Unmasking Juliet (17 page)

“I want you to promise me that we’re going to win.” His uncle polished off what was left in his cup. “There’s a lot at stake here. More than you know.”

Leo grimaced at the irony of the statement. He knew plenty. Uncle Joe was the one in the dark. Leo had done something that was an arguably worse offense than sleeping with Juliet.

It had happened in the middle of the night when he’d gotten up to clean the kitchen and he’d found Elenore Arabella’s journal facedown in a pile of sugar on the kitchen floor.

He’d dusted it off and flipped through a few pages, if anything just to prove he wasn’t intimidated by it. He’d meant what he said to Juliet—the contents of her grandmother’s journal had nothing to do with either of them.

But as he’d read page after page of chocolate recipes framed by faded, pencil-scrawled words of heartbreak, he’d found himself caught up in the story. And even though he’d been fully aware that he was reading only one side of the age-old feud, he’d actually begun to feel a pang of sympathy for Elenore Arabella.

She’d been devastated when his grandmother had sold her recipes behind her back. And stunned, even though there’d been so many hints along the way. Stolen tears, outbursts of temper. There had to be an explanation.

I don’t know which pain cuts deeper—the loss of these recipes I’ve been working on for years, or my closest friend. She was like
una sorella
to me.

The following page had been eerily blank. Nothing.

He’d stared at that blank sheet for a long, quiet moment, and for the first time, the seriousness of the feud between the Arabellas and the Mezzanottes had become real to him. They were stuck right there on that blank page. All of them. His uncle Joe, Gina, Marco, Juliet’s parents, her brother, Alegra.

And as much as he’d hated to admit it, even he and Juliet.

He’d inhaled a steadying breath and told himself not to seriously consider the idea that had begun tumbling through his head. It wasn’t possible to rewrite history. And yet his fingers had itched for a pen.

“Can I help you?” The server approached the table, and Sugar wiggled with excitement in Leo’s lap.

“Yes, we’ll have another round of
antoccinos,
please. And one for him, as well,” Uncle Joe said, pointing at Leo.

The server nodded. “Great. They’ll be right out.”

“Excuse me.” Leo smiled at her. “I’m sorry. I’d rather have a café au lait, please.”

“Nonsense. You’re not French. You’re Italian.” Uncle Joe shook his head.

Not this again.
“I’d prefer café au lait.”

His uncle waved a hand at him. “Don’t be difficult. Get the
antoccino.
We’re all having it. It’s their specialty.”

The server lingered in the periphery, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Leo gave her an apologetic glance. “A café au lait, please.”

“You’ve never had the
antoccino
here. How do you know you wouldn’t like it better?” Uncle Joe pressed on. Good God, did the man have any idea how to mind his own business?

Leo opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, Marco jumped into the fray.

“Yeah, Leo. Why must you stick with the café au lait when there are other
more appropriate
coffees out there? Coffees more suited to your particular background.” He lifted a sardonic brow.

“He has a point.” Uncle Joe nodded.

Leo ignored his uncle, his sights now set firmly on his brother-in-law. “I don’t need to taste the other coffees to know that I prefer the café au lait.”

An edge crept into Marco’s voice. “That’s rather shortsighted, don’t you think? You can’t possibly know what you’re missing.”

Leo’s fists involuntarily clenched, and Sugar quivered with worry in his lap. “Why taste the
antoccino
when I know what I want? Café au lait is creamy and decadent. Absolutely sublime.”

Gina blinked and stared down into her empty cup. “Now you’re making me want one.”

“You don’t. Trust me,” Marco ground out.

Leo met his gaze full-on. “She may not, but I most definitely do. I want the café au lait. I crave the café au lait. And I’m going to have the café au lait.”

“So you’re just going to keep drinking café au lait until the day you die, even though it’s bad for you? Even though it’s much like drinking poison?” Marco gave his eyes an exaggerated roll.

The server cleared her throat. “Actually, there’s nothing terribly unhealthy about café au lait. Although if you’re watching your cholesterol, we can make it with skim milk, or even soy, instead of whole.”

“My cholesterol is fine,” Leo said through gritted teeth. “And I never said I was making a permanent commitment to the café au lait. That’s not at all what I meant. But my coffee is my business and no one else’s.”

Marco leaned across the table, his nostrils flaring. “Not necessarily. Not when a single sip of café au lait could destroy all of us.”

Gina gave her husband a swat. “Marco, what in the world has gotten into you? Just let Leo order his coffee so we can get on with things. I really don’t think a silly cup of coffee is going to destroy anyone.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Marco sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“So...um.” The server’s gaze swiveled back and forth between Leo and Marco. Poor girl. Leo would make sure she got a good tip. “What will it be?”

He wasn’t backing down. “Café au lait, please. And another round of
antoccinos
for everyone else.”

“Yes, sir. Coming right up.” The server fled before anyone could object.

