Secret Ingredient: Love (12 page)

She nodded. “Good night, Alex.”

If only it could be goodbye to cabin, boss, job, her heart would stay in one functional piece. But she still
had four weeks left on her contract. Not to mention that she’d agreed to do the food for his brother’s wedding.

When that obligation was over, no more socializing outside of work.

“Good night, Fran.”

He disappeared into his room, but the deep, masculine sound of his voice made her want to march up to that closed door and beg for entrance. And how was that different from the way she felt about him at the office?

She sighed. It was going to be a very long four weeks.

Chapter Ten

J oe Marchetti’s wedding to Liz Anderson had gone off without a hitch. Well, maybe one. They were now hitched, as in man and wife, Fran noted with a small smile.

The ceremony had been lovely. In deference to Valentine’s Day the color scheme was red and white. The groom was handsome in his less formal than a tuxedo black suit, cream shirt and red tie. The bride was radiantly lovely in a floor-length, long-sleeved white chiffon gown. Her pretty maid of honor, Samantha Taylor, wore a long red velvet dress.

Dinner had gone off without a hitch, too. Fran had breathed a sigh of relief when the bride and groom had thanked her. The food had been as big a success as everything else. In the corporate kitchen, she had prepared chicken, fish and beef entrées and all the trimmings, then it had been transported to Flo and Tom Marchetti’s home for the small affair. It was a week-night because of the newlywed couple’s determination
to have their anniversary on Valentine’s Day. Such an achingly romantic gesture.

Fran groaned inwardly. Until she’d grown up and grown cynical, she’d had a special someone for her valentine every time the day rolled around. Joe had paired her with Alex at the wedding, but she wouldn’t let him be special to her. It would hurt too much on February 15, when she was alone again.

If she could get through this entire day set apart for lovers and not do anything stupid, like fall in love, she would be a happy girl. In the mountains a week ago, she’d accused Alex of being susceptible to the suggestion of Valentine’s Day. Now here they were at ground zero, and what could be more magical than a wedding? But so far Alex had been polite, yet reserved. And, hard as she’d tried, she couldn’t seem to suppress the disappointment she felt at his indifference.

The Marchettis home was a one-story, rambling California ranch style. There was a whole lot of square footage, and whenever Fran had to go anywhere by herself, she resisted the urge to drop a trail of bread crumbs in order to find her way back. The tastefully decorated rooms were done in shades of beige, hunter green and coral. For the reception, they had moved the chocolate-colored leather sofas out of the family room and set up four circular tables that would each seat ten people.

Except for the food, Flo Marchetti had arranged everything: the white tablecloths with red overlaid linen; red and white roses, carnations and baby’s breath for the centerpieces. Floral arrangements sat in every corner of the house, and the fragrant perfume of the blossoms filled the air. A three-tiered wedding cake, surrounded by flowers, sat on a table.

The seating had presumably been arranged by the groom’s mother, and Fran and Alex had eaten together with a good portion of the Marchetti family at their table. But he had disappeared, excusing himself for pictures or something. It was probably the truth, since the rest of their dinner companions vanished, too. Fran rested her chin on her palm.

Then Flo Marchetti materialized beside her. “I’m sorry we deserted you. Pushy photographer. Mind if I join you? I’ve been wanting to talk to you all evening.”

“Please.” She held out her hand, wondering what the woman wanted to talk about. Duh. Fran realized she wouldn’t be winning any prizes for intelligence. Of course the woman was dying to discuss Alex.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything you did. The food was wonderful.”

Fran smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Not just me. Everyone is raving. And not only about the entrées. They want to know who the babe is. You look lovely, Fran.” The other woman studied her from head to toe. “That dress is very becoming. I like the shades of cream and beige together, not to mention the flattering style.”

“Thanks.” The sleeveless sheath topped by a matching coat with cream lapels was new, but Fran wasn’t about to share the information. She didn’t want Alex’s mother to read anything into it, like that Fran wanted to look her best to impress his family. Even though that was true.

