Cupcakes & Chardonnay (6 page)

She took the glass from Daryle. "What are we toasting?"

"To Iris Vineyards and The Cupcakery, with outlets in San Francisco and now Napa. To business success." Daryle clinked her glass.

Suzanne took a sip and let the bubbles fizz and evaporate on her tongue. To business success. That's what this was all about. She would never have imagined that she'd be toasting her business on her wedding night.

"Now what do we do?" she asked.

"I know what we could do," he said as he slipped off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it onto the bed.

"Good luck with that," she said.

He slipped his arm around her waist. "Lovely dress, by the way. I don't think I told you how beautiful you looked today." Suzanne spun around and slipped out of his embrace. "Or you could go down to the spa and get a treatment," he said.

"I think I will." Suzanne had never had a spa treatment before—never had the time—but she had to get out of the honeymoon suite. It was feeling smaller and more claustrophobic by the minute. She went into the walk-in closet, where the bellhop had put their luggage. The closet was nearly as big as the bedroom in her apartment. A full-length mirror hung on the far wall. Suzanne took a moment to admire the dress one last time. She planned to donate it when she got home. A friend of hers volunteered on the weekends at a church resale store in Oakland. Perhaps it would get worn for someone else's wedding, a wedding for two people who were the love of each other's lives.

She sighed. She did feel lovely in it. She loved those tiny satin roses. She had always loved that detail on wedding dresses. She frowned as it occurred to her that she should have saved them for her real wedding someday. She should have bought a dress she didn't particularly like for this one, this faux business wedding. Now she could never buy a dress with the roses again, it would remind her too much of today.

She reached behind her back to unzip the dress.
Shoot,
she thought. She couldn't reach the zipper. It was exactly in the middle of her back, in that one spot between her shoulder blades she wasn't flexible enough to get to. She did not want to go back out there and ask Daryle to help her. She twisted around to look at the back of the dress in the mirror. She tried again to reach it. She tugged at the neckline and shoulders, to see if she could wriggle out of the dress without unzipping it. No go.

She opened the closet door and tiptoed out. Daryle was in the main room. He had pulled open the heavy velvet drapes and was staring out through the big picture window. Suzanne saw immediately what he was looking at. Outside the window, the resort's grounds sloped up a gentle hill, encompassing a large formal garden to the left and a pond and walking path to the right. But beyond, in the distance, the low gnarly branches of a vineyard could be seen.

"Whose vines are those?" she asked, walking up behind Daryle.

"Rosewood Brothers. Those are some of the oldest vines around here." He turned to look at her. "Change your mind about the spa?"

She shook her head. "I need a little help with the zipper on the dress."

"Ah." He placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. "I can help with that." He slowly slid the zipper down to her waist, exposing her bare back. Suzanne gasped as he traced his finger down the length of her spine. She closed her eyes. Daryle used to do that to wake her up in the morning. He would lazily run his index finger over each vertebra until he reached her tailbone, then he would ... Daryle leaned in and dropped a gentle, breathy kiss on the back of her neck. "Have fun at the spa." Then he turned back to the window.

After three hours, Daryle wondered whether he should call down to the spa and see whether Suzanne was okay. He 'd drunk the last of the champagne hours ago. He'd ordered room service and eaten his meal and still she wasn't back. She was avoiding him, he knew that. He'd been around the block a few times, where women were concerned. He picked up the hotel phone to call, then set the receiver back down. No, bad idea, he thought. If he calls, she'll think he's being controlling.

Being married to her was probably going to be harder than he thought. And not just the problem of resisting her physical charms, although that was proving difficult already. He had every intention of being a gentleman, however, even though just Suzanne's presence in a room made his nerves thrum.

Suzanne had always had high standards. For men, for her career, for her life. Being wealthy and handsome was enough for plenty of women but for Suzanne, it didn't even begin to vault him up to her lofty standards. Not that it mattered anyway. They were married just until his mother passed away. Then he'd have Iris Vineyards and she'd have The Cupcakery, exactly what they each cared most about.

