Unmasking Juliet (13 page)

There’s something going on between Juliet and me.
That had been the extent of his announcement.

Vague much?
He tipped back his bottle of beer and took a long, cold swallow. He might have been more forthcoming with his brother-in-law if he’d had half a clue about what he was doing with Juliet. He still wasn’t sure if they’d actually gone on a date or not.

“You and Juliet,” Marco repeated, as if saying it enough times would make it more believable.

“Yes. That’s the big secret. The cat is officially out of the bag.” Behind Leo, a bowling ball thundered down the lane and crashed into a cluster of pins. His head thundered along with it. Between the bowling, the shuffleboard and the half-dozen big screen TVs, this place was killing him. “But this is between you and me only. I have enough of a headache as it is without Uncle Joe getting wind of this.”

Marco’s brow furrowed. “Wait. Isn’t Juliet engaged to George Alcott?”

Why was he constantly having to answer that question? And why did the thought of George and Juliet together never fail to make Leo’s blood boil?

“No,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I know. I’m just messing with you, bro.” Marco laughed. “I’ve been wondering why you seem to hate that guy so much. Now I know—you’re jealous.”

The night was getting better and better. “Shut the hell up, would you? I’m not jealous. I just wish you’d get your facts straight.”

Marco pinned him with a look. “Gladly. Although you’ve pretty much blindsided me. What exactly
are
the facts?”

Leo had no idea. But he knew she wasn’t marrying George Alcott. That was the one fact he was perfectly clear on.

He managed not to sigh. “It’s complicated.”

Marco’s bottle of beer paused midway to his mouth. “Complicated? That sounds like more than just a one-time thing. Are you two a couple now?”

Leo’s memory snagged on their balloon ride. She’d stuck to her guns. There’d been no kiss. There’d been a threat or two, but definitely no kiss.

I’m going to murder you.

For some sick reason, he’d enjoyed that as much as a kiss. Almost as much, anyway. She wanted to murder him, and he had no interest in being someone’s soul mate. “No. Definitely not.”

Marco shrugged. “Then you need to put a stop to it. Whatever
it
is. Sooner rather than later.”

Leo’s grip tightened around his beer bottle. “Not going to happen.”

Marco groaned. He looked about as thrilled as Alegra Arabella had when she’d been dialing the cops. “Have you lost your mind? This thing has disaster written all over it. Gina will have a fit when she hears about it.”

Leo glared at his brother-in-law across the table. “No, she won’t. Because you’re not going to tell her.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. I can’t keep something like this from her. That’s how marriage works.” Marco shook his head. “You’d know that if you’d gone through with the wedding.”

So now they were going to discuss his failed engagement, too? Great. He was beginning to appreciate how much easier life had been in Paris, when he didn’t have to worry about his family meddling in every aspect of his life.

But if life in Paris had been so grand, what was he doing back in the States?

“Rose has nothing to do with this.”

“You sure about that, bro? I mean, the timing screams rebound. And if that’s what this is, couldn’t you pick someone else?
Anyone
else? Except her cousin. That Alegra Arabella is downright scary.”

Leo signaled the waitress for another round. Clearly, this was a multi-beer discussion. “This isn’t a rebound thing.”

He’d never loved Rose. He wasn’t even sure he liked her much. He wasn’t proud that he’d let things get so out of hand, but it was what it was. He knew better now. He wasn’t made for marriage.

Besides, things were different. He was home. And in the short span of a week, things at Mezzanotte Chocolates were better than they’d been in years. He was a success here. As opposed to Paris, where he’d been just another French-trained chocolatier.

“This thing with Juliet is...” He had trouble choosing an adjective. So many applied.
Intense. Unexpected. Maddening.
“Different.”

How could he explain what had come over him when he’d first seen her standing barefoot in the vineyard that night? When he’d lifted the mask from her face and gotten his first full glimpse of her emerald eyes and her pillowy, blush-colored lips? Something had shifted inside him at that moment. Whatever it was had felt every bit as real as the moist, fertile ground beneath his feet, the grape-scented night breeze swirling around them and the starlight twinkling overhead. He’d had the surreal feeling that their meeting had been orchestrated by a higher power. Like fate, or destiny. Or some other nebulous force Leo had never before believed in.

Which made him sound crazy.

So he kept his mouth shut about all that.

“Look, when I met Juliet, I didn’t know who she was. All I know is that I felt like I’d never seen true beauty until that night. I realize that doesn’t make sense, especially now that I know she’s an Arabella. It’s inconvenient, to say the least. But you can’t tell Gina. Not yet. I need more time.” He still sounded borderline nuts. Just how much alcohol had he consumed over the course of the day?

