Champagne Deception (15 page)

“It’s a blend of our first names.  And it’s a real word too.  You know, it means ‘crazy’ in Spanish. I think it’s perfect for us, two crazy artists opening this gallery under an even crazier set of circumstances!” Coretta persuaded as Lorenzo’s expression rapidly transformed to wry amusement.

“And crazy like my feelings for you,” he added, taking her hand from across the table.

She froze, waiting for him to say more, but afraid to wish for more.  “You have crazy feelings for me?” She asked, feeling foolish.

“Crazy passion,” he began, “and crazy love.  I don’t know what the rules are about when to say I love you.  Maybe it’s too soon.  But I don’t care.  I love you, Coretta.  In a way, I always have.” He caressed her delicate wrist while professing in Italian, “
Io ti amo
.”

“I love you,” she replied without hesitation.  “I think a part of me has always been in love with you too since we were in college.”

His smile shone like pearls in the sunlight.  “And I also love the name of the gallery.  LoCo.  It’s us.  Not pretentious, not fancy.  And just a little bit crazy!”

When their panin
i arrived, the couple devoured every bite before heading back to the gallery and spending the rest of the day working.  Lorenzo commissioned a sign maker to design and mount their LoCo Art Gallery lettering on short notice.  The contractor would charge a rush fee for the service, but he didn’t care.  LoCo Art Gallery was going to open on May 1
st
, no matter what.

Chapter Thirteen

May 1
st

Morning of the Grand Opening Champagne Reception

Lorenzo and Coretta awoke at the same moment as the aurora sun filtered through the curtains.  Both were wracked with nerves about the pending grand opening.  The days preceding the opening had passed swiftly and without further
harassment.  As she stretched and rose to take a shower, Coretta hoped they had finally seen the last of the bizarre incidents.  Declan Wainwright had apparently been bluffing about holding a gala on the same night as theirs.  No announcement had been published in the newspaper, and his gallery’s website made no mention of a reception.  Coretta didn’t consider Declan real competition, but it was just as well that he had decided to be an adult about this and not go ahead with a simultaneous art reception to spite them.

“Where are you going?” Lorenzo called from the bed.

“To take a shower,” she replied perkily.  This morning, she felt as though she had already drunk five cups of coffee.  But her jitters were all caffeine-free and stemmed from the realization that the night she had been waiting for her whole life was finally here.  She hadn’t even dreamed about a wedding reception as much as she had dreamed of an art reception.

“Come back here.  And put that red dress on.”

“Are you serious?” She asked, laughing.

“Not about the dress.  But definitely come back here so I can make love to you.” He pulled the covers back, inviting her to join him in bed again.

Looking at his firm, naked body, it was hard to refuse his invitation.  She pulled her nightgown over her head and met Lorenzo under the covers.  One luscious kiss and her jitters melted away, replaced by a desire to make slow, leisurely love with Lorenzo.  An hour later, they emerged, sated and ready to start the long day ahead.  His cell phone ringing startled them both.

“Who could this be at 7 am?” He asked,
scowling as he reached for the phone.

The tone of the conversation instantly dismayed Coretta.  Whoever was on the other line didn’t have good news.  She huddled close to Lorenzo, trying to understand what the agitated male voice
on the other line was saying.  Lorenzo stood up suddenly and boomed, “You can’t cancel twelve hours before you’re supposed to cater our reception!  We paid you a huge deposit and signed a contract!  I’ll sue you!”

Coretta’s mouth dropped open. 
She must not have heard correctly.  The caterer could not be cancelling on them.  How would they host a reception without food?!  She turned frantically to Lorenzo who looked as though he was about to emit steam from his head and bash the wall in.

“British art dealer?” He thundered.  “What British art dealer?  Are you talking about Declan Wainwright?”

Coretta cursed under her breath instantly realizing that Declan had been involved in this.  Of course he had.  He may have kept his reception a clandestine affair, but he was going ahead with the petty endeavor.  The man harbored too much raw hatred for Lorenzo to back out of such a devious scheme.

“I don’t care about client confidentiality!  Just tell me that it was Declan Wainwright who paid you a higher price at the eleventh hour!  And what kind of professional are you?  Accepting a better deal from another client when you’ve already signed a contract with
us!” Lorenzo pounded across the floor, shoving his hand in his wavy hair.  Seething, he continued, “I’ll make sure your business is destroyed after this stunt you pulled!”

He flung his cell phone across the room as Coretta
tried to calm him down.  Placing a hand on his shoulder she cajoled, “We’ll work this out somehow.  If Declan could get a caterer at the last minute, maybe we can too.”

