Unmasking Juliet

by Teri Wilson

  “Seriously. This is insane. What is he doing here?” Alegra crossed her arms and waited for an explanation.

  Leo didn’t care for her tone, but he was wary of getting into an altercation with Alegra while he was still undressed. He could see her throwing every stitch of his clothing over the balcony railing in a heartbeat.

  “The same thing I’m doing here. He’s here for the competition,” Juliet said calmly.

  Leo’s jaw grew even tighter at the thought of standing in a kitchen with Juliet for two straight days, once again trying to trump one another. They’d spent an awful lot of time working in opposition lately. And they would continue doing so. Over and over. Again and again. It was their destiny.

  Yet sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if they were on the same team. Not that being on the same side as Juliet was likely to happen anytime soon. Or ever.

  “Are you serious? You two are going to be competing against one another in three hours?” Alegra groaned.

  Three hours?

  Leo frowned. Just how late had they slept? “Alegra, could you give your cousin and me a minute alone? Please?”

  She snorted. “You don’t have a minute, Sparkle. Juliet’s mom is on her way up.”

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  “What?” Juliet paled. In the span of a heartbeat, she grew whiter than death.

  “Both of your parents are here. You knew they were on the same flight as I was. They just headed to their room on the first floor. Your dad is unpacking, and your mom wanted to come right up to see you. Honestly, what were you two thinking?” Alegra shook her head. “Never mind. I’d probably rather not know.”

  “Leo, you can’t be here. You just can’t.” Juliet started tossing clothes at him in a fit of panic.

  He ducked and narrowly avoided a shoe to the head.

  “Don’t worry, baby. She won’t find me here.” He pulled on his shirt. It would have been nice if Alegra had at least gone through the pretense of averting her gaze. Instead, she just stood there watching with an amused smirk on her face. But Leo supposed he had bigger problems at the moment.

  “I’m worried. I’m very worried.” Juliet was on the verge of tears, which was so not how Leo wanted the morning to end. “What are we going to do?”

  He stood up, crammed his feet into his shoes and went to cup her face in his hands. God, she was so nervous she was trembling. “You’re going to stay right here and have a nice visit with your mom, and I’m going to go out the same way I came in.”

  A glimmer of a smile came to her lips. “The balcony? Again? Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Juliet!”

  “I told you.” Alegra lifted a self-righteous eyebrow. “Shall I answer that?”

  “No,” Leo and Juliet said in unison.

  He looked into her eyes and tried desperately to ignore the knocking on the door. “Kiss me. One last time.”

  One more time. He’d meant one more time. Not last.

  She threw her arms around his neck and, with her heartbeat pounding frantically against his, kissed the life out of him.

  “Now? Are you kidding me?” Alegra began to pace circles around them.

  The pounding on the door grew louder. “Juliet, Alegra, are you two in there?”

  “Okay.” Juliet pulled away from him, breaking their kiss. “Now, you really, really need to get out of here.”

  And then the window that had so cruelly let in daylight became his escape.

  * * *

  By the time Juliet finally gave Alegra the go-ahead to open the door, her mother had clearly begun to suspect something.

  She sashayed right past both Alegra and Juliet and entered the room, her gaze darting to and fro. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Nothing,” Alegra said a little too quickly.

  Juliet willed herself not to cringe while her mother stared at the unmade bed, with pillows askew and tangled sheets hanging halfway to the floor.

  “Why did it take you so long to come to the door?” She frowned at the messy bed for what felt like an eternity. “For heaven’s sake, Juliet. Did you just wake up?”

  Juliet faked a yawn. “Yes. I suppose I’ve got some lingering jet lag. I couldn’t seem to make myself get out of bed this morning.”

  Alegra coughed. “Jet lag. I’m sure that’s the culprit.”

  Juliet shot her cousin a warning glance and brushed past her to wrap her mother in a hug. Anything to divert attention away from the bed. “Mom, it’s great to see you. How was your trip?”

  Her mom hugged her back briefly. “Long, but fine. Your dad and Nico are downstairs. Shouldn’t we be leaving soon for the competition? Goodness, you’re not even showered.”

  She shook her head and tsk-tsked which, being typical Mom behavior, came as a great relief. Until she moved to the French doors that led to the balcony.

  “What you need in here is some daylight. That will get you moving.” She shoved the curtains aside and flung the doors open.

  Alegra let out a little squeal and then clamped her hand over her mouth.

  Juliet thought she might faint on the spot. She was sure Leo hadn’t made it all the way down the trellis yet. There simply hadn’t been time.

  “Mom!” she shouted, loud enough to make Alegra jump again.

  Her mother paused at the threshold of the balcony and turned around. Thank God.

  She frowned. “Why are you yelling, dear? I’m right here in Italy, not back in Napa Valley.”

  “Um.” What could she possibly say to get her off that balcony with its lovely view—Leo included—and back inside? “Um, I don’t think I can go to the competition, after all.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Her mom did an immediate about-face. “What?”

  Even Alegra was thrown for a loop. “Huh?”

  “I don’t feel well.” Juliet sank down on the bed.

