Suzanne turned the truck onto Van Ness. It was three o'clock. If they didn't hit too much Friday afternoon traffic, she'd have just enough time to go home after the delivery, put her feet up for a few minutes, shower and change before Daryle picked her up. They hadn't seen each other since last weekend, the wedding weekend. They'd spent a second night together, a very uncomfortable night in his suite at the winery. Suzanne had slept in Daryle's bed, at his insistence, while he had tossed and turned on the sofa.
"When do you think the Napa shop will open?" Karen asked as Suzanne braked to a stop at a light.
"Not sure yet. I ordered the appliances yesterday. But the place still needs to be painted, tables and chairs ordered, dishware ... the whole nine yards. It'll have to be simple, though. I don't have the money to do anything too elaborate right now."
"The Cattertons aren't paying for it?"
Suzanne was stunned by Karen's assumption. But of course, people were going to assume that Daryle's family was paying. Every time she turned around, there was another wrinkle to this whole arrangement. "Well, Daryle is paying for the lease on the building. For now anyway. Once things get going, the shop will take over that. But everything else, I'm paying for. The business has to pay for itself."
"Well, if you need help with painting or installing things, let me know. John is very handy with things like that."
"Thank you, Karen. I'll keep that in mind." Suzanne was touched by the offer. She'd always been a little envious of Karen and John's marriage. It was solid and loving, a true partnership of equals. At least from the outside, anyway, that was how it looked. Suzanne was learning firsthand that marriages were not always what they seemed.
Suzanne pulled the truck around to the delivery entrance. Carrying the boxes of cupcakes through the museum's catering kitchen put her instantly at ease. She was comfortable in kitchens, amidst the clatter and heat. And the aromas. She inhaled deeply. Whatever they would be eating tonight at the reception smelled incredible already.
It took Suzanne and Karen nearly an hour to get the cupcakes inside the museum and arranged on their stands on the silk-covered table. Alanna's paintings were large abstract landscapes, great washes of vibrant saturated color on the canvas. The cupcakes were frosted in similar vivid colors—bright turquoise blue, deep forest green, glowing sun-orange—to resemble one of her paintings. Suzanne had brought with her a photograph of one of Alanna's paintings that they had used as a guide when frosting the cupcakes. She and Karen traded the photograph back and forth as they arranged the hundreds of cupcakes on the table.
"I'll do the sky. You do the land," Suzanne said.
Suzanne turned back to the box to grab the final few cupcakes. She smacked away the male arm reaching into the box. The arm belonged to Jerry Paige, a bartender who worked for Brent but freelanced for caterers on his off days. "If you value that arm, you'll back away from the cupcakes," Suzanne mock-warned.
Jerry responded by wrapping his arms around Suzanne in a big hug. "I didn't know you were working this reception. Does Brent know? He didn't mention it."
"Well, the artist is her sister-in-law," Karen chimed in.
Inwardly, Suzanne groaned. That was another wrinkle she hadn't foreseen. People felt compelled to tell everyone about her marriage to one of the area's most eligible bachelors. Ordinarily, that might make sense. If it had been one of her friends or employees who had married a wealthy, handsome man, she'd be bragging about it to everyone too. But these weren't ordinary circumstances.
"No way. Alanna Catterton is your sister-in-law? I didn't even know you were married," Jerry said. "Well, you have my congratulations. Stop by the bar with the lucky groom tonight. I'll snag a good bottle of champagne for you two. Something better than the usual reception stuff."
At six o'clock sharp, Suzanne and Daryle strolled into the soaring atrium entrance of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The atrium took her breath away every time she came to the museum—the tall white columns, the black and grey striped floor, the mix of textures and materials. This time was no different. She couldn't help herself. Her eyes were pulled up, up to the ceiling, several stories above.
"Daryle!" The sound of a woman's breathy voice brought Suzanne back down to earth. "I hoped you were going to be here to support your sister." Suzanne lowered her sights just in time to see a woman in four-inch heels and one of those corset-tight bandage dresses leading Daryle away across the floor, her arm hooked intimately through hers. Suzanne had suffered kitchen cuts that required band-aids bigger than that woman's dress.
