After her father left, Victoria took a moment to center herself. The relief she felt at gaining Rafael’s forgiveness had vanished, replaced by a growing sense of alarm. Like it or not, her attraction to him had come racing back, just as strong as it had been five years ago. If his flirtatious behavior was any indication, he felt the same way. He’d seemed pleased to learn they were both single.
Not an option. He’s completely off-limits.
Besides, keeping secrets from her family was damn near impossible, considering she worked for her father and still lived at home. After she’d graduated from college, she considered getting her own place. But moving out seemed so impractical. Her office was only ten minutes away, and she was hell-bent on saving money to pay off her father. Why fork out the cash to rent an apartment when she could live for free in a six-thousand-square-foot home in the hills?
Still, she was twenty-five. At some point, she needed to strike out on her own. Reclaim her life. Get out from under her father’s oppressive thumb.
She retrieved her phone from her desk and shuddered at the notifications. Three missed calls from Missy, followed by multiple texts, each one escalating in intensity. Fighting off a bone-deep sense of regret, Victoria called her back. “Missy? It’s Victoria.”
“About time. Where were you?”
“I was meeting with Rafael from Tres Hermanos, giving him an overview of the grand ballroom and the grounds of the estate. I thought he’d appreciate a full tour, since he’s never catered an event here before.” She wouldn’t apologize. Not when she’d been doing her job.
Missy gave a sultry laugh. “Mmm. He’s something, isn’t he?”
“Excuse me?”
“Rafael. He’s definitely easy on the eyes.”
Victoria’s jaw tightened as a rush of fiery-hot jealousy surged through her. But—as always—she maintained her poise. “I hadn’t noticed. But yes, I suppose he’s rather handsome.”
Rather handsome? She sounded like someone from a Jane Austen novel. Or a nineteenth-century schoolmarm.
Her best move was to pivot to the situation at hand. “I understand you’re dealing with a crisis. What can I do to help?”
“Can you come over? Now? It would be easier to explain that way.”
What issue was so monumental it couldn’t be explained over the phone? Unless Missy had decided to call off the wedding. Maybe she’d caught Ben cheating. At this point, Victoria wouldn’t put it past him. Even so, she couldn’t imagine Missy embracing the burden of single motherhood. The crisis had to be something else.
Though Victoria had plenty of other tasks on her plate, this wedding was her highest priority. She grabbed the binder from her desk. “I can be there in twenty minutes. Is that all right?”
“It’ll have to do,” Missy said.
Ungrateful, much? Victoria pushed past her irritation and headed out of her office. As she left the Blackwood Cellars Estate, she cued up one of her Mozart playlists, hoping the lively music would put her in a better frame of mind.
Missy lived with her parents in the ultra-rich, equestrian-friendly Los Ranchitos community of Temecula. Victoria gave her name at the gate, then ascended the hill to the entrance of the property. If she hadn’t grown up in a home of equal size and grandeur, she might have been impressed by the sprawling, Mediterranean-style mansion and the sweeping view it offered, but she’d seen enough Temecula Valley estates that few of them made an impact.
A uniformed housekeeper led Victoria into the kitchen, which was light and airy, done up in varying shades of beige. The granite countertops, the ceramic tile, the kitchen cabinets—all beige. Completely uninspired.
Missy sat behind a long breakfast bar, which was covered with Rubbermaid bins. Her reddened eyes and puffy face suggested a recent crying jag.
Victoria approached her with caution. “Are you all right?”
“No!” Missy pulled a wadded Kleenex out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “I’m miserable. It’s so unfair.”
Victoria perched on a stool beside her. “What happened? Did Ben do something?”
Missy narrowed her eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Give it up, Vicki. You’re never getting him back.”
Victoria didn’t rise to the bait, even though she loathed being called Vicki. Rather than respond with snark, she tried for a sympathetic tone. “If it’s not Ben, then what is it? The pregnancy?”
“I’m almost four months along, and I still have morning sickness. It’s supposed to be gone after the first trimester, but that’s just my cross to bear.” Missy gave a deep sigh. “The problem is my maid of honor. I thought I could count on her, but that selfish bitch deserted me when I needed her the most.”