In the wake of her absence, Uncle Joe was the first to speak. “I’m not entirely sure what just transpired, but can we please move on and get back to business? Even I no longer care what Leo drinks.”

Leo sat back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips. But his expression was solely for Marco’s benefit. He might have won the tiny, inconsequential coffee battle, but he had a long, long way to go before he claimed victory in the chocolate war.

15

The Napa Valley Chocolate Fair rotated every year from one winery to the next, this time landing on the grounds of the Calantha Vineyard in the heart of Sonoma. Family-owned, it was one of the smaller wineries in the area but had always been one of Juliet’s favorites.

Originally from San Francisco, the family behind Calantha had made their fortune in the city’s booming flower district before venturing into the business of winemaking. They’d brought their floral expertise, as well as an abundance of blossoms, with them to the rolling hills of the valley. The winery was bordered on all sides by a dazzling display of flowers—Lily of the Nile, bougainvillea, camellias and roses of every color imaginable, lined row upon row like crayons in a box.

A grand archway of Blue Moon wisteria marked the entrance to the grounds. Strung between the posts of the pergola was a banner announcing the event, along with directions to proceed to the winery’s barrel room for the judging of the entries.

Juliet’s mother slowed to a stop. “The barrel room? Really? Why would they hold the festival in the barrel room when they have such lovely grounds?”

Juliet didn’t know, and after the disastrous outdoor adventure the weekend before, she didn’t much care. Especially since the Arabella crew had shown up in full force. Her mother, father, Alegra and even Nico had accompanied her, leaving the shop in the hands of a part-time girl they typically only relied on under desperate circumstances.

Okay, so maybe this was one of those circumstances. Juliet was expected to redeem herself today. Not only herself but the entire family business. And now she had to do it in front of an audience of Arabellas while competing against the man she was sleeping with.

Slept with. Past tense.

Maybe.

She hadn’t actually seen or spoken to Leo since he’d left her condo yesterday morning, but then again, she hadn’t really expected to. Today was game day, after all. She shouldn’t even be thinking about Leo in that sense right now. And she wasn’t.

Right.

She cleared her throat, forcing persistent memories of the movement of sinewy muscles, strong shoulders and lean, perfect hips from the forefront of her mind. “I’m sure we’ll be fine in the barrel room. Actually, now that I think about it, that atmosphere suits my entry.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Alegra grinned and tightened her grip on the box in her hands.

Alegra, Juliet and Nico held one small box each. And that was it, the sum total of things they’d brought. She’d opted for simple this year. It was a gamble, but she was pretty certain it was one that would pay off, especially now that she knew her entry would be displayed in the winery’s barrel room.

“I don’t know. I still wish you would have gone with something more, oh, I don’t know...spectacular.” Juliet’s mother gnawed nervously on her bottom lip.

“Trust me. I’ve got this.” Juliet forced a smile, hoping she sounded at least a bit more self-assured than she felt.

“I certainly hope so,” her mother muttered, doubt clouding every syllable.

Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.

They followed a curved pathway spilling over with camellias in alternating patterns of soft pink and creamy ivory, leading behind the glass-walled atrium that served as the tasting room, toward the barrel room at the back of the property. In the midst of the lush surroundings, the huge rectangular building with a simple metal roof looked rather out of place. Almost like a barn.

Then they stepped inside.

“Oh, wow. This is gorgeous.” Alegra slowed to a stop, pausing to take in the atmosphere. “Look at all the candles.”

Juliet was looking. How could she not? The entire barrel room had been transformed into a dreamy, candlelit wonderland. An oversize banquet-style table covered in an elegant ivory cloth stretched from one end of the room to the other. Tall candelabra dripping with strands of shimmering crystals and crowned with white hydrangeas separated the table into sections for the various competitors. The ceiling was draped with broad satin ribbons, waving slightly in the cool Napa breeze. The wine barrels had been moved against the walls, stacked floor to ceiling on their sides, each one balancing a white pillar candle on its rim. Brightly lit torches stood in each corner of the room, casting romantic shadows over the banquet table.

And at the center of everything stood Leo, dressed in his impeccable chef’s whites, his beautiful face awash in the soft glow of candlelight. He sent her a stealthy wink, so quickly that she almost thought she’d imagined it, until the corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle telltale smile.

Juliet’s feet stuck to the floor.

She’d told herself she could do this. She could stand face-to-face with Leo, compete against him surrounded by their warring families and act as if nothing had happened between them. But she hadn’t banked on the candlelight. And all the billowy satin. And the heady fragrance of hydrangea blossoms, fine wine and oak barrels assaulting her on every side.

And she’d completely forgotten he would be dressed like God’s gift to the Food Network. Honestly. Did he have to look so...scrumptious?

“Juliet, what are you doing just standing there?” Her mother waved an angry hand at her, beckoning her to the competitors’ table.

