Crush on You (23 page)

“She’s great, you know? Funny and smart as a whip.”

“Maybe too smart,” Penn put in.

“What? Nah. When she called about a job, I figured you didn’t have an opening on
Build Me Up
. So I took her on as my assistant. I’m showing her the ropes here since we’ll be doing this quick and dirty. I’ll man the camera and show Lana how to handle the sound. Good, huh?”

Penn looked away. “Sure.”

“I feel like I’ve known her forever,” Roger enthused. “And the way she’s just made herself at home in my place . . . I can’t tell you how great it is that we’re living together now.”

Alessandra smiled as he waxed poetic about Lana and all her charms. Obviously he’d been struck by Cupid, and couldn’t help but bleed admiration and accolades. A rare combination of beauty and brains, he said. A woman with talents, many of which he’d yet to tap. When the subject of all this talk turned to look back at the two men, Alessandra smiled at her. Of course Lana Lang had a striking appearance, but surely she must be just as lovely inside to engender all this high regard from the adorable Roger.

“Be careful,” Penn was saying to the man. “Don’t get in over your head. Sex is just that, pal. Sex.”

Alessandra winced at the bald sentiment. Not that she disagreed, but didn’t he notice Roger’s crestfallen expression?

Still, Penn continued, his voice urgent. “Don’t go leaping before—”

Alessandra stopped him mid-warning. “Hey,” she said, stepping up to take each man by the arm. “We’re all moving on. You two don’t want to miss my sister revealing the secrets of sparkling wines, which include the second fermentation, the flash-freezing of the lees . . .”

Her sunny smile didn’t budge Penn’s feet. She leaned around his stiff body to look into his eyes. “C’mon, Penn, we’re all moving ahead.”

After a moment he let out a sigh. “Yeah. Sure. I guess so.”

Roger strode away to catch up to Lana. Alessandra saw him slide a hand down the back of her arm, then entwine her fingers with his. She was the one sighing now, as the producer lifted their joined hands to his mouth. “Aaah,” she whispered.

“Ah, shit,” Penn replied.

Her head whipped toward him, and that’s when Alessandra realized he wasn’t replying to her. He was commenting again, his eyes focused on his friend’s new girlfriend. As if she felt his stare, Lana glanced over her shoulder and the clash of her gaze with Penn’s sent a jolt through Alessandra.

His body hummed with tension. Something sparkled in the blue depths of the blonde’s eyes.

Penn and Lana. Lana and Penn.

There was no doubt about it . . . and from that shared look she’d just witnessed, “it” wasn’t completely over. At least not on his side. Clearly, Penn Bennett had feelings for a woman who was now with another man.

Poor Penn, she hastened to tell herself. She should feel sorry for poor Penn.

Except it wasn’t pity she was feeling, she realized, unless pity felt a little hot and a lot interested in kicking him in the back of the knees. Because face facts: “Poor Penn” had gone to bed with her when he was emotionally involved with someone else!

Though Alessandra shouldn’t care about that, right?

Sex was just sex, so it should mean nothing to her that he had unrequited feelings for some blond bimbo who wore her skirt way too short—no matter what the good folks from Beverly Hills would think or not think about that. The hot feeling crackling under Alessandra’s skin, the ball of ire in her belly, was due to lack of sleep or something. Dropping her hold on Penn, she inched away.

He glanced down at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, because the lack-of-sleep excuse wasn’t worth mouthing to the man who’d been the partner in her brief-now-over affair.

Alessandra acted as bait, but it was Stevie’s idea to kidnap Gil. One minute he was locking the office door of Edenville Motor Repair, and the next he was responding to her voice warbling through the open door of one of the Napa Princess Limousine’s fleet. “Gil . . . Gil, can you give me a hand in here?”

Gentleman to the marrow, he hastened toward the sedan and then eight pairs of female hands reeled the Italian Stallion into the dark leather interior. Stevie, acting as chauffeur, snapped closed the locks once the door was shut behind him.