Suzanne knew she should stride right after the two of them, unhook their arms and stake her claim. What was it Daryle had told her? We have to pretend this is real, and pretend it convincingly Oh this is convincing, all right, she thought. We've been here, what, thirty seconds and already you've convincingly dumped your wife for—who? The girlfriend you're keeping on the side?
Suzanne took a deep breath. Don't make a scene, she told herself. You need to find Alanna and congratulate her, then check on the cupcakes and eavesdrop on what people are saying about them. That'll make you feel better. Focus on the great publicity The Cupcakery is getting tonight. That's what all this is about anyway. Screw Daryle Catterton.
She began to thread her way into the crowd, a smile plastered to her face. She wasn't seeing anyone she knew. She wished she had invited Karen and John, just to have someone to hang out with, a little friendly company. But it hadn't occurred to her. She was usually behind the scenes at events like this. She was infinitely more comfortable there.
She felt someone touch her shoulder. She whirled around. "You'd better have a good excu—" It wasn't Daryle. It was Brent. She nearly fainted with relief and gratitude. "I didn't know you were coming to this! I'd have invited you, but ... why aren't you at the restaurant?"
"I'm going in later tonight," Brent replied. He looked down at his grey suit, the buttons straining to close over his chef's stomach, and his obviously rarely-worn dress shoes. "I've got a change of clothes in the car. Jerry pinged me two hours ago and told me you were going to be here. I figured you might need some backup."
"Oh god, Brent, do I ever." Suddenly she was on the verge of tears. This whole fake marriage business was proving to be more than she could handle. She bit her lip, trying to stop the tears. So what if he went off with some woman? They didn't have that kind of claim on each other, right?
Brent put his hand gently on her arm. "Suzie-Q, what's going on?"
"We were barely ten feet inside the door when he went off with some floozy! I mean, I know we aren't ... but still! To just abandon me as soon as we get here ..."
"I am so going to kill that man. I knew I should have done it years ago." Brent looked at the growing crowd, trying to pick out Daryle Catterton. "He is not going to humiliate you in public like this. If he needed you so much to get his precious inheritance, then he needs to show a little gratitude."
Noelle had been waiting for him, lying in wait. That much was obvious, Daryle realized. She'd been waiting just inside the entrance and made a beeline for him the minute he and Suzanne had walked in.
"Daryle, darling," Noelle said. Her voice was like syrup, artificially-sweetened syrup. "You aren't returning my calls or texts. You didn't invite me to your wedding." She drew him closer and glared straight at him. "You married the cupcake lady? A working girl? Little beneath you, isn't it?"
"Sorry, Noelle. Suzanne and I knew each other years ago and we reconnected recently. We fell back in love and decided to marry. It was kind of spur-of-the-moment." He'd been saying this line to customers all week and was proud of how smoothly it rolled off his tongue now.
"I thought we were in love," Noelle pouted at him.
No, Daryle thought. We were not in love. Most definitely not. We were seeing and being seen with each other. We were sleeping together, using each other for physical pleasure. Though looking at her now, he struggled to remember why he'd wanted her physical pleasures. Her breasts were spilling out o
f the top of her dress. Tacky. Her perfume was overpowering. Her hair was teased and lacquered into place, a crispy mess he had never liked touching. And to think he had actually proposed Noelle to his mother as a wifely substitute for Suzanne. What had he been thinking?
He looked back toward the center of the atrium, looking for Suzanne. She was nowhere to be seen. That didn't surprise him. She had probably headed straight for the cupcakes. That's all she cared about. She'd be perfectly happy to let him mingle on his own all evening.
Noelle grabbed his chin and pulled his face back around toward her. Noelle's mouth was moving but he couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. He nodded and smiled at her, while he maneuvered his body around to face the atrium.