Marco exhaled a long, weary sigh. “I can’t believe I’m even considering lying for you about this. More time to do what? Get her out of your system?”

That actually sounded reasonable. Juliet had made it more than clear she had no interest in a real relationship with him. And Leo certainly wasn’t looking for love. But he wasn’t ready to let her go, either. What he really wanted was to be rid of the overwhelming need she’d created in him and clear his head of these ridiculous notions of fate and destiny. “Yes. Exactly.”

“How much time are we talking about?” Marco drummed his fingers on the table.

“I don’t know.” He would have thought he’d have been more than happy to move on once he’d discovered what a mess he’d wandered into. He should have run for the hills when Alegra got involved, or when Juliet’s first instinct at getting caught with him was to hide in the bottom of a hot air balloon gondola. But apparently he was a glutton for punishment. Besides, she’d looked kinda cute huddled at his feet like that.

“You’ve got a week. I won’t say a word until we get through the Napa Valley Chocolate Fair. Gina will be too preoccupied worrying about it to even notice anything else. But after that, all bets are off.”

Marco set his empty beer down and headed toward one of the shuffleboard tables. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or what?”

Apparently, his time frame was nonnegotiable. Fine. Leo was actually somewhat surprised. He’d expected Marco to be on the phone with Gina ratting him out before they’d finished the first round.

Leo swallowed what was left of his beer and rose from his chair.

A week. Seven days to come up with a winning entry for the Napa Valley Chocolate Fair.

Seven days to seduce Juliet Arabella without interference from his family, all while she was plotting to take him down in the chocolate war.

Seven days to come to his senses.

It wasn’t much time, but he’d take what he could get.

11

After dusk had fallen, after all the white food tents had been dismantled, and after Juliet surmised that every last drop of Leo’s award-winning
chocolat chaud
had been consumed, the rolling hills surrounding the Nuovo Winery were still dotted with illuminated hot air balloons. They shone like a string of oversize Christmas lights in the darkness.

Closing the balloon festival with a Night Glow was a long-held tradition. The balloons were inflated as if they were going to ascend, but instead were held in place by the ground crews. Their burners ignited every so often to keep the balloons full of hot air. The result was a spectacular display visible from one end of Napa Valley to the other.

Juliet was grateful for the light show as she drove from the winery to the animal hospital. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so sleep deprived. A few hundred oversize lightbulbs bobbing on the hillside might have been the only things keeping her from falling asleep at the wheel. All she wanted to do after she picked up her sick dog was relax on the sofa with Cocoa’s head in her lap while they watched
Cupcake Wars.

She’d pretty much had the day from hell. Yesterday hadn’t exactly been a cakewalk, but today was no improvement. She wasn’t sure which had been worse—the epic strawberry disaster or Leo being crowned king of hot chocolate. And then there’d been her mother’s surprise visit. Thankfully, by the time Juliet had floated back down to earth in the hot air balloon, her mom was already long gone, no doubt making Nico’s life miserable behind the counter of Arabella Chocolate Boutique.

Juliet had felt guilty when she’d realized that while she’d been sipping champagne and doing her best to somehow
not
end up in Leo’s arms again, Alegra had taken the brunt of the strawberry fallout. Well, she’d felt guilty for a little while. Until she realized that if Alegra was truly scarred from the experience, she could always cry into her shiny new iPad.

The animal hospital was more hectic than it had been the night before. A line of worried-looking people, some cradling kittens or puppies, snaked around the waiting area. Juliet took her place in line behind a man holding a coughing dog. At least she thought it was a dog. It was completely hairless. As smooth as a baby’s bottom.

Juliet wiggled her nose. Was it her imagination, or did the animal smell like baby lotion?

“Miss Arabella?” The vet tech who’d helped Cocoa the night before motioned to her from the hallway.

Oh, no.
What now? Had Cocoa taken a turn for the worse, or was she suffering from withdrawal from Leo’s award-winning
chocolat chaud
like everyone else in Napa Valley?

Juliet left her place in line behind the naked dog and approached the vet tech. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No. Cocoa is doing as well as can be expected. She’s lost a fair amount of weight, but that’s normal. She’s tired and ready to go home. You’ll need to limit her activity for a week or so, which shouldn’t be much of a problem since she’s feeling a little lethargic. You’ll also need to keep her on a special bland diet. Boiled chicken and white rice are best. I can also give you a few cans of special prescription food.”

Juliet nodded. “I understand.”

