry cordial.”
Red wine and cordial. That was a lot of liquor in one little nibble. Leo wished he could toss back an entire handful. It might make dealing with their families a bit more palatable.
The judges all took a bite. Then one by one, each of them polished off their remaining pieces of chocolate. This was atypical. Leo hadn’t noticed them eating entire samples on any of their other stops. Not even his.
“The second red wine inspire
d offering on our flight is a chocolate red wine cupcake truffle, with a merlot cake batter center covered in a milk chocolate shell that’s been rolled in cupcake crumbs. And for our first white wine chocolate, we have a classic white wine spritzer truffle with a delicate center of white chocolate ganache blended with pinot grigio and lemon-flavored Italian soda.” She briefly allowed her gaze to wander in his direction.
Italian soda. He grinned and thought of all the photos of Rome in her condo.
“Next is a sweet Riesling gingerbread truffle, which is dark chocolate on the outside with an inside of spicy gingerbread milk chocolate ganache and a dash of sweet Riesling infused throughout.”
Leo had to stop his eyebrows from creeping up his forehead. These flavor combinations were quite inspired. Red wine, chocolate and cake batter? Sweet Riesling with gingerbread? He wasn’t sure he would have thought of either of those.
She finished by introducing her champagne duo, which she christened the Bellini—a peach puree truffle blended with a ganache of white chocolate and extra-dry Prosecco—and the Rossini—a decadent sounding confection of crushed strawberries with the seeds removed, blended with heavy cream, milk chocolate and a sparkling pink rosé.
“Very creative, Miss Arabella,” the more portly of the two male judges said. Mr. Weatherton. Or was it Mr. Collins?
Damn. He’d never suffered from this kind of lack of concentration before. Whoever the man was, he’d eaten a full meal’s worth of Juliet’s truffles, as had the other judges.
“Thank you.” Juliet smiled, and it seemed as if her entire being released a relieved exhale.
She was nervous. She really shouldn’t have been.
The judges moved on to the next entrant, and she folded her hands in front of her just beneath the edge of the banquet table.
Thanks to the close quarters, Leo only had to shift a fraction to his left to be within reaching distance of her. Slowly, discreetly, he uncrossed his arms and dropped his hands to his sides. Then he reached under the table and took one of her hands in his.
He gave it a gentle squeeze and whispered under his breath, “Nice job. Good luck.”
The secret smile that came to her lips was enough to cause a surge of victory to swell within him. For a fleeting moment, he felt as though he’d won a most precious prize.
No matter the outcome.
16
The warmth of Leo’s hand calmed Juliet, creating a perfect moment of surreptitious stillness amid the pressure of the chocolate fair. The penetrating gazes of her family members and the scoffs of the Mezzanottes seemed to fade into the background. She wondered at the power of his touch to change everything in an instant. Then she wondered what it said about her that she seemed unable to let go of his hand.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for attending the Twenty-Sixth Annual Napa Valley Chocolate Fair. As you know, this event is part of the World Cup of Artisan Chocolate Competitions. As such, the winner qualifies for the prestigious Roma Festa del Cioccolato, to be held next month in Rome, Italy.” The announcer paused while the audience applauded.
Juliet couldn’t help but look at George sitting there in the front row alongside the Mezzanottes. George, who had failed to see the point of her traveling to Italy for the chocolate competition when she’d qualified last year and had refused to allow Royal Gourmet to foot the bill for her trip.
And she decided right then and there that she was going this time. She’d pay for it all on her own if she had to. She’d put it on her credit cards if need be. She was going to Rome.
If she won.
“The contest this year was more competitive than ever before. We congratulate all the entrants on their imaginative use of chocolate and impressive culinary skills.” The announcer accepted a sealed envelope from Mr. Weatherton, the head judge.
Juliet’s stomach took a tumble. Leo squeezed her hand again, and she held on for dear life. Why did it feel as though they were in this together when they so clearly weren’t?
The sound of the envelope’s seal being broken echoed through the barrel room. Everyone’s attention was focused on that small white square.
The announcer took a look inside, his face a perfect mask of calm. He cleared his throat.
Good grief, would he just get on with it?
“The contest results are rather surprising this year,” he said. The quiet grew so tense that it was oppressive.