His cell phone pinged from the coffee table, where he'd tossed his wallet and keys. He picked it up to see who was texting him. Noelle. She wasn't giving up. Why couldn't his mother have taken a shine to Noelle? She was a nice enough girl. Not the brightest bulb in the house but she had daddy's Hollywood trust fund to live off of. Her family had more money than the Cattertons did. He and Noelle could have been pleasantly married to each other for a few years before they tired of each other. Then she would have crossed it off her list as her starter marriage and moved on to some wealthier older man.

But no. Iris had to choose the one woman who didn't particularly want to be married to him, who wasn't impressed by his money or his looks, who couldn't just go along with this and have a good time while it lasted.

He covered up Suzanne's meal, then crawled beneath the covers of the king-sized bed. Soon enough, they'd be out of each other's lives for good, he thought as he drifted into sleep. It wasn't as comforting a thought as he'd hoped.

Suzanne experienced her first mud bath, sweated in the sauna for the maximum time allowed, and let a very skilled masseuse knead and roll her aching muscles into submission. By the time she wrapped herself in a plush hot towel and laid down on a heated teak bench, she was so relaxed her limbs felt like putty. She would just lie here for a few minutes, she told herself, until she felt steady enough to go back upstairs. She knew she would need to be on firm footing when she did that.

She wasn't sure what kind of wedding night Daryle had in mind. They had managed to avoid that topic, and it wasn't exactly covered in the legal contract. What if he intended to make it a real wedding night? She was surprised to find the idea not distasteful to her. After all, it wasn't as though they'd never slept together. But we shouldn't, she thought. We should not get involved beyond the details of the contract. It
would only complicate things.

But what if he did put the moves on her? She sighed. She'd never had much willpower where Daryle was concerned. See evidence A: wedding, she thought ruefully. And it had been how many years since a man had touched her? Too long. She was afraid she wouldn't even know what to do anymore. Where to touch a man. Where to touch Daryle. How did he like to be touched? She tried to remember, then pushed that
thought right out of her head.

The next thing she knew, one of the spa's attendants was nudging her shoulder. "Mrs. Catterton? The spa is closing now."

Suzanne rubbed her eyes, not sure how long she'd been asleep nor what she had been dreaming about. The attendant handed her a fresh robe to wear back to the dressing room.

Upstairs, she slid her room key into the reader as slowly as she could. It was late, much later than she had planned to be gone. Part of her felt guilty for leaving Daryle completely alone on their wedding night. The other part felt relieved when she pushed the door open and found the room quiet and dim, lit only by a small table lamp in the corner and sputtering embers in the fireplace. She peered into the bedroom, at Daryle's slumbering form beneath the fluffy silk duvet.

She returned to the living room to switch off the lamp. That was when she noticed the room service tray on the table. Her stomach growled suddenly and she remembered that she'd had nothing to eat since the wedding. Even there, she hadn't eaten much. She and Daryle had been too busy mingling and dispensing with the formalities of a wedding—the receiving line, the first dance, the champagne toast, the cutting of the cake. She lifted the silver dome off the plate to see what was underneath. A chicken breast in some sort of sauce, rice and string beans. The chicken was cold and the beans were limp, but Suzanne dug into the meal with gusto anyway, washing it down with the last glass of wine left in the bottle.

Afterward, her stomach full and her eyelids growing heavier, she curled up on the sofa and watched the last of the embers in the fireplace glow and fade away until she fell asleep.

The next morning, Suzanne stood at the bathroom sink, vainly trying to cover up the dark circles beneath her eyes with concealer. She looked as though she hadn't slept a wink last night, and in truth she hadn't—but not for the usual newlywed reasons. She was just about to give up when Daryle poked his head around the corner, looking annoyingly well-rested.

"Breakfast is on the way," he said. He frowned at the concealer stick in her hand. "You look fine, you know. More than fine, really."