She’d be cooking for her dog now, while she still dined on her usual Lean Cuisines and grilled cheese sandwiches. But that was perfectly fine. She would have made Cocoa a heaping portion of Julia Child’s famed Beef Bourguignon if necessary, so long as her dog was okay.

“No. More. Chocolate.” The vet tech wagged a finger at her.

“Of course not. It was an accident—one that I promise we won’t be repeating.” Because she wasn’t getting within a foot of Leo or his
chocolat chaud
ever again.

It was time to get her head in the game. And that meant she had two big priorities. First, she needed to figure out Leo’s secret ingredient so she could duplicate his hot chocolate recipe. And second, but no less important, she had to create something special for the chocolate fair. Special enough to make Leo Mezzanotte look like an amateur.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” The vet tech jerked his head in the direction of the exam rooms and kennel area. “I’ll go get Cocoa. Give me five minutes to wake her and put together a case of that prescription canned food for you.”

“Great. I need a minute or two to pay the bill, anyway.” She hated to even think about how much all of this would cost. It wasn’t as if she was rolling in money. And now without Royal Gourmet backing Arabella Chocolate Boutique, she had a feeling there was a significant pay cut in her future.

The vet tech shrugged. “The bill has already been taken care of. That’s why I pulled you out of the line.”

He turned to go.

Um.
What?

“Wait a minute.” She grabbed his arm before he disappeared into the recesses of the vet hospital. “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?”

“You have a zero balance.” He formed a perfect O with his index finger and thumb, and he spoke with exaggerated slowness, as if trying to explain something to a toddler. “That means you don’t owe us any money.”

She
so
did not need sarcasm right now. Not after the day she’d had. “I know what it means. I want to know who paid my bill.”

“Does it matter?”

Yes, it mattered. It mattered very much. “I simply want to be able to thank the person, whoever he—or she—is.”

There was no doubt in her mind it was a
he.
A very specific
he
who liked to go around buying people iPads and, apparently, paying exorbitant veterinary bills.

“I’m not sure I’m authorized to give you that information.” The vet tech glanced longingly toward the kennel area, then fretfully at Juliet’s fingers, where they still clutched the blue fabric of his scrubs.

She let go, before he decided she was a crazy person. Although from the look in his eyes, she was too late. “It was him, wasn’t it? The guy who carried my dog inside last night?”

“The one who you insisted you weren’t with?” He raised his eyebrows.

She swallowed.

He nodded. “Yeah, it was him. Sounds like a real jerk. Good thing you guys aren’t together.”

Juliet’s cheeks blazed with heat. “We are
definitely
not together.”

“Yeah, I got that.” He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t understand. It’s complicated.” Why was she explaining herself to a total stranger? Didn’t she have enough problems with people who she actually knew voicing their opinions about things?

“I’m sure it is. Here’s a news flash for you—no one cares.” He jerked a thumb toward the exam rooms. “Is it okay if I go get your sick dog now?”

She blinked. If her face got any hotter, she might burst into flames. “Yes. Please.”

She took a deep breath and didn’t allow herself to exhale until he’d gone. Embarrassment butterflied in her chest. What had gotten into her? She’d brought this on herself. Why didn’t she just keep her mouth shut and pick up her dog, like a normal person? And why had she invited Cocoa’s vet tech, of all people, to weigh in on her personal life?

Because everything about Leonardo Mezzanotte made her crazy. That’s why.

She wanted to scream. Or cry. When would this day ever end? Her vision blurred, and the vet tech’s words bounced around in her head.

No one cares.

If only that were true.

* * *

Leo left the sports bar and drove straight to Mezzanotte Chocolates under the pretense of getting a head start on planning his creation for the chocolate fair. Aside from his near-constant headache, he finally seemed to be getting over his jet lag. But he’d always done his best work alone, and quiet hours at the family chocolate shop were few and far between.

Who was he really kidding, though? He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself. He was actually hoping to spot Juliet—preferably alone, although he could deal with Alegra if the situation required—across the street at Arabella Chocolate Boutique.

She wasn’t there. The windows were dark, the parking lot empty. She was probably at home with Cocoa, running her graceful fingers through the sweet dog’s fur. He’d seen to it that the bill at the emergency animal hospital had been paid. Knowing all too well what Juliet’s reaction would be if he tried to pay the balance with her knowledge, he’d stopped by the clinic on the way to his scheduled drinks with Marco. She’d had a rough week. It was the least he could do to help, seeing as he’d played a rather big part in the tumultuous situation.

But enough of Juliet Arabella.