Juliet’s senses became unnaturally heightened. Every inhale sounded like a tidal wave, her heartbeat a sonic boom. The perfume of the hydrangeas suddenly seemed too heady, too sweet. Her insides twisted into a tight knot. The room swirled around her in slow motion.
She let go of Leo’s hand. The slide of his fingers slipping through hers seemed to last both a lifetime and an instant.
The contest results are rather surprising this year.
That meant she’d lost. What else could it mean? She’d won every year for the past five straight years. Winning again wouldn’t be a surprise.
She’d lost.
Surprise!
Her eyes drifted closed. She couldn’t bear to look at her family. It was over. They weren’t going to bounce back from a defeat like this. She’d turned George down, gotten them dropped by Royal Gourmet, botched the balloon fest last weekend and lost the Napa Valley Chocolate Fair title.
Oh, and she’d managed to poison her dog and sleep with the enemy in the process.
How had her life spiraled so out of control?
This is what you wanted, remember? To be free of control.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
The announcer was smiling as wide as a circus clown. “Ladies and gentleman, I’m afraid the contest isn’t quite over. For the first time in the history of the Napa Valley Chocolate Fair, we have a tie.”
She swayed on her feet. “What?”
“It’s a tie?” Leo said beside her, his voice carrying a trace of bewilderment.
“The judges have awarded Juliet Arabella and Leonardo Mezzanotte identical scores.”
Juliet’s mother and Leo’s uncle rose from their chairs at the exact same time, like a well-synchronized team. Scary.
“What?” Juliet’s mom cried.
“A tie? That’s absurd.” Joe Mezzanotte’s face was redder than Juliet had ever seen it before.
“Uncle Joe, sit down. Immediately. Or I will walk right out of here.” Leo stood a little straighter, as if indicating he would indeed make good on his threat.
His uncle blanched and then lowered himself back into his chair.
“Mom,” Juliet pleaded. “Please.”
Likewise, her mother sat.
“Very well, then.” The announcer paused, possibly to make sure no one else was going to leap up and make a spectacle of themselves. Probably a good move, since there were still a half-dozen Arabellas and Mezzanottes who hadn’t yet said their piece. And George. “In order to determine a winner, we will move on to another phase in the competition. Miss Arabella and Mr. Mezzanotte, please remain where you are. The other competitors are excused.”
As the other chefs backed away from the banquet table and filed out, Leo leaned a fraction closer. The amused quirk in his lips caused pleasure to pool deep in her belly. “A tie. How’s this for a turn of events?”
Staring into his startlingly blue eyes, she blew out a breath. Focus. “It’s not a loss, so I’ll take it.”
“Still plan on taking me down in the next round?” His gaze dropped to her cleavage. Right on cue, she grew breathless.
Her body remembered him. Her skin, her pores, the little hairs on the back of her neck. And she leaned toward him, succumbing to his pull without even realizing it. “Absolutely.”
He laughed under his breath and lifted his eyes back to her face. There was something differ
ent about the way he looked at her now, since the night they’d shared. A look filled with possession and secrets.
Juliet liked it. She liked it very much. Despite herself, she smiled back at him. Right there, with the whole room watching. “I don’t know why you’re laughing. I’m dead serious.”
He brushed his hand against hers. Just the slightest touch. He had to stop touching her. She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but the words refused to come.
“I know,” he whispered. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”
* * *
A tie.
Leo hadn’t seen that one coming. Not at all.
He’d thought he’d won. Juliet had thought he’d won, too, if the ashen hue she’d taken on when the announcer expressed his surprise at the results had been any indication. But he hadn’t won. And Juliet was looking far less stricken now. Her color had come back. There was a rosy hue to her cheeks that made him think of things that weren’t remotely connected to chocolate.
He dragged his eyes away from her. Time to regroup. Refocus. He still had every intention of winning. He needed to win. More so now than before. And apparently that was going to be a more complicated task than he’d originally thought.
A tie.
He looked at his macaron trees. All that time. All that effort. Now what?
“Henceforth, the competition will move to a tie-breaker phase.” The crowd, which had begun to buzz in earnest after the announcement of the identical scores, settled down. No doubt everyone wanted to know what was involved in breaking the tie. Leo certainly did. In all his years in chocolate, he’d never witnessed this type of situation. “The tie will be broken and the winner determined with a taste challenge.”
Beside him, Juliet grinned as if she’d just won the lottery.