Gil blinked at the legion of young women in cocktail dresses. Then he grinned. “All right, I’ll go along quietly, sweethearts, as long as you promise there’ll be handcuffs later.”

Alessandra shook her head. Her cousin’s easy way with women reminded her of Penn—but she wasn’t thinking of Penn tonight. This was a girls’ night—Gil really didn’t count in this particular instance—and she was determined to keep her focus on something other than Pining Penn and the Hollywood hottie he couldn’t forget.

Stevie pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street as she called through the open privacy panel. “Sorry, bud, this celebration’s not for you . . . it’s Clare’s bachelorette party.”

“Oh no,” he said, a look of panic crossing his face. “Don’t make me—”

“You’re the Man of Honor,” Giuliana reminded him. “It’s your job to be there.”

“Nobody told me, and if they had I wouldn’t have—”

“Exactly,” she continued. “That’s why we decided to make it a surprise for you . . . as well as for Clare.”

“She doesn’t know about this.”

“Nope. Another limo is kidnapping her, too.”

Alessandra didn’t understand the look of dread on her cousin’s handsome face. “How bad can it be, Gil? You know you love the ladies.”

“Yeah. Love ’em.” He closed his eyes. “Is there a beer lurking in that fridge?”

Two of the single girls cheered, and then a double-fist of longnecks were passed down the row. Gil took them both, hammering down one, then the other. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and said just a single word more. “Again.”

A two hundred twenty-five pound man could pack away a lot of alcohol to little effect, Alessandra discovered as they made their way into the small restaurant they’d rented for the evening on the outskirts of Edenville. It was a mom-and-pop place that was usually open only for breakfast and lunch, but was available for special evening events. The bridesmaids had decorated with flowers and streamers and paper wedding bells. Alessandra’s added touch was a R2-D 2 dressed as a bride and C-3PO in groom-wear.

When she set them on the table they’d designated as the bar at the rear of the room, Gil appeared woozy for the first time. He grabbed another beer from the ice bucket and rocked back on his feet as he stared at the Star Wars robots. “Those are wrong,” he muttered. “Some pairings are just not meant to be.”

Alessandra frowned. “Is it some sort of geek sacrilege? I don’t know all the rules.”

“Me neither,” Gil muttered. He threw himself into a chair at a nearby table. “For example, I thought these kind of parties were man-free zones.”

“Except for those men willing to striptease,” Stevie said, striding up to them.

Gil jumped from his chair. “I’m not—”

“Kidding, big boy.” Stevie pushed him back into his seat. “We nixed the nude dancers because we figured Clare’s mother and in-laws-to-be would faint from the fun of it.”

Gil drained his latest beer. “Don’t tell me they’re going to be here, too.”

Commotion at the doorway drew their attention. Another contingent of women had arrived, including Clare, her mother, and some of Jordan’s female family members. “Great,” Gil said. Standing up, he reached for another beer, then started toward the newcomers. “Better get this over with.”

Giuliana brushed past him on her way to join Alessandra and Stevie. Her eyebrows rose in question. “What’s with the death march? Gil looks like he has an appointment with Madame Guillotine.”

Stevie fished a bottle of water from the ice. “I never waste my time trying to figure out men.”

Stepping closer, Giuliana tapped her plastic glass of wine against Stevie’s beverage. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Uh-oh,” Alessandra said. Her sisters sat down at the table Gil had vacated and she took a third chair. They were in an out-of-the-way corner, far from the celebrating crowd, but she lowered her voice, anyway. “Jules, does this mean it’s definitely over between you and that guy from Redondo Beach . . . Dusty?”

“Dustin.” She studied the wine in her glass. “He started talking the whole shebang. Living together. Marriage.”

“And you weren’t ready,” Stevie supplied.

“I know I’ll never be ready for what he wants. He’s crazy for kids.”

Alessandra’s gaze jumped to meet Stevie’s over their older sister’s head. They exchanged an unspoken,
Huh?