He’d been victorious today, but next week all anyone would care about was the Napa Valley Chocolate Fair. And as Uncle Joe had told him countless times, Juliet was the reigning champion. The
undefeated
reigning champ. Leo would wager his degree from Le Cordon Bleu that there wouldn’t be a single soggy strawberry in sight next Saturday.

He flipped on the lights in the kitchen of Mezzanotte Chocolates and slipped his arms into his chef coat. So long as he was here, he may as well get some actual work done. He didn’t want to think about what it would mean if he left and went home simply because Juliet wasn’t around. He might have had one too many beers tonight, and he might be suffering from a serious case of unrequited lust, but he wasn’t quite ready to confess that he’d become that pathetic.

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a dozen eggs. Then he thought for a minute and reached inside for a dozen more. He’d planned on making macarons. Genuine Parisian macarons, like the ones that sold for four euros apiece at Ladurée on the Champs-élysées. Dark chocolate, filled with a creamy orange blossom ganache. White-on-white chocolate, dusted with sea salt and rosemary, the perfect, unexpected blend of sweet and savory. A bittersweet chocolate-coffee blend, filled with sweet cream and topped with espresso powder. And Leo’s personal favorite—rich, decadent cocoa with a key lime filling so tart that it bordered on bitter but, when combined with the delicate cocoa cakes that made up the outside pieces of the macarons, was the epitome of French culinary perfection.

He wasn’t sure when he’d begun to have doubts, only that they’d taken root somewhere around the time Juliet had thrown down the gauntlet.

You’re going down next weekend at the Napa Valley Chocolate Fair. I’m going to murder you. Consider yourself warned.

It was sexy as hell.

It had also made him more determined than ever to win.

Leo separated the eggs and whipped the whites with a dash of salt until they were foamy. Then he flipped the speed on the standing mixer to high for exactly fifty-six seconds before folding in the almonds and sugar with a well-rehearsed twirl of his spatula. He piped the batter into disks with a pastry bag and tried not to obsess over them while they sat at room temperature, waiting for soft skins to form over the outer layer.

They were beautiful. Even less than halfway through the process, they were still magnificent. Elegant and refined in their simplicity.

But did elegant and refined win trophies? He needed to somehow transform them into an eye-catching attraction. Something spectacular that even non-foodies who’d never before laid eyes on a macaron could appreciate. Something along the lines of the extravagant window displays of Ladurée.

That’s it.

He let out a laugh as he slid the macarons into the oven, leaving the oven door slightly ajar. He would take the macarons and make a showpiece out of them. The windows of the Paris tea shops were always fitted with towering macaron towers or colorful, sculpted macaron trees. He would do something along those lines. It would be tricky—doubly tricky as simply making the perfect chocolate macaron, since he’d also be constructing what amounted to a food sculpture—but if it worked, it would sure as hell be memorable.

And it
would
work. Because it had to.

An hour later, satisfied with his plan, he locked up the shop. His test batch had turned out to be acceptable. A crack here and there. Perhaps the
pied,
the notoriously temperamental ruffle at the base of the cookies, could have been a bit more voluminous. But the flavors had been dead-on. Once he invested in a portable dehumidifier for the store, he’d be golden.

Even though it was so far into the wee hours that the dramatic lights of the Night Glow had begun to grow dim and there was still no sign of Juliet across the street, Leo felt downright triumphant as he drove home. He could win this thing. And if the powers that be at The French Laundry were at all excited about his
chocolat chaud,
they would turn backflips over a prize-winning tower made up of four varieties of Parisian chocolate macarons.

The thought of his arrangement with George Alcott and The French Laundry brought with it a stab of guilt to his consciousness as he pulled into his driveway.

It’s not personal. It’s business.

Juliet sure didn’t seem to agree.

He slammed his car door shut more forcefully than necessary. If the shoe had been on the other foot, she would have done the same thing. He’d done nothing wrong. She’d get over it. She couldn’t very well hold it against him forever.

His foot bumped against something bulky and solid on the porch as he slid his key into the front door. He bent to pick the mysterious object up, but couldn’t tell what it was in the dark. Once inside, he switched on the lights and saw it was an envelope. Even though it was held closed with a rubber band, the thick manila paper of the envelope strained at the seams.

His teeth ground together as he pulled off the rubber band. Surely this wasn’t what he thought it was.

Oh, but it was.

An avalanche of dollar bills fell to floor. All ones. Leo didn’t count them. He didn’t have to. He knew precisely how many there were—1,232 of them. The sum total of Cocoa Arabella’s veterinary bill.

Leo’s headache returned with unparalleled vengeance.

She’d get over it. She couldn’t very well hold it against him forever.

And yet he suddenly found himself with 1,232 new reasons to believe she could.