Flo Marchetti had to be in her late fifties, but could easily pass for ten years younger. She was trim and at least five or six inches taller than Fran, which made her glad they were sitting down. The other woman’s
short, silver hair was fashionably styled, with wisps framing her relatively unlined face.

Fran tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look terrific, too,” she said sincerely. “Your dress is also very becoming.”

“How nice of you to say that.” Flo glanced down at her floor-length, peach-colored, two-piece suit. “At the rate my children are getting married, I’m going to have a closetful of dresses that I can’t ever wear again.”

“I can tell that you’re just hating every minute of this wedding,” Fran commented wryly.

The other woman grinned. “I couldn’t be happier. And truthfully, I didn’t have to buy a dress for Rosie’s wedding. She and Steve married in Reno.”

“I didn’t know she eloped,” Fran said.

“It wasn’t an elopement, exactly. You’ll have to ask her to tell you the story sometime. It’s very romantic.”

“I will.”

“Three down, two to go,” the older woman sighed.

Fran laughed politely, but the words tugged at her heart. She looked at the other woman’s radiant face. Did she know that Alex was never going to marry?

“Did you and Alex have a nice time at the cabin? We were in the middle of wedding plans, and Alex was the only one available to go to your rescue.”

Fran studied her for signs of fibbing. Nick had been best man tonight, but it was on the tip of her tongue to demand what had made Luke too busy to bail her out. Literally. Common sense prevailed and she struggled to keep her expression bland. Nice wasn’t quite the adjective she would use to describe their time at the cabin. Frustrating would be more accurate. Knowing he was there, but she couldn’t touch him the way
she wanted, or be with him the way he’d made her need, was her hell on earth. Thank God the roads were safe the next day and she’d been able to leave. Leave? Full retreat was more like it.

“The mountains were wonderful,” Fran answered. “In spite of the flood, the cabin was a relaxing change of scene.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire, she thought. No wonder she was being punished with hell on earth.

“Okay. I won’t embarrass you further by asking for details.” Flo’s gaze narrowed. “But can we talk about your negotiating technique with my son?”

“The kiss?” Fran’s gaze snapped to the other woman’s. She didn’t look upset, annoyed or anything other than the pleased mother of the groom.

“That’s the one. A humdinger, too. And a stroke of genius.”

“It was?”

“Absolutely. You persuaded him to your way of thinking without ranting and raving. Or pouting. Ingenious way to handle your boss. But risky.”

Fran nodded. “A calculated risk. I’ve never worked for a man more fair and reasonable than Alex.”

Not to mention cute, sexy and just plain exciting.

“Does he know you’re in love with him?”

Fran was just taking a sip from her water glass and sucked in air at the same time. She started to choke. The other woman patted her on the back.

When Fran could speak, she said, “I have to request that you never again say something so controversial when I’m drinking.”

“Controversial? In what way?”

Fran shook her head. “Implying that we have anything besides a mutually satisfying working relation
ship,” she said coolly. But her pulse pounded a mile a minute.

“I’m his mother, Fran. You can tell me what’s going on with you and my son.”

“Nothing’s going on. Really,” she protested.

“But you’d like there to be?”

“No,” Fran disagreed. “Yes. Maybe.” She was so confused. And why on God’s green earth was she sharing her bewilderment with Alex’s mother, of all people? Time for some serious damage control. “It doesn’t matter what I’m feeling—or not feeling. Alex has been completely up front and honest about everything. He told me about Beth.”

Flo’s brown eyes narrowed as her mouth pulled tight for a moment. “Yes. Beth.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said quickly, cautiously. “She was a lovely girl. So tragic that she and Alex didn’t have the opportunity to let their relationship play out naturally.”

An odd way to put it, Fran thought. “What was she like?”

“Beautiful. A kindergarten teacher. She wanted to be a wife and mother—a homemaker. She was very giving of herself. Catered to Alex shamelessly.”

