Crush on You (27 page)

She pushed a handful of her coffee-dark hair over her shoulder. “I . . . I’m sorry.” Her gaze darted from Penn to the couple. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” he hastened to assure her. No way would he admit his idiocy in front of Alessandra. He glanced at Roger and Lana. “You remember—”

“The Nun of Napa!” Lana crowed the phrase. “We had dinner at Oliver’s last night after we returned to Edenville and heard all about you there.”

“Including the wedding that wasn’t,” Roger said quietly. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

And Penn was damn sorry the other man had brought it up. She was moving on from that time and from Saint Tommy—or shit, maybe she wasn’t, since as far as Penn could tell she wasn’t ready to stop keeping her affair with him a secret.

She barely looked at him as she stepped into the main room. “Thank you.” On strappy short-heeled sandals, she turned to regard the new doors. “These look good.”

And so did her small toes, gleaming with a color that matched her dress. Their appeal—her toes!—pulled him to her side. “You’re late this morning,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Her gaze flew toward him, color rising on her throat. “Well . . . um . . .”

With his fingertip, he drew a line along the slope of her smooth shoulder. She was so lovely she made him ache from his molars to his soles. Without thinking, he moved in, wanting a taste of that sweet mouth. His palm circled her upper arm. “Baby,” he whispered.

Yet another shadow darkened the doorway. “Am I late?”

Sally Knowles, Saint Tommy’s mother. Penn’s hand dropped. Alessandra shifted out of his reach. “You’re right on time, Sally,” she said.

The older woman beamed at Penn. “We’re going over the decorations for Clare’s big day. It looks as if you’re finished with the cottage.”

“Just about,” he replied, then turned to the other two in the room. “Sally Knowles, this is Roger McCann and Lana Lang.”

“The ones I told you about—from
Wedding Fever
,” Alessandra added.

“
Wedding Fever
!” she exclaimed. “I’m such a fan of the show, particularly since my daughter Clare is getting married here in a few short days. The first wedding in the Tanti Baci cottage! Let me get your opinion . . .”

Apparently, assuming the couple were experts on marriage ceremonies, Sally waxed on about her plans. “Grapevine swags along the benches to frame the center aisle. We’re having real grape clusters—chardonnay, not that it matters, because at this time in the growing season even the cab grapes are pale green—wired to the vines along with white roses. Those are Clare’s colors—pale green and ivory.”

White rose petals would carpet the walkway to the front of the cottage and the flower girls would scatter red petals on their way up the aisle. A few fairy lights “of course” would light the room, even though it was an afternoon wedding. Besides the unity candle the bride and groom would light, there would be another candle as well.

“It’s to be in Tommy’s honor,” Sally said, her expression losing some of its excitement. “My son who died on his wedding day.”

“We heard about that,” Roger murmured, his forefinger rubbing over his chin. Penn had known him for long time, and there was something turning in the back of the man’s mind.

Sally spun toward Alessandra. “And we’ll have you light it, Allie.”

She started. “What? I thought Clare—”

“Being stubborn.” Sally waved a hand. “Following the bride’s processional and after the minister welcomes the guests, you’ll move to Tommy’s candle. It will be as if he’s right here with us.”

Christ. The stricken look on Alessandra’s face pierced Penn through the chest. Couldn’t she have a moment when she wasn’t Tommy’s girl? He moved toward her, thinking to offer her comfort, and maybe show Sally that the Nun of Napa had another man on her mind now.

“Lana . . .” The speculation in Roger’s voice halted his steps.

Oh no, Penn thought. He glanced back at his friend, who was clearly working on a plan. As one of the best of the production team at
Build Me Up
for the first three seasons, Roger had worn that exact same expression many times.

“Lana, see if you can get a hold of Dom and Kenny. That is—” Roger glanced at Sally and smiled.

Penn had forgotten his friend’s charming yet crafty smile.

Sally blinked. “That is?”

“If you think your daughter and her fiancé wouldn’t mind if we filmed the ceremony. We were planning a short segment on Tanti Baci, but if we stretch it we can give more attention to the winery and give our audience another tug to the heart by honoring Tommy’s memory.”

Sally’s reaction was instant, overwhelming delight. Alessandra, on the other hand—from the frozen expression on her face—was torn between being happy about the extra attention for Tanti Baci and dismay at the focus it would put on her own disastrous day.

Swearing under his breath, Penn strode to her, catching sight of the tears in her eyes as she turned her back. With Sally involved in enthusiastic conversation with Roger and Lana, he took the chance to run his hand down the length of Alessandra’s long hair. “Honey . . .” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice tight, her back stiff. “This is great. Terrific publicity for Tanti Baci.”

His heart ached for her. What a good little soldier. “Are you sure? Look, I can talk to Roger . . . I’ll tell him . . .”

Oh, hell. He did have things to tell Roger—and now that was a much bigger problem.

If Alessandra was determined to go through with this filming, then he’d have to keep the truth about Lana to himself for a while longer. In reaction to the news, Roger might head back to L.A., and Penn wasn’t going to risk ruining this opportunity for Alessandra.

He’d do anything for her.

The thought startled him. What? Anything?

Dude, you’re surprised?
a voice inside him said.
Face it, you’d do anything for the girl because—

Alessandra suddenly swung to face him. Startled again, he stepped back, though he was damn glad of the interruption to that dangerous “because.”

“You should talk to someone, Penn,” she said, her voice low and insistent.

“What?”

Her hand grasped his. “And I don’t mean Roger. Life’s short, you know. Very, very short. If you care for her, if you love her, you should let her know.”

He did love her, damn it.