  The sheets were still warm and smelled faintly of red wine and Leo. She battled the ridiculous urge to bury her face in the pillow where he’d rested his head.

  “What do you mean you don’t feel well?” Her mom’s hand was on her forehead in an instant. “Your temperature is normal.”

  “It’s my stomach. I feel queasy. I’m sure that’s why I overslept.” Juliet clutched her midsection. This kind of faux sickness had never worked when she was a kid and had wanted to stay home from school, but surely it would buy enough time for Leo to climb down the wall.

  Alegra rolled her eyes and muttered, “Of course. Because nausea oftentimes goes hand in hand with jet lag.”

  Juliet’s mom frowned. “Alegra, stop mumbling and go get Juliet a cool washcloth for her head. And a cup of chipped ice.”

  Alegra lifted a dubious brow. “For real?”

  “Yes. And while you’re at it, maybe a Coke. You should be able to get one from the bar downstairs. See if they have saltines, too.”

  Juliet mouthed sorry from behind her mom’s back, but that didn’t stop Alegra from breathing out a labored sigh.

  She scowled. “I just got off a ten-hour flight, and now I get to be Juliet’s servant when she’s been doing nothing all day but rolling around in the sack...I mean lying around in bed. Awesome.”

  If Juliet hadn’t been so fictionally ill, she would have strangled her cousin.

  “Juliet, dear.” Her mother sat down on the bed beside her while Alegra busied herself in the bathroom with the faucet and the requested washcloth. “Are you really feeling sick or, as I suspect, is this something else entirely?”

  Her mother then proceeded to give her what Nico always called the look of doom. And Juliet suddenly did feel genuinely ill.

  She swallowed. “Something else?”

  Something li
ke Leo Mezzanotte. Here. In Rome. In this very bed.

  “Yes.” Her mom gave a knowing, firm nod. “Nerves. This is a big contest. You’re far from your comfort zone in Napa Valley, and you’re worried about the competition. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

  Yes, it was. She was worried about her competition. Specifically, that her competition would get caught sneaking out of her bedroom. “There might be some truth to that.”

  “You can do this, dear. I know you can.” Her mom smiled and, in a rare display of maternal affection, gave her shoulders a squeeze. Then she shocked the daylights out of Juliet by getting a little teary-eyed. It was almost enough to make Juliet feel bad about all the lying. But since telling the truth was not remotely an option, she could live with herself.

  Her mom gave her a watery smile. “I’m so proud of you. We all are—me, your father, Nico and Alegra.”

  She probably could have left Alegra off that list. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about. This contest is going to go off without a hitch.”

  Alegra returned with a cold, dripping washcloth dangling from her fingertips, and flung it at Juliet. “Here you go, princess.”

  She managed to catch it before it hit her in the face. “Thank you.”

  Alegra crossed her arms, glanced at the balcony curtains rippling softly in the breeze and then back at Juliet and her mom. “What did I miss? Anything interesting happen while I was in the bathroom?”

  “Juliet is nervous about the contest,” her mother said, obviously satisfied that she’d gotten to the bottom of things.

  “Oh, is that what she’s nervous about?” The beginnings of a smirk danced on Alegra’s lips.

  Juliet buried her face in the cool washcloth. Admittedly, it felt good.

  “I told her there’s nothing to be anxious about. Things could be a lot more troubling. I mean, imagine if Leo Mezzanotte were here.”

  A very real wave of nausea washed over Juliet. She hadn’t had much time to think about what Leo’s entry in the contest meant. Was his family in Rome, as well? Probably. That meant they were in for a repeat of the drama of the chocolate fair back home.

  Goody.

  She removed the washcloth, opened her eyes and found Alegra grinning down at her. Her cousin flashed her a wink. “Yeah. Imagine.”

  * * *

  The Roma Festa del Cioccolato was traditionally held at one of the many gourmet cooking schools in the Eternal City. This year, the venue was a seven-hundred-year-old Franciscan monastery that had been converted to a gourmet haven nestled near a quiet corner of Villa Borghese. The school’s name—Il Cucchiaio di Legno—meant The Wooden Spoon, which Juliet found endlessly charming. And when she arrived for the preliminary round of the chocolate competition, she found the surroundings just as delightful as she’d imagined.

  The building was square-shaped, with the center being an open courtyard shaded by a tall canopy of umbrella pines that stretched above bountiful herb and vegetable gardens, as well as a thriving cluster of Rome’s ubiquitous lemon trees. A portico with tall arched walkways ran the entire length of the building, overlooking the gardens, ensuring that the lush courtyard could be seen from every room inside. The walls were buttery-yellow, and the floor was earthy tile. Juliet felt as though she’d stepped inside one of the postcards that she’d collected over the years.

  She did her best to concentrate on these details and breathe in the essence of Old World Italy rather than think about the very narrow escape she and Leo had experienced just a few hours ago. If she thought too much about it, her hands began to shake. And that was the last thing she needed when she was trying to make a wedding cake.

  As steeped in Old World charm as everything was, the commercial-size kitchen where the contestants each had an individually assigned workstation was sleek and modern, with every imaginable up-to-the-minute convenience. And surprise, surprise, Juliet’s workspace was situated right next to Leo’s.