There she was. Even in a crowd, Suzanne stood out. Her hair was twisted into a loose updo, a few escaped strands swimming around her face. She wore a straight black skirt and a cashmere sweater the pale green color of a dinner mint, a shade that was the perfect foil for her auburn hair. His fingers warmed as he remembered the softness of the sweater as he had helped her out of his car earlier. As he watched, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and the sight of her sleek leg muscles tensing and then relaxing above those slender ankles caused a stirring in his groin.
She was talking animatedly with a heavyset man with thinning blonde hair. The man turned slightly. Damn, Daryle thought. Brent. Figures she would invite him. Being married to Suzanne clearly meant being married to Brent, too. Maybe he should spring for a nicer suit for Brent, in that case. Uh oh. Brent had spotted him and he looked none too happy. In fact, Brent was now marching straight across the atrium, toward him and Noelle.
"A word with you, Mr. Catterton."
Suzanne watched as Brent strode away toward Daryle. From the look on his face, Daryle was not happy. There had never been any love between those two men. She struggled to suppress a smile. Even though Brent was a softie at heart, he did cut an imposing figure. Nearly six feet five and burly, his kitchen staff lovingly called him Andre the Giant. And while he was no maniacal television chef, he could put the fear of God into a person, when necessary.
She really didn't want to stick around and watch what was about to happen, She'd seen Brent read enough other people the riot act; she knew it wasn't generally pleasant. She opted instead to go check on the cupcakes. Cupcakes never let her down. Never dumped her at the door. A cupcake had never—not even once—broken her heart.
A line of well-dressed art patrons snaked slowly along the dessert table. As soon as Suzanne joined them, her stomach growled loudly and she remembered she hadn't eaten dinner. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the coffee urn and filled a dessert plate with white chocolate-covered strawberries, then moved to the center of the table where her cupcakes were prominently displayed. Half were gone already, a good sign, she thought. A very good sign. She couldn't resist straightening the table card that said, "Cupcakes by The Cupcakery."
"Suzanne! There you are," Alanna Catterton said. Suzanne turned around to see Daryle's sister stepping away from a crowd of admirers. "I was beginning to worry that my brother ended up working late and you'd miss the reception. Where is my brother, by the way?"
Suzanne waved vaguely in the direction of the museum entrance. "Schmoozing. I came to check on my babies here."
Alanna turned to the group of people, who were still hanging on her every word, and said, "Everyone, this is Suzanne Austin-Catterton, owner of The Cupcakery. We have her to thank for these delicious treats tonight. Personally, I'm just going to eat cupcakes instead of dinner!"
People began to step forward to tell Suzanne how much they loved The Cupcakery, which flavors were their favorite, which seasonal flavors they wanted all year round. Alanna waved her arms above her head. "Oh—I almost forgot—" she called out. "Suzanne is opening a new location in Napa. Soon, right?" Suzanne nodded and shrugged.
A low buzz rose from the crowd and Suzanne was inundated with questions about the new shop. Where it was, when it would open, did she have plans for a third location. Suzanne found herself relaxing, forgetting about Daryle. She could talk cupcakes and her business all day long. It felt good to receive compliments from all these people. They were complete strangers to her, yet they were also her customers. And they loved what she was doing and wanted her to do more of it. She knew how to be the owner of The Cupcakery. She didn't know how to be Daryle Catterton's wife.
It took a good twenty minutes but, eventually, a chastened-looking Daryle squeezed his way through the crowd where Suzanne was still holding court. Brent was one step behind, like a bodyguard or a celebrity handler. When they got to her, Brent veered off toward the bar, silently mouthing the words, "champagne."
Alanna saw her brother at once and gave him a hug. "I wondered when I was going to see you. Thank you for coming. Both of you," she turned toward Suzanne. Suzanne's cupcake fans dispersed into the larger crowd.
"Wouldn't have missed it, Alanna. You know that."
"Have you eaten yet? I think the real food is going almost as fast as the desserts. If you want some, you should probably do that soon."
Daryle looked at Suzanne. "Have you—"
Suzanne shook her head. "I'm starving though. I haven't really eaten since lunch."