Suzanne stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirror. "I look like hell."

"Nothing a Belgian waffle, some chocolate-covered strawberries and a Mimosa won't fix," Daryle replied.

"That's what you ordered for breakfast?"

"For you. Me, I ordered the western omelette and bacon. I thought you'd need a drink and some sugar."

"Why? What's on the agenda for today?" Suzanne asked warily.

Daryle hesitated just a second too long. "Um, my mother called a few minutes ago. While you were in the shower. She's invited you to lunch today."

"Just me? Not you too?"

"Just you. Don't worry, she doesn't bite."

No, Suzanne thought, she doesn't have to bite to get what she wants.

A knock sounded at the door. "That would be breakfast." Daryle retreated from the bathroom.

Suzanne returned to the concealer. She was going to need more help than this to get through a lunch with Iris Catterton.

Daryle escorted her into his mother's living quarters at the winery. He kissed Mrs. Catterton lightly on the cheek "How are you feeling this morning, mother?" he asked. "I hope yesterday wasn't too much of a drain on your energy."

Mrs. Catterton smiled thinly at him, adjusting the Hermés scarf that hid her chemo baldness. "I'll survive." Suzanne recognized a dismissal when she heard one. She'd only met Daryle's mother once before this "arrangement," but she was one intimidating lady. Suzanne's stomach had been doing flip flops ever since Daryle told her she'd be lunching with her.

"Well then, I have work to do," Daryle said. He leaned in toward Suzanne and kissed her, longer and deeper than was strictly necessary for a goodbye kiss. They both heard his mother exhale impatiently. "We're newlyweds, mother, remember?" he said as he released Suzanne and headed for the suite's door.

"Sit down, dear," Mrs. Catterton gestured toward the big upholstered chair across from her. "We have a few minutes before Anna brings in lunch."

Suzanne sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, partly out of sheer nervousness and partly because she was afraid to touch anything in this lovely room. It looked like a photo shoot from a glossy magazine, one of those everything-in-its-place rooms that look as though no one actually lives there. The furniture was upholstered in white, silk drapes framed the windows, fresh flowers sprouted from crystal vases.

Mrs. Catterton waved a pale, papery hand at her. "Relax, dear. I don't bite."

Suzanne moved a few more inches back on the chair. "Yesterday was lovely. Thank you," she said. Even though the wedding was a sham, a lot of money had been spent on it. She felt she needed to acknowledge that.

Mrs. Catterton waved her hand in the air again. "No, dear, I should be thanking
you
. This wedding takes a huge weight off my shoulders. I am trying to get everything in order before I am gone."

Mrs. Catterton laughed at the shocked look on her face. "Oh come now. I took you for a sterner disposition than that. I am dying. Everyone knows this. You know this. I feel it every day, I'm a little closer to death's door. And that's okay. Death comes for everyone."

Suzanne struggled to know what to say next. "But ..."

"I know you're wondering why I chose to inflict this marriage on you."

"Didn't Daryle have a girlfriend ...?"

"Pfooh. That girl. A world-class gold-digger. A young man with money brings them out of the woodwork like termites. But you. You were different. Oh at first, I pegged you as just another one like all the rest. But clearly then, you weren't. You dumped Daryle, as well you should have."

She laughed again at the expression on Suzanne's face. "Oh Suzanne. I am a loving mother but I harbor no illusions about my children. Daryle has been a wastrel most of his life. We can be honest about that, right? In retrospect, I should have pushed him a little harder to find himself. But I thought he would come around to that eventually on his own. I just didn't realize eventually was going to take so long."

Suzanne couldn't help it. A laugh escaped as she thought of how her relationship with Daryle might have been different if his mother had pushed him harder.

Mrs. Catterton smiled. "That's better, dear. I am clear-eyed about Daryle. I also know that he cared for you more than he cares for these other women who come and go. No, no—I see the look of skepticism on your face—your leaving threw him for a loop. No woman has ever left him, before or since."