Mom seemed wound even more tightly than usual today. Goody.

Juliet took a deep breath and forced her feet to move in the proper direction. Which apparently was straight toward Leo, since it appeared that the space reserved for the Arabella Chocolate Boutique was situated right next to Mezzanotte Chocolates. Of all the luck.

“Where do you want me to put these?” Nico nodded toward the box of wineglasses in his arms.

“Just set them right here on the table.” Juliet aimed her gaze at the empty spot in front of her. Then at Nico. Then at the red rim of a wine barrel.

Anywhere but at Leo or the display he was busy assembling.

Macarons. He’d made macarons, those woefully delicate, temperamental confections that no one would dare try to make for a competition in the damp, humid climate of Napa Valley. And of course, they looked nothing short of perfect.

Not only that, but he’d arranged them in three huge cones. The one in the center was very tall, even taller than the fancy candelabra that towered over everyone. Two smaller cones were lined up alongside in perfect symmetry. The overall effect was gorgeous, like the shapely geometric beauty of the pyramids in Giza, Egypt.

A quick jolt of doubt coursed through her. Or was it desire? She glanced at Leo. His mouth curled at the edges. She could feel him watching her even though he appeared to be focused entirely on his fancy-schmancy macarons.

Juliet closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. It wasn’t just the macarons, even though they were undeniably impressive. It was him.

Why was having him here, having him near, so terribly hard?

She opened her eyes.

Alegra was watching her with concern. She slid her gaze toward Leo, then back at Juliet. Her eyes widened just enough for Juliet to know she’d figured out that something significant had happened in recent hours.

“Are you okay?” she asked under her breath.

“I’m great.” Juliet gave her a tight smile. “Don’t I look great?”

“Of course you do.” Alegra nodded, her expression filled with a tad too much sincerity. “You look positively ravished. Oops. I mean
ravishing.
Slip of the tongue.”

The air stuck in Juliet’s throat, and she coughed. Several times.

“Everything all right, Miss Arabella?” Leo asked, feigning detachment. His blue eyes danced with devilish amusement. Surely she wasn’t the only one who could see it.

“Don’t talk to her,” Juliet’s mother barked. “My daughter is none of your concern.”

Leo’s jaw hardened, and he grew instantly still. Eerily so. Like a lion freezing in place in the final moments before pouncing on its prey and going for the jugular. Her mother being the prey in question.

Juliet couldn’t decide if it was the most awkward moment she’d ever experienced, or the sexiest.

“Mom, he was only being polite,” she said, stunned that she managed to sound anywhere close to normal when she actually felt like jumping out of her skin.

If the elephant in the room had been any bigger, it would have swallowed them all whole.

Her father pressed a calming hand to her mother’s shoulder. “Now isn’t the time, dear. Let Juliet prepare for the competition.”

Her mom aimed one last death glare at Leo. He stared back, his gaze unwavering, until she finally backed down. That was a first.

“I suppose you’re right. Do you need any help, Juliet?” she asked, crossing her arms, her elbow hovering approximately half an inch away from Leo’s.

This was just too surreal. “Mom, I’m fine. Take a seat. Please. I’ve got this. Remember?”

Leo’s shoulders shook the tiniest bit.

Was he laughing in the face of her confidence? She hoped so. She really did. She much preferred the idea of being angry to this...this...restlessness she felt being around him. It was altogether unsettling.

“Okay, then. We’ll go find our seats. Dom, come on.” Juliet’s mom scowled one last time at Leo and headed toward the spectator area with Dad trailing on her heels like an obedient puppy. Nico and Alegra filed in line behind them, casting their own glares in Leo’s direction as they went. Although Alegra may have sneaked a smile at him. Just a little one.

And of course, when her family reached the rows of white chairs marked for spectators, they all just happened to choose seats immediately behind Joe Mezzanotte, Leo’s sister, Gina, and her husband, Marco. Joe and Gina swiveled in their seats, no doubt to make faces at the row of Arabellas behind them. Or something equally mature. Marco remained facing straight ahead, his gaze fixed steadfastly on Juliet. He looked as though he’d just plucked a rotten grape off the vine and eaten it.

What’s his problem?

Let the drama begin.

* * *

Leo was running out of things to do at the competitors’ table. He’d already moved each of the smaller macaron trees an inch to the left, then an inch to the right and then back again. It was ludicrous. He felt like a seventh grade kid standing beside his schoolgirl crush setting up a project at the science fair.

He couldn’t look at her. Not again. Not so soon. Her mother had already just about clawed his eyes out because he’d spoken to her. And Marco was watching him and Juliet like a hawk. Gina, in turn, was watching Marco in a similar manner. Probably because he was acting like such a nutcase. Leo was beginning to wonder if his brother-in-law was morphing into a younger version of his uncle Joe. And wouldn’t that be a horrid turn of events? One of him in the family was quite enough.

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.