Just then, Brent returned with two flutes of champagne. He extended one to Daryle. "Compliments of Jerry." He leaned in and kissed Suzanne on the cheek, then handed her a flute. "I've got to run. But the weather is supposed to be glorious tomorrow. Meet me and Seth for a picnic in the Marin headlands?"
Suzanne nodded. "I'd love to. Noon-ish? I'll bring the cupcakes?"
Daryle just stood there and fumed. How he wanted to just haul off and punch that man's smug face. The nerve! Making plans with his wife like he wasn't even there. Granted, he and Suzanne had no plans for tomorrow—he was driving back to Napa tonight after the reception—and Brent wasn't romantic competition for Suzanne, but the presumptuousness still rankled. Brent was making it clear that he had a claim on Suzanne, a claim of friendship, that Daryle would never have.
At least he had scared off Noelle for him. It hadn't occurred to Noelle that his wife might have a big bad protector lurking in the crowd. Of course, it hadn't occurred to Daryle either.
"All right," Daryle said after Brent was gone. "Let's go find some food and somewhere to sit down. I've been on my feet all day."
The museum's cafe was open for reception seating and they grabbed a table by the large windows overlooking the street, away from the other reception attendees.
"Look, I'm sorry—" Daryle began.
"Now you're sorry."
A short, sputtering laugh came from Daryle. "Yes, according to Brent, I am sorry. Very sorry, indeed." He took a bite of crab puff pastry, to buy him some time while he gathered his thoughts. He'd already screwed up once tonight, he wanted to get back on the right footing. "I didn't know Noelle was going to be here."
"And just who is Noelle? Your old girlfriend? The one your mother wouldn't let you marry? Hard to believe it was just a week ago that you were telling me that we needed to put up a convincing front here."
"Yes, she is an old girlfriend. She was a little surprised by our wedding. You can maybe have some sympathy for her on that front?"
Suzanne shrugged in half-hearted agreement. Noelle had gotten tossed out by Iris Catterton just as quickly as Suzanne had gotten roped in. "Are you ... are you still seeing her?"
"No. No!" Daryle set down his fork, a little too forcefully. "Of course not. Actually, I'm glad the wedding ended all that. I was never in love with her."
"Well, that's hardly a prerequisite, is it?"
It was after eleven when they finally made their goodbyes to Alanna and left the reception. Inside Daryle's car, Suzanne closed her eyes and let her weight sink into the seat. How could something that should have been so simple—attending a reception for his sister—collapse into such a disaster? It had always been that way between them, she thought. Nothing had ever been simple. Maybe if
she had made more of an effort to get to know his mother back then, Iris would have known that a marriage, even a fake one, was never going to work.
The only way Suzanne could see the two of them—and their respective businesses—surviving this was if they just didn't see each other unless it was absolutely, unavoidably necessary. Take tonight, for example. No one would have noticed if she hadn't been there. Daryle could simply have said she was working or not feeling well—and Suzanne could always say the same about him.
Oh well. That was not a conversation to be had tonight.
The reception had been a rousing success for Alanna, though, and that was what was important about the evening. The museum had been packed and Suzanne had heard plenty of positive comments about her sister-in-law's paintings. She was glad, too, that Alanna had requested her cupcakes and that she had introduced Suzanne as the owner of The Cupcakery and not just her brother's wife. She didn't know Alanna well—probably never would, given the projected shelf life of her marriage—but she seemed like a genuinely nice person. Not one of those tortured, angst-ridden artists. Funny how two siblings could be raised together, in the same environment and by the same people and turn out like night and day.
Suzanne let her own mind become a blank canvas for awhile, thinking about nothing, just feeling in her limbs the rhythm of the car moving and changing lanes, curving around corners, braking and accelerating. She was completely zoned out when Daryle suddenly stomped on the brakes, throwing her body violently forward. Her head whipped back and the seatbelt tightened instantly against her throat.
"Daryle!" she cried out in fear, then anger, when she noticed how close they were to the car in front of them. So close, she couldn't even see the brake lights on the car. Daryle had nearly rear-ended a large SUV at a stoplight.
Cupcakes & Chardonnay Page 6