Unmasking Juliet (10 page)

Juliet sighed. “I watched him make it.”

“He made it right there in front of you?”

“Pretty much, yes.” Juliet was barely aware she was even
talking. She’d begun to have a very uneasy feeling about whatever was going on
over there between George and Leo.

When Royal Gourmet had dropped the Arabellas, the one
mitigating factor was the knowledge that George and his company would never join
forces with the Mezzanottes. Not only had George said as much on numerous
occasions, but he seemed to have developed a nasty sore spot where Leo was
concerned after seeing Juliet dance with him the night of that woefully
disappointing marriage proposal.

George had his pride. He had pride in spades. Juliet would have
bet money he would never even consider a working relationship with the
Mezzanottes. Not while Leo still went by that last name.

But there they were, shaking hands, giving Juliet a glimpse of
Leo’s beautiful forearm where it emerged from the immaculate white sleeve of his
chef coat.

She released a long, breathy sigh. So, now she was enchanted by
the sight of a man’s forearm? Surely this was a new low.

“Would you pay attention? I’m trying to have a conversation
with you.” Alegra planted herself directly in Juliet’s line of vision. “Geez,
and you were getting after me for staring.”

“I’m sorry. Really. It won’t happen again. No more Leo
Mezzanotte.”

No more Leo Mezzanotte.

Maybe if she repeated it to herself enough times, it would sink
in. What was she doing even thinking about him, anyway? Wasn’t her poor dog
still lying in the hospital, sleeping off the effects of a stomach full of
chocolate and charcoal?

She was a horrible person. Animal Planet could do an entire
television special about how horrible she was.

“If you saw Leo make his
chocolat
chaud,
doesn’t that mean you know what he put in it?” Alegra blinked
in hopeful expectation.

“Mostly. He used whole milk, cream, vanilla, brown sugar and
bittersweet chocolate. Ten ounces, seventy percent grade.” She was fairly sure
he hadn’t meant for her to know the specifics of the chocolate. But once Cocoa
had eaten it all, any secrecy in that regard went out the window. “With a little
playing around I might be able to figure out the rest.”

“I suggest you start playing. The sooner the better.” Alegra
glared at George. Or maybe Leo. It was hard to tell because the two of them were
still standing there chatting as if they were old friends. And now Leo’s creepy
uncle Joe sidled up next to them, making the intimate little gathering even more
worrisome.

Juliet’s stomach churned. “That could take a while. He said he
used some sort of secret ingredient that makes it Parisian. I’ve never been to
Paris. The closest I’ve come is the Eiffel Tower in Vegas.”

And that had been for a food convention with George. They’d
been there a grand total of twenty-three hours. God, she needed a vacation.
She’d had more than one chance in the past few years to go to Rome, but she’d
never gone, choosing instead to put the family business ahead of everything. As
usual.

Those days were over. And now the family business was wilting
all around her, much like her strawberries.

“That’s what Google is for. I’ll help you. I’ll even go over
there and buy some so I can taste it.” Alegra tapped away on her cell phone, no
doubt commencing an internet search for secret French ingredients.

“Do you think it really matters?”

“Of course it matters. You know why Leo is talking to George,
right? If no one else can make that
chocolat chaud,
every restaurant in Napa will want it. And it’s Royal Gourmet’s job to make sure
they get it. I’ll bet Parisian hot chocolate will be on the menu at The French
Laundry by tomorrow night.”

The French Laundry. As recently as last week, it had been the
most beautifully plumed feather in Juliet’s cap. Oh, how times had changed. “It
will never happen. George despises Leo.”

“Does his hatred for Leo outweigh his love of money?” Alegra
directed a meaningful look at the Royal Gourmet limo parked at a pretentious
angle across two spaces in the crowded parking lot.

Oh, God, she was right. That limousine and the ridiculous
engraved champagne flutes in its rolling bar weren’t going to pay for
themselves.

Maybe she was worrying too much. After all, she’d been on quite
a roll with the whole paranoia thing lately. Yes, the
chocolat chaud
was astonishingly delicious. And Parisian. But that
didn’t necessarily mean it would be a good fit for The French Laundry. Not
everything they served was French. Their menu changed daily, and the chef prided
himself on serving things that were new and exciting. Leo’s
chocolat chaud
was certainly special, but it was still simple hot
chocolate. And it wasn’t as if it had won any awards or anything.