Victoria said nothing, letting Missy continue with her tirade.
“Kaitlyn was supposed to come here this weekend to help me with all my wedding projects,” she said. “We were going to eat Christmas cookies and watch Hallmark movies and embark upon a crafting bonanza of epic proportions. But she informed me she has to go to a tech conference in San Francisco. Apparently, her boss decided he needs her there to give a presentation. She didn’t even argue. Just went along with it as if our weekend meant nothing to her.”
“Can you get your bridesmaids to help? Or some of your friends? I’m sure they’d love a weekend of crafting at your place.” Personally, Victoria thought it sounded like the seventh circle of hell, but maybe Missy’s friends would be into it.
“Everyone’s busy with holiday events. Or with their families. I feel so abandoned.” She leaned in closer, blasting Victoria with the cloying aroma of her freesia-scented perfume. “Then I remembered I have you. Since you’re my wedding coordinator, you can help me out.”
Victoria refrained from explaining, yet again, that she was not a wedding coordinator. Her job was to coordinate events at the Blackwood Cellars Estate, not to manage every detail of Missy’s wedding. But the self-centered bride-to-be had ignored Victoria’s previous attempts to clarify her role.
Thank God she had a legitimate excuse not to spend a weekend holed up with Missy. “I’d love to help you ‘get crafty,’ but I’m running a couple of events on Friday and Saturday. Sorry.”
Not sorry.
“That’s fine. You can work on these during your spare time.” Missy stood, opened the first Rubbermaid bin, and pulled out a box. “This is a wedding-themed gingerbread house kit from Coriander+Clove, complete with a gingerbread bride and groom. It’s been custom designed to serve as a cardholder at the gift table. I also planned to make two gingerbread houses as accent pieces for the post-dinner cocoa station. And another one for the head table, with gingerbread people of the entire wedding party.”
Holy Mother of God. “You were going to build four custom-made gingerbread houses? Why didn’t you farm them out? I’m sure you could order something like this on Etsy.”
Missy scowled. “I’m sure I could. But I wanted to exude my own personal touch.”
“But four?” As a child, Victoria had attempted a gingerbread house once. It hadn’t gone well. She and Connor had given up and eaten all the candy.
“Moving on.” Missy opened the next bin and brought out a white glass ornament and a spool of crimson ribbon. “I’m using these ornaments as wedding favors. I wanted to give one to every guest, with their name written on it in gold calligraphy. The gold pens and the guest list are in the bin.”
This was sheer, unadulterated insanity. “Why didn’t you hire a calligrapher? There are people who do this as their job.”
Their only job.
For that, she got an eye roll. “My calligraphy is exceptional. As is Kaitlyn’s. We took a class together last year. She’s the one who helped me come up with this idea. But it won’t be much fun if she can’t join me.”
The list continued. Tiny golden reindeer to serve as placeholders, each of which needed an individualized place card, also written in calligraphy. An elaborate seating chart done in an Olde English script. And two hundred sets of jingle bells, which needed to be tied with green ribbons, for the guests to ring when they wanted the couple to kiss. Instead of tapping on their wineglasses like every other wedding Victoria had attended.
She could barely contain the horror coursing through her. Though she had a keen eye for design and color, she’d never thought of herself as crafty. Even if she was, there was no way one person could tackle all this.
No wonder Kaitlyn had bailed.
Missy blew out a huffy breath. “I’d prefer the personal touch, but if you have to outsource these projects, go ahead. I want them taken care of. Without these details, my wedding will be just some blah, generic Christmas wedding. I want it to be unique and memorable.” She gave Victoria a knowing smile. “As does Ben.”
Which meant if Victoria didn’t concede, Missy would whine to Ben. Then Ben would complain to her father. And then Victoria would end up facing him again, like a kid called to the principal’s office. Her only recourse was to smile sweetly, haul the Rubbermaid bins out to her Audi, and load them in the trunk.
Before she left Missy’s house, she texted the one coworker who might be able to help.
SOS Christmas Emergency!! Any chance you could take a break & come to Blackwood Manor??? I’ll be out in the parking lot in 20 minutes.