“You, um,” Alessandra cleared her throat, “like kids.”

“I like kids, I just don’t want them,” Giuliana said, her tone flat. “So Dustin and I broke up. What was the point?”

A breakup, a no-babies decree, where to start? “Well.”

Stevie drummed her fingers against the tabletop for several moments, then spoke. “All right, I’ll just spit it out—and you can say I’m taking this wrong, but I can’t keep quiet. When you say you don’t want kids, Jules, it feels like you’re rejecting what we had. That somehow our family, that me, that Allie . . . that you don’t value us.”

Giuliana didn’t look up, didn’t reply, and Alessandra jumped into the silence. “A woman isn’t required to want kids, for goodness’ sake. You know that, Stevie. We all know that. As a matter of fact—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t yearn for little fat-cheeked
bambinos
, Allie,” Stevie interjected. “You’re the most traditional of the three of us.”

“You say that because I was going to be married at twenty. But have you ever thought that maybe I was too young to make that kind of decision? Maybe it was a mistake and nobody saw that through the romance of it all . . .” Her voice drifted off as she registered the shock on both her sisters’ faces.

Where had that come from? Why had she spoken aloud private musings that only showed up in the middle of deep, dark nights? Heat flooded her face. “Anyway, how is the Nun of Napa going to make any of those fat-cheeked bambinos you’re talking about? Immaculate Conception?”

Pity supplanted the surprise on Stevie’s face. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Your sex life is arguably the worst of anyone’s in this room. Maybe in the entire valley.”

Alessandra sniffed, ignoring the guilty image of a naked Penn Bennett beside her in bed. He was out of her mind, remember? “Thank you.” Then she frowned. “I think.”

Giuliana suddenly grabbed her hand. Then Stevie’s. “You’ve got it wrong,” their sister said in a fierce whisper. “I value you, insults and nosiness included. I
cherish
you.”

Tears stung Alessandra’s eyes. She looked over, to see Stevie suffering the same. “Then stay,” their middle sister said. “Allie wants to make a go of the winery, and we can’t do that without you.”

“I can’t guarantee that will happen if I move back,” Giuliana said. “If we survive the summer—and that’s a big ‘if’ right there—that’s just the beginning.”

Alessandra squeezed her sister’s fingers, her throat tight. “If we survive the summer, then we set the next goal. Making it to New Year’s, then making it to the one hundredth birthday next June. I’m sure we can do it, Jules. Say you’ll stay.”

A small smile curved Giuliana’s mouth, then she shrugged. “I already gave my notice. Since I’ve been on a leave of absence since March, they weren’t surprised.”

Stevie’s jaw dropped, then she cuffed her big sister on the side of the head.

“Ow!”

“When were you planning on telling us?” she demanded.

“I only made the call today. With
Wedding Fever
giving us the promo . . . I decided to take a page from Allie’s book and have some faith in happy endings.”

Stevie beamed Alessandra’s way. “Gotta love the little sap.”

“Hey.” Alessandra’s glare softened as she turned her gaze on her oldest sister. “But are you sure, Jules? What about . . . are you okay about being so near, um, Liam?”

Her sister’s gaze dropped, but her voice held firm. “Of course.”

Alessandra took her at her word. She knew she was smiling, because this was great, the Mouseketeers were a trio again and it was the kind of distraction that would keep her from thinking of Him-Who-Was-Heartbroken. “Then let’s tell everyone!”

Giuliana laughed. “This is Clare’s big night. And I’m not sure ‘everyone’ will really care.”

“At least let’s tell Gil.” Getting the news outside their small circle of sisters would make it feel more real. “He’s going to be so happy for us.”

Their three heads turned toward him.

Alessandra’s exuberance dipped. Clare stood at the front of the room, surrounded by other women. Her face was flushed, and she had a near-empty glass of wine in her hand. From the looks of things, it wasn’t the first she’d drained. The usually reserved Clare was chatting away, making large gestures with her free hand.