But even as she tried her mightiest to convince herself that
the Arabellas had nothing to worry about, Juliet spied Alfred Richardson, the
head of Nuovo Winery, walking through the crowd, making his way toward the
Mezzanottes’ elegant white tent. And in his hands he carried a gleaming silver
loving cup, with lavish filigree handles and a shiny ornamental hot air balloon
balancing on its lid.

The Best of Balloon Fest trophy.

* * *

The trophy was huge.

Leo’s first thought upon accepting it was that it must have
weighed nearly as much as Juliet’s dog. As enormous as it was, it was nowhere
near as big as the smile on Uncle Joe’s face.

“Excellent work, Leo.” He beamed. “Simply excellent.”

“Good job, bro.” Marco slapped Leo on the back. “Best of
Balloon Fest. That’s quite an accomplishment. You know they usually award that
prize to one of the Napa wines, right? And you just walked away with it by
cooking up some hot chocolate. Gina is going to be ecstatic when she hears the
news.”

Gina had been the Mezzanotte to draw the short straw earlier
that morning. She was holding down the fort at the chocolate shop while Leo, his
uncle and his brother-in-law manned the tent at the balloon festival. Leo had
completely overhauled the plans for the tent, of course. If it had been up to
Uncle Joe, the three of them would probably be surrounded by chocolate fountains
right about now.

Leo nodded and accepted their praise, trying his damnedest to
ignore the pounding in his head. If he hadn’t been operating on a mere two hours
of sleep, he would have been concerned. He’d never had this much trouble
battling jet lag before. But he supposed his headache and general feeling of
lethargy had more to do with the fact that he’d been up nearly all night with
Juliet and her chocolate-guzzling dog than a twelve-hour flight he’d endured a
full week ago.

Either way, he would have gladly sold his soul for an Advil. Or
three.

To be fair, it didn’t look as though selling his soul would be
on the agenda anytime soon. At least according to one George Alcott III, who’d
assured Leo that he could capitalize on the balloon fest victory and get
chocolat chaud
into some of the best restaurants in
Napa. The numbers he’d batted around had been impressive enough to make the idea
of doing business with Juliet’s ex somewhat palatable. And now he and Uncle Joe
had their heads together at the other end of the Mezzanotte tent.

Leo had been annoyed when George had first shown up. Not
jealous, of course. Just annoyed. Annoyed at the thought of him kissing Juliet.
Touching her. Tasting her. Slipping the silky red straps of that bra off the
smooth skin of her shoulders...

And doing all the other things that had been occupying an
alarmingly large portion of Leo’s waking thoughts.

The chocolate rum cigar in his hand snapped in two.

Perhaps he was still slightly annoyed.

“Dude. A little tense?” Marco raised his eyebrows.

“I’m fine. Just a headache.” Leo popped half the broken cigar
in his mouth. It melted on his tongue in a pool of sweet milk chocolate
goodness, leaving behind the perfect amount of warmth from the rum. He always
used the real thing instead of rum extract. There was just no substitute for the
genuine article.

“Relax. Take five. Maybe go for that balloon ride you won.”
Marco took over the task of unloading the last of the cigars. They were going
nearly as quickly as the
chocolat chaud.

Leo frowned and massaged his temples. “Balloon ride?”

“It’s part of the prize.” Marco nodded toward a
green-and-purple hot air balloon decorated with the Nuovo Winery logo tethered
in place at the entrance to the festival. “But don’t get any ideas. I was only
kidding. If you disappeared for an hour right now, Uncle Joe would have a fit.
You’re the big star. I’m sure he wants to parade you around in front of the
press.”

Oh, joy.

Leo bent to pick up the half of the chocolate cigar that had
landed in the grass and frowned at a colorful square of thick paper that blew
past his foot. He grabbed it before it tumbled away.

“What is this?” he snapped, flashing it in front of Marco’s
face.