  He stood with his back to the countertop, leaning against it as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And of course, he was wearing that impeccable white chef’s coat again. Juliet’s heart did a rebellious flip-flop at the sight of it.

  She inhaled a deep breath. There were people milling around everywhere—fellow contestants, contest proctors, judges. People she preferred not to know that she’d spent the night in bed with one of her fellow competitors. It wasn’t the most professional of circumstances.

  But now was not the time for romance. Now was the time to kick some serious ass.

  She gave Leo a polite nod as she approached her work area. “Mr. Mezzanotte.”

  He lifted a brow. “Miss Arabella.”

  Why did her name sound so different when he said it? Dangerous. Like poison.

  She began checking the inventory of items at her workstation, doing her best to pretend Leo wasn’t standing a mere two feet away.

  Which was patently impossible. He was a force of nature.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he murmured without looking at her.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” She opened the plastic bins that contained her white chocolate sheet cakes.

  Contest rules stated that competitors had eight hours to complete their entries for the artistic round of competition. These hours were to be spent mostly on construction. Certain cooking components, such as basic sheet cakes, simple chocolate or candied fruits, could be prepared in advance. Thank goodness. She would need every bit of those eight hours to carve her sheet cakes into shapes that resembled the Altare della Patria and get it decorated.

  She glanced over at Leo. Compared to her crowded countertop, his workspace was barren. It held a single rectangular box that stood about a foot tall and a small leather sheath that held an assortment of odd-looking tools—tiny knives of various sizes, picks and armature wire. She wondered what on earth he was up to, but wasn’t about to ask.

  “Got everything you need over there?” she said, simply because she really couldn’t help it. He had the fewest supplies of anyone in the room.

  “Worried about me, Miss Arabella?” he asked, once again not looking at her, which for some odd reason made it all the more provocative.

  “Of course not. I have my own entry to worry about.” She double-checked to make sure her sketchbook and her grandmother’s recipe book were among the items spread out in front of her.

  “That’s my girl,” Leo whispered.

  My girl.

  She fully expected him to look away again, but he didn’t. Their eyes met, and something intimate and unspoken settled between them. A memory.

  A memory of the way he’d looked at her when he’d taken her in the sultry heat of that balcony. The way he’d claimed her.

  Mine.

  The way she’d given herself to him.

  Yours.

  Those weren’t words uttered in the heat of the moment. They’d meant something. Still did. Those words echoed between them now. Here in the crowded kitchen.

  Juliet could hear them whispering in her soul. She could see them shining in Leo’s fierce blue eyes.

  “Do you have any idea how badly I want to touch you right now?” His hands rested on the countertop in front of him, and, as he spoke, his fingertips inched closer.

  “Leo.” She bit her lip.

  His gaze dropped instantly to her mouth. “Juliet.”

  “We can’t do this here. You know that.” She felt as if she was holding her breath, and she was so very desperate to exhale.

  His fingers clenched on the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. “I know nothing of the sort. What’s to stop me from taking you in my arms right here and now and kissing you within an inch of your life?”

  It sounded very much like when he’d threatened to kiss her the ni
ght they’d met at the masquerade ball, for all the world to see. And she wondered suddenly what would have happened if she’d let him. Would they still be pretending they were mortal enemies when they were really anything but? Or would time and honesty have worked their magic, and allowed them to be free to love?

  She blinked. Love? Was she in love with Leo? Surely not. “Oh, I don’t know...the fact that we’ve both traveled all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to compete against one another in this contest?”

  But even as she said the words, she realized the competitive fire that had burned in her since Leo had shown up back in Napa Valley had started to cool. She was tired. Tired of trying to beat him at every turn. Tired of pretending not to care for him. To herself and to everyone else.

  “Try me.” He moved toward her. Just a fraction.

  Then a loud voice echoed off the ancient kitchen walls. Juliet jumped backward. Leo stilled.

  “Competitors, Benvenuti a Roma!” The contest proctor stood in the center of the room, arms spread open wide in the universal gesture of welcome.

  He scanned the room, his gaze finally landing on Leo and Juliet. “Let the Roma Festa del Cioccolato officially begin!”

  22

  Leo wondered if it was possible to absorb chocolate into his bloodstream through his skin. He hoped to hell not. If so, he was in deep trouble.

  Chocolate was caked underneath his nails, in every possible crevice of his hands, in every tiny ridge and swirl of the pads of his fingers. If the kitchen in Rome had been a crime scene, he would have left his mark in an incriminating abundance of chocolate fingerprints.

  He hadn’t really thought about this inevitable result of his chosen project for the artistic round of the contest. He’d simply been searching for a way to avoid actually having to consume chocolate. He hadn’t realized he would be taking a virtual bath in the stuff.

  “That is really something.” Juliet stared, wide-eyed, at his half-finished creation. It was only the first or second time she’d looked up from the pristine, white, oh-so-ambitious project she had going on beside him.

  “Thank you,” he said and nodded at the wedding cake within a wedding cake in front of her. The Altare della Patria. As an actual wedding cake. Brilliant. “So is your cake.”