Fran would have sworn that his mother didn’t approve of her son’s former fiancée. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” But she didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe just a little too selfless at times.”

“I don’t see how that’s—”

“Excuse me, Fran dear. I’m getting the high sign from my husband. It could mean one of two things.
Mind my own business, or Joe and Liz are getting ready to cut the cake.”

“My money is on cake cutting,” Fran said as she watched the happy couple take their places beside the three-tiered concoction.

Flo smiled and patted her hand. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you. Can we pick up the conversation later?” At Fran’s nod, the other woman impulsively hugged her, then stood and joined the other family members.

Alex was like a homing device for Fran’s gaze. She always seemed to zero in on him with little effort or conscious thought. Now he was smiling and laughing with his brothers and sister. He looked so handsome that her breath caught and stuck in her chest. He was the best looking of the Marchetti men by far. In his dark suit with the satiny charcoal shirt and matching tie, he had an air of bad boy about him that made her heart beat faster. There was a rascally quality that she’d never seen before. Her legs felt weak, like under-whipped meringue. If she’d been standing, there would have been an embarrassingly loud thud when she hit the floor.

Was his mother right? Was she in love with him? Did she want him to return her feelings?

But she was so not his type. Beth had been tall and blond and saintly. Fran was short, brunette and so not saintly. She was the polar opposite of the woman Alex had loved. What kind of chance did she have with him?

She was twenty-five years old, and had reached her adult height a long time ago. Although she could lighten her hair color, it probably wouldn’t complement her skin tone. The only thing she had control over was attitude. She could be selfless and giving if she really tried—and had a really good reason. Scratch that. She
could give it a try, say for twenty-four hours, just to see if it might work.

When family pictures were finally over, Alex looked for Fran and found her cutting the cake. Joe and Liz had done the traditional thing, and Fran was taking over now. Servers hired for the evening were distributing the dessert to the guests.

He sat down and put his jacket over the chair next to his, reserving it for Fran. Even though Joe had suggested they pair off for the wedding, Alex didn’t think of this as a date. The thought made him a little sad. More than any other day, this one set aside for lovers made him miss having someone—to buy cards, flowers and candy for.

Before he had time for sadness to sink in, there was a piece of cake in front of him. Expecting to see one of the servers, he looked up and was pleased that Fran stood there. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like some coffee?”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you join me—” Before he could get the words out, she had picked up his cup and saucer and turned away. She waylaid one of the servers, who poured steaming coffee into the cup.

“Here you go,” she said, then sat down beside him.

“Thanks.” He looked around the table for cream and sugar.

“Sorry. I forgot you take stuff in it.”

Instantly she reached for the matching silver condiment containers. Then she put in a teaspoon of sugar and tilted the creamer spout until just a couple drops of half-and-half lightened the dark liquid. Just the way he liked it.

That was surprise enough, her remembering the exact way he took his coffee. But he found himself
speechless at this solicitous Fran. Maybe she’d been abducted by aliens and a three-dimensional hologram left in her place.

“There you go,” she said, sliding his cup toward him.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. “Perfect.”

“We aim to please. And give,” she added, smiling sweetly.

“Okay,” he said skeptically. If she batted her eyelashes at him, he was outta there. This was a side of Fran Carlino he’d never seen before. He wasn’t altogether sure he liked it. “What were you and my mother talking about?”

She looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if she was censoring herself. “Oh, just food, flowers, fashion,” she said breezily.

“Really? You looked awfully serious.”

“You were watching me?” The corners of her full mouth turned up as if the idea of him searching her out gave her pleasure.

“Of course. You are my d—” He’d been about to say “date.” But that’s not what they were. “Dinner partner.”

“I see,” she said. “And along with polite conversation, you have the sacred duty to keep an eye on me for the evening?” she asked, a snap to her voice.

There was a spark of the Fran he knew and…Loved?