God.
His heart pounded, thumping against his chest wall. He was in love. He was in love with Alessandra.

“Let Lana know, Penn.”

Let
Lana
know?

And then he understood, and oh, it was almost funny. Or completely screwed up. Because the woman he just realized he loved was convinced he cared for someone else. Alessandra was still squeezing his right hand so he used his left to cover his eyes. He couldn’t let her see.

He couldn’t tell her the truth.

The way things were now, Lana was an obstacle between Alessandra and himself. And he needed all the obstacles he could get. Anything that might squelch these feelings he had for Alessandra Baci. Because it was beyond inconvenient to be in love with the Nun of Napa, the woman who was forever connected—through love and community—to another man.

Clare stood on a platform in the middle of Susie Lee’s Alterations as Susie herself bustled about, checking the final fit of the wedding gown. The tiny, crowded shop was wedged between a trendy bistro and an elegant wine shop. Typical Edenville, with the pleasurable existing side-by-side with the practical.

“You look fabulous,” Allie said from a tiny chair set beside a tall stack of fashion magazines. “You love it, don’t you?”

Clare inspected her reflection, not ready to commit to “loving” it. She ran her fingers over the new stays that had been sewed into the bodice before meeting the layers of petticoat and ivory fabric that created the full, ballet-length skirt. It had been her grandmother’s dress, which they’d updated by removing the long fitted sleeves of chiffon as well as the matching material that had been sewn from the sweetheart neckline to the throat. Now it was a simple, strapless garment that clung to her breasts, ribs, and waist until belling into that frothy skirt at the hipline.

From the chair beside Allie’s, her mother sighed.

Clare suppressed hers. “I’m sorry, again, Mom, that we couldn’t use your dress. But that tear in the skirt—”

“No, no, no,” Sally said. “I’m not thinking about that at all anymore. I’m just basking in how perfect this is turning out to be.”

Both Clare and Allie stared at the older woman. She’d been dithering and anxious about the upcoming wedding for months. Nothing—from the invitations to the favors—had been found completely suitable.

“Mom . . .” Clare shook her head. “Did Dad prescribe you a tranquilizer or something?”

“No.” Sally laughed. “Though I confess I sampled a bottle of the Tanti Baci
blanc de blancs
after talking to those
Wedding Fever
people.”

Clare stifled a groan. The idea of her ceremony being filmed for the television program made her belly flip like a pancake, but it thrilled her mother. Not only that, but Allie had confessed that the additional exposure would be fabulous for the winery and though Jordan had claimed he didn’t care whether they had five witnesses or five million, she’d heard the lilt of excitement in his mother’s cultured voice when Clare had floated the idea by her via telephone. So she hadn’t voiced her objections.

Everyone was in a good mood about the upcoming day but Clare. At this moment the idea of walking down the aisle was daunting, with or without cameras watching. But she’d stepped aboard the marriage train months ago and there was no disembarking now.

Susie climbed onto a stepladder to arrange the veil on Clare’s head. This was her mother’s, a long fall of tulle that would be tucked under a simple top knot.

Gasping, Sally rose to her feet. “Oh, Clare.”

The refrain of her life.

Oh, Clare, you’re not still watching that old TV show.

Oh, Clare, why can’t you be more like your brother.

Oh, Clare, you’re not bringing that Italian boy home yet again.

“Oh, Clare,” her mother said again now, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

“Mom . . .” Lifting her skirt, she made to hop off the platform.

“No, no. Stay right there,” Sally implored. Her palms covered her heart. “Let me soak in this sight.”

Tears of joy? But they must be, because that was a smile on her mother’s face, a wide smile that Clare hadn’t seen in five years, not since her brother Tommy died.

It was impossible not to smile back. “It looks okay?”

“It looks wonderful. You look wonderful. I’m so happy.”

“Get your cell phone out, Allie. Take a picture. Mom’s happy.” She was teasing, but really, the photo wasn’t a bad idea. They’d walked through shadows for months upon months, years now, and for the first time Clare believed they might see the sun again.

Her mom even laughed. “I know it’s been a long time coming, but today . . . today I think I am finally, finally moving on.”

Clare’s breath caught in her chest. “I’m so glad,” she said, her voice breaking.

“You and Jordan marrying,” Sally said, “that’s going to be the signal for all of us to start living again.”

Her own mood almost giddy now, Clare itched to get to her own phone to pass along the good news. Gil would . . . Guilt stopped that line of thought.

Jordan
was the one she’d call. He’d been so busy at work that she’d spent little time with him during the last two months. She didn’t think they’d ever been alone. But give her a few minutes of privacy and she’d phone her fiancé and impart the astounding news that her mother, who had been ready for the rubber room and the straitjacket—or who had gotten Clare ready for those two items anyway—was at last relaxed.

And because of that, so was the bride.

She looked at herself in the long mirror. Flushed, bright-eyed, focused on the future.

But five minutes later, down a short hall and behind a dressing room door, doubts flooded in again. With Allie gone back to the winery and her mother engrossed in conversation with Susie out front, Clare had those moments of privacy she’d sought. In two breaths she had her cell in hand and it was on instinct alone that her trembling finger punched a number.

“I need to see you. I need to see you right this minute.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Don’t say anything yet, just go to the alley door behind Susie Lee’s tailoring shop.”

Still dressed in the gown, she slipped out of the dressing room and unlatched the door leading to the alley, opening it scant inches. When she caught sight of him, she grabbed his arm and yanked his body through the opening, the door shutting behind him.

She towed him to the dressing room and locked them inside. “Clare,” Gil said, shoving a hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he looked her over. “Isn’t this bad luck or something . . . ?”