Miss Match (11 page)

Antonio leaned forward, grasping both Brooke’s hands in his. “This is an amazing opportunity for us. The gallery wants me to paint for them full time. I’d make enough money that you wouldn’t have to work.”

Brooke pulled away. “And what exactly would I do all day in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language?”

“Your
Italiano
is coming along well. And you’d take care of the
bambini
, of course.”

Brooke shot out of her chair. She pressed a shaking hand to her stomach and swallowed down the bile in her throat. “I thought we decided to not have children for at least a few years.”

Antonio shrugged. “Yes, but that was before. Now that I’ll be earning enough to support us both, there’s no need to wait. Italians always have big families. My mom can’t stop talking about grandchildren.”

“That’s not
what we talked about.”

“Toujour is closing.” Antonio stood as well. “It makes the decision easy. What’s keeping us here?”

Brooke folded her arms. “Oh, I don’t know. My family. My friends. My job. Toujour isn’t closing—not yet, at least. Charlotte gave us three months, and I made a deal with her. She said if I could turn a profit by then, she’d make me head of the U.S. office when she goes back to France. This is what I’ve been working for.”

Antonio snorted. “And how exactly are you going to turn a profit in three months?”

Brooke had planned to break it to him gently, but he was being absolutely infuriating. She wanted
to make him as mad as he’d made her. “Luke. I’m going to ask him to sign with Toujour and we’ll run a marketing campaign around that. It’s going to work.”

Antonio’s mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be joking.”

The door opened then, and a middle-aged woman entered. She wore a white baker’s coat, and had glasses perched on her nose. She froze when she saw them standing. “Am I interrupting something?”

Brooke sank back into her chair, and Antonio followed suit. “Not at all,” Brooke said, making her words purposefully light. “Antonio and I were just discussing work.”

“Okay.” The woman smiled uncertainly, sitting on the third chair around the small table. She set a binder on the counter, and held out her hand for both of them to shake. “I’m Sara. I wanted to start off by getting a feel for your wedding, and what kind of a cake you envision.” She opened the binder, withdrawing a form and writing their names at the top. She looked up at them, her pen poised above the paper. “When is the wedding?”

“September fifth,” Brooke said.

Sara wrote the date down. “The weather is perfect that time of year. What’re the wedding colors?”

He wants to move to Italy.
Brooke couldn’t believe it. She’d always known it was a possibility—no, inevitable. But she thought she had years to prepare for this. At least five, like they’d agreed.

“Brooke’s decided on coral, gray, and turquoise,” Antonio said. “But the swatches she’s chosen hold a lot more warmth than those tones typically have.”

Sara smiled and wrote it down. “I’m impressed. The groom usually has no idea about these things.”

“I’m a painter. I always pay attention to color.”

Sara laughed. “Well aren’t you adorable. Where’s the venue?”

“A vineyard just outside the city,” Brooke said.

Antonio grinned. “I’m Italian. It seemed fitting.”

Sara nodded. “Oh yeah. This wedding sounds fabulous.”

Italy.
By spring. That was before the wedding. If they moved to Italy, would they still get married in California? And he expected children immediately now, too?

No. This was
not
what she’d agreed to.

Now is not the time.
After the appointment, she and Antonio clearly needed to have a serious conversation. But for now, she was going to savor this experience. She’d been planning her wedding her whole life, and she wanted to enjoy every minute of choosing her wedding cake.

Even if she ended up having to choose a new one in Italy.

Two hours and eight tastings later, the cake was chosen—a three tiered white raspberry fondant cake with gray and turquoise accents and coral-colored sugar roses. Brooke and Antonio thanked Sara, and left Sweet Dreams hand in hand.

As soon as they were outside, Antonio pulled his hand away from Brooke’s. “That’s your plan to save Toujour—involve Luke?” He threw his hands up in the air. “Why do I feel like that man is destroying our future every time I turn around?”

“It’s a good idea. It’s going to work.”

“Oh yes. Luke is the picture of stability.”

Brooke folded her arms, walking briskly ahead of Antonio. She heard his footfalls as he hurried to catch up. “You’re being pretty selfish about this. It’s not only my job we’re talking about. Twenty people will be unemployed if this doesn’t work.”

“And they’ll find new jobs.”

“I thought you’d be more sentimental. Without Toujour, there’d be no us. Don’t you want to give other couples that chance?’

“I’m grateful for Toujour because it brought me you, but it’s not the only way to find love. You know I’d never have signed if my parents hadn’t pressured me.”

Brooke whirled. “You just want to move to Italy.”

“And why shouldn’t I? It’s my home.
Mia famiglia
is there.” He took her hands in his. “This is a great opportunity for us. This gallery sells millions in art every year. We’d have more euros than we’d know what to do with.”

Brooke brushed tears away with the back of her hand, angry at herself for letting them fall. “This isn’t what we agreed to,” she repeated stubbornly. “I can’t believe you didn’t consult me on this sooner. If I’d known you were going to Italy to find a job so we could move—”

“I wasn’t. But after signing the contract with the gallery, they mentioned how much more they’d be able to do for me if I was in the city. You’ll love Rome. We’ll eat gelato at the Trevi Fountain every Friday, just like we’ve always talked about.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “I know the timing is unexpected, but we’ve discussed this.”

“And what about the wedding? Would we even still get married in California?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want. It’d be more challenging to plan the wedding from Italy, but people do destination weddings all the time. This would be no different.”

Brooke wiped away her tears. “California isn’t my idea of a destination wedding.” She sniffed. “I have to save Toujour. I have to at least give it a try.”