Marco squinted at it. “Looks like a lottery ticket.
Correction—a losing lottery ticket. So trash, basically.”

Leo ripped it down the middle, then tore the remaining pieces
in half for good measure. “What’s it doing in our booth?”

Marco shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess someone dropped it. What
is wrong with you? For someone who’s had such a successful day, you seem
miserable.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He suspected George Alcott’s
presence was exacerbating his headache. And finding the lottery ticket wasn’t
helping matters. He knew he was being irrational. Like Marco said, it was trash.
There were people everywhere. Anyone could have dropped it. Just because it had
found its way into the Mezzanotte booth didn’t mean one of his family members
had put it there. Odds were, they hadn’t.

Still. He didn’t like it. It brought back too many memories.
Memories of his dad. Memories he’d just as soon forget, like the time Santa had
left a roll of lottery tickets in his stocking instead of the comic books he’d
so desperately wanted.

Who puts lottery tickets in a nine-year-old’s Christmas
stocking? His dad. That’s who.

“For God’s sake, what is she doing here?” Marco’s gaze fixed on
something over Leo’s shoulder. He suddenly looked every bit as sick as Leo
felt.

Leo turned to see Alegra Arabella marching toward the
Mezzanotte tent. He thought surely she was on her way somewhere else—
anywhere
else—but, no. She walked right up to him.
Just the sight of her made the throbbing in his head increase tenfold.

She smiled sweetly at him. Too sweetly. “Hey there,
Sparkle.”

Make that elevenfold.

Leo nodded. “Alegra.”

Marco simply stood there, apparently stunned into
speechlessness by the fact that a Mezzanotte and an Arabella would have anything
to say to one another.

Or maybe it was the Sparkle thing. Yeah, probably that.

“To what do I owe the honor?” Leo asked, glancing over her
shoulder to check and see if she’d brought along law enforcement. Not a badge in
sight. This encounter was already an improvement over their previous one.

She huffed out a sigh. “Since no one will shut up about your
fancy-pants hot chocolate, I thought I should check it out.”

Marco managed to find his voice. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to him.” Alegra pointed
at Leo.

With her middle finger.

Marco flipped her off right back, using both hands. Which
officially made this the most ludicrous conversation Leo had been a part of
since he’d been accused of attempted dog murder.

Leo shook his head. “How about we all try to act like
grown-ups?”

Alegra slapped a five dollar bill on the table. “Look, I’m a
paying customer. Give me the
chocolat chaud.
Now.”

“We don’t want your dirty Arabella money.” Marco pushed the
bill back toward her.

Leo ignored his brother-in-law and poured her a helping from
the last of the silver servers. “Here you go. On the house.”

Marco looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads, which might
have explained the headache. “What are you doing? You know she’s only trying to
figure out the recipe.”

“She won’t.” Leo shrugged.

“Don’t be too sure about that.” Alegra peered into her
chocolat chaud.
She wouldn’t find any answers there.
Leo had heard of reading tea leaves, and even reading Turkish coffee. But never
hot chocolate.

Marco’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know she won’t?”

A little faith would have been nice. “Because it’s a secret.
She can’t.”

Alegra snorted. “Secret ingredient? Like what? A packet of
instant cocoa?”

“Yes. The kind with mini-marshmallows,” Leo said, with the
utmost sincerity.

“Whatever.” She pocketed her five dollar bill.

Good. Leo wasn’t about to take money from her. Not because it
was dirty Arabella money, but because he’d noticed a distinct lack of customers
at the Arabella booth over the course of the morning. He’d almost felt bad for
them. Almost.

Juliet is not your girlfriend. She’s not
your fiancée. She’s not your wife.
Thank God.
Her business is no concern of yours.

“Congratulations and all that, Sparkle. Enjoy it while it
lasts, because it won’t for long.” Alegra managed to aim one last sneer in
Marco’s direction before sauntering off.

The silence that hung in the air after she’d left lasted just
long enough for Leo to think that maybe Marco was going to let the whole thing
go.

That was a pipe dream of the highest order.

“Do you want to tell me why Alegra Arabella is calling you
Sparkle?”

“Not really. No.”

Some things were just better left unsaid.