A minute after Victoria pulled into her spot outside Blackwood Manor, April Beckett appeared, carrying a small glass container. Clad in a crimson tunic embellished with tiny white snowflakes, she looked appropriately festive, which didn’t surprise Victoria, given that April was the type who embraced the holiday season with wholehearted enthusiasm.
April wiped her forehead, pushing her wavy brown hair away from her face. “Give me a minute. I race-walked over here from marketing, and I need to catch my breath.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have put the word ‘emergency’ in my text. It’s not a life-or-death situation.”
“No problem. I needed a break. Besides, it’s absolutely gorgeous out.” April handed Victoria the glass container. “Here. Freshly baked gingerbread. Took it out of the oven this morning. I know you try not to eat sweets, but…”
But few people at Blackwood Cellars could resist the lure of April’s baking. In fact, it was her baking skills that had first caught the eye of Victoria’s cousin, Brody Blackwood, who worked with April in marketing. They’d been dating for a little over a month.
Victoria opened the container, broke off a piece of gingerbread, and popped it in her mouth. The flavors of cloves, ginger, and allspice flooded her tastebuds. She closed the lid quickly. “Delicious. But I’ll save it to have with my coffee. A treat this good should be paired with a strong French roast.”
“You sound just like Brody. He already had two pieces this morning.” A little flush crossed April’s cheeks.
Victoria envied her, still in the early stages of love, when everything was so blissful.
“What’s the Christmas emergency?” April asked. “If you need cookies, I’m happy to oblige, but you’ll need to wait until next Monday. This weekend, I’m doing a giant cookie-baking session. Fifteen dozen cookies in two days.”
“Thanks, but I’m good for cookies. My issue is with gingerbread houses.” Victoria popped the trunk of her Audi and extracted the bin with the box containing the largest of the Coriander+Clove houses. She set the bin on the ground, opened the lid, and passed April the instruction sheet.
April’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. This is high-end stuff.”
“Do you think you’d be up for it? I’d need it for the wedding on December 22. And I’d pay you for your time.”
April set the instructions back in the bin. “As much as I love baking, I’m not crafty. Like, not at all. I don’t have that attention to detail. You’d probably be better at it than I would.”
“But I don’t bake.”
“Right, but this isn’t about baking. It’s about being patient and meticulous. And you’re really detail-oriented.” April gave her a hopeful look. “Right?”
“I am, but this might be more than I can handle.” She put the bin back in her trunk. “Rafael said his family might be willing to help with the decorations. I can ask him.”
“Rafael?” April gave her a sly smile. “Is this the guy—”
“Brody told you, right?”
April bit her lip. “Sorry. We try not to keep any secrets from each other. They have a way of turning ugly.”
No kidding.
“It’s fine that you know,” Victoria said. “As long as you don’t tell anyone else. But yeah, I had this scorching-hot affair with Rafael in Baja five years ago. And now I’m working with him. We’re trying to keep the Baja stuff a secret.”
“And trying to resist falling for each other again?” April grinned. “This sounds like a great setup for a romance.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Speaking of which, you never got back to me about our next book club meet-up. Are we doing it this month or are you swamped? I read that thriller you suggested, and I have feelings about the ending.”
One of Victoria’s few escapes was the impromptu book club she and April had started. They’d formed it last spring, after giving up on the company’s book club, which tended to favor dense and depressing literary fiction. Once a month, they met over drinks and swapped recommendations.
“Sorry,” Victoria said. “This month is packed. Can we postpone until January?”
“Sure. The holidays are always pretty intense. But if you need to vent about the wedding, hit me up and we can go out for margaritas.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
“In the meantime, you have an excuse to call that hot chef of yours and ask for his assistance. Maybe you two could schedule an intimate gingerbread-house-making session at his place.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing romantic about building a gingerbread house.”
“Tell that to the makers of Hallmark movies. I’d say it’s up there, along with building a snowman, making a fire, and having a snowball fight.”
Come to think of it, the Hallmark movie Victoria had started watching on Saturday had included a gingerbread-house-making scene, complete with longing looks, cute banter, and a frosting war.
Nope. Not going to happen.
Rather than put herself in that kind of scenario, she’d have to tackle the houses herself.