Antonio frowned. “So you won’t even consider what I’m saying. You don’t want to move because of
him.
”

“No, I don’t want to move because Charlotte will make me head of the office here. That’s a big career move for me.”

“And this is a big career move for me. You know Charlotte will let you work in her Rome office, and you’ll be director there soon enough. Neither of us has to sacrifice our career goals. Come with me, Brooke. Let’s just go.”

She wasn’t about to tell him Charlotte had already offered her a job in Rome. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that difficult, either.”

She put a hand to her head. “Give me a second. I need to process.”

Antonio’s voice softened. “How about a compromise? I won’t complain if Luke joins your matchmaking service, as long as you agree to consider Italy. If you really think about it, you’ll know this is the best choice for us. But that doesn’t mean you can’t save everyone else’s jobs. And maybe you’ll find Luke a wife.”

Think, Brooke.
Luke’s involvement at Toujour in exchange for thinking about Italy. Was it worth it? They’d always planned on moving to Italy eventually. And she had fantasized about living there quite a bit. It wasn’t like she was promising to move by taking the deal. Yet.

“If I agree to this, you won’t so much as complain about Luke,” Brooke said.

Antonio swallowed. “I don’t like it, but yes. If he agrees, I won’t say a word.
If
you think about Italy. I mean really think about it. You know what this means for my career.”

That’s what made this whole thing so crappy—she did know. This was huge for Antonio. Brooke could even keep matchmaking, regardless of the Los Angeles office’s fate. And Italy appealed to Brooke too. The vineyards and ancient Roman ruins and romance. But talking about someday was very different from dealing with reality.

She couldn’t give up on matchmaking here. Giving up meant admitting it didn’t work. That maybe the little conflicts she and Antonio had experienced lately were a sign of a deeper compatibility issue, whatever their seventy-one percent said.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll think about Italy, if you let me save Toujour. And if you promise we’ll still get married in California, no matter what.”

“Deal.” Antonio wrapped a strong hand around the back of her neck. He pulled her toward him, and she sank into his kiss, letting herself think of nothing but how his lips felt against hers.

Several pleasant moments later, Antonio pulled away. “Are you sure you don’t want to ditch Zoey and move in with me now?”

Brooke kissed him playfully. “I’m sure.”

Maybe it’s better if we move. Antonio has to be my first priority now, and Luke needs to find a wife. Maybe we need some distance.

Luke clearly wasn’t in a place for a real relationship. Maybe she could help match him up with someone who would change his mind.

She smiled at something Antonio said. Right now, she needed to focus on saving Toujour. She could worry about everything else later.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Luke stared at the list
of names and brought the can of Dr. Pepper to his lips. He pushed the intercom button next to his computer. “I want the stats from the last six months for these six people,” he told his secretary, and immediately rattled off some names.

“You’re doing good, Luke,” Mitch encouraged. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of the desk, his tablet in hand. “The tech department confirmed they’ll have Talia 2.0 available for pre-order on our website by the end of the week at the latest. And marketing scheduled a meeting for this afternoon to bounce around ideas for advertising the business automation system.” Mitch busily tapped buttons on his tablet. “When will you have a decision on project managers for both those projects?”

“Hopefully by lunch,” Luke said. “Once Krista gets me their stats, the decision should be easy.” Luckily he’d only been out of touch for two months and still more or less knew which project managers were capable of what. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer screen. Nine-sixteen. He shook his head. He hadn’t seen nine a.m. since the funeral.

Luke’s cell phone buzzed, sliding across the smooth mahogany desk with the movement. Brooke’s ring tone. His heart jumped. She hadn’t answered a single one of his calls since the gala. He was used to her ignoring him for a few days after Antonio got back from a trip, but she usually at least sent a text. He knew she was pissed, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He was desperate to see her. To talk through what had happened at the board meeting.

“Hey, Brooke.”

“Where are you?”

He frowned, looking around his office. “Work.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Luke rolled his eyes.
Ouch.
“Um, because it’s my job. Where are you?”

“At your apartment. I’ll be at your office in ten.” The phone clicked before Luke could reply.

“What was that about?” Mitch asked.

“I’m gonna guess that Brooke’s finally ready to yell at me about the gala.” Luke downed the rest of his Dr. Pepper and sent his computer to screen saver mode. “I won’t be able to focus until after she gets here.”

Mitch nodded and closed the cover on his tablet. “I’ll go make some calls in my office then. Let me know when you’re done.”

Luke nodded and Mitch left.

It was a long fifteen minutes until his secretary announced Brooke’s arrival. Luke tugged at his tie, making sure it was straight. The doors opened and Brooke entered.

“Hey,” Luke said, giving her a hug. She stood stiff, but then slid her arms around his back for a quick squeeze.
Victory.
Luke let her pull away. Heaven forbid they violate Rule #2. “Did you come to yell at me about the gala?” he teased, hoping Brooke would smile.

She didn’t. “No.”

Luke sighed. “You’re mad at me.”

Brooke folded her arms across her stomach. “Of course I am. Did you see what the latest papers are saying?”

“Yeah, but I was hoping you hadn’t.”

“That’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

“Are you saying you forgive me?”

Brooke sighed. “You know I can’t stay mad at you. I’m just tired. I miss the old you. The you that was so passionate about his job I’d have to force him to go home and sleep. It’s really good to see you here.” She set her purse on his desk, the one she had no idea had cost him twelve-thousand-dollars, and kicked off her heels. She looked amazing in a gray skirt that hugged her legs and a blouse that was tailored in all the right places, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. “What brought you to the office?”