“No!  Spring is wedding season in Milan.  No caterer is going to be available at half a day’s notice!  This damn caterer is probably going to just give Declan all the food he was supposed to provide for us!” He ran to the closet and yanked a jacket off the hanger.

“Where are you going?” She asked incredulously.

“To pay Declan a visit,” he answered bitterly.

Blockading the doorway, Coretta urged, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret!  Stay here with me and we’ll call every caterer in Milan.  Please.”

She implored him with
worried brown eyes whose plea he was powerless to resist.  Throwing his jacket on the bed, he sat with her and began the tedious task of calling every caterer in the vicinity.  After the twenty-fifth futile call, he slammed his phone down on the nightstand.

“See!  I told you!  Every caterer is either booked or not answering the phone at this hour.  What are we going to do?” Lorenzo ground out.

Coretta was surprised to see how poorly he handled stress.  Was this how he always behaved when something didn’t go his way?  Or was he simply reacting to the overwhelming reality that their gallery would be filled with several hundred guests that night?  Either way, there was no time to argue.  A solution needed to be reached---and fast.

“We can prepare the food ourselves!” Coretta burst out as he rolled his eyes.

“Almost 300 people responded to our invitation!  People with elegant taste like Mario and Graziana.  We can’t throw together some amateur buffet and call it an art reception!” He fumed.

Impatiently, she demanded, “What other options do we have right now?  It’s either make the food ourselves or starve our guests!”

Heaving a massive sigh, he relented. “You’re right.”

“Okay.  Now let’s figure this out.  Your kitchen is big enough to put together a meal for about 50 people.  If I cook all day, I can make several rounds of dishes that will eventually be enough for everyone at the event.  You can go shopping for me.  Get as many cold foods as you can: antipasto, smoked salmon,
dessert, stuff that doesn’t require preparation.  We’ve already bought the champagne.  If we really hustle, we can do this.” Coretta surprised even herself with her authoritative directions.

Smirking, Lorenzo said, “I like it when you take control.  We’ll have to try that
under more pleasing circumstances sometime.”

As he slipped
his arm around her, she shooed him away and said, “No time for fun right now.  Go shopping!”

Still wearing his smirk and giving her a playful salute, he ran out of the room and headed to the market.

*****

Two Hours Later

Coretta wiped her face with a towel and sat down.  Her legs felt heavy and achy.  She had been cooking nonstop since Lorenzo left for the market.  Taking inventory of what she had prepared so far---a few salads, fruit cocktail, and breadsticks from a frozen can---she didn’t feel very hopeful that the dishes would be enough to satisfy 300 hungry guests.

The door swung open as Lorenzo entered, juggling four bags of groceries in his arms.  Franco tailed him with another two grocery bags…and Big Mamma followed just behind with a stack of covered trays.  Coretta sighed.  The sight of
Signora Butterball was to be expected on this important day.  But she hadn’t been prepared to see the woman so
early
in the day.  Still, as much as Coretta hated to admit it, they needed every hand on deck.  Big Mamma’s personality was not an asset, but her culinary skills certainly were.

“My mother and brother are here to help us!” Lorenzo hollered.

“Yes, I see that,” Coretta said quietly, walking over to Signora Fiatti and politely taking the heavy trays from her.

“
Grazie
,” the older woman muttered.

“How did you cook all this on such short notice?” Coretta asked, peering into the top tray and revealing a piping hot pasta dish with ricotta cheese.

“I always have food ready,” Signora Fiatti shrugged as though Coretta had asked an absurd question.

“Of course you do,” Coretta said tightly.

“What are you making?  Salads?  These people aren’t rabbits,” she scoffed.

“It’s not meant to be a five course dinner but a light buffet,” Coretta explained.

“This is Italy.  People like to eat,” Signora Fiatti insisted, proudly unwrapping a tray of beef ravioli.

The tense exchange was interrupted by two more people shuffling through the door.  A vibrant duo of young women dressed in high fashion
pantsuits burst through the door, each carrying a bundt cake.  With their dark tresses and vivid green eyes, Coretta knew they must be family.

“Hello! Are you Lorenzo’s sisters?” Coretta inquired, greeting them at the door.

“We’re two of his sisters!  There are two others not here.  I’m Antonella and this is Margarita,” the smiling brunette explained.

Clearing a space on the dining room table for the cakes, Coretta said, “It’s nice to meet you!  I’m Coretta.”

“Yes, yes, we know,” the sisters giggled in unison.

Bubbly and engaging, they were nothing like their stodgy mother.  Coretta decided that Lorenzo’s father must have been a
true sweetheart.  It was the only explanation for the congeniality of the Fiatti brood.

Lorenzo approached from the bar where he had been packing empty grocery bags with bottles of liquor.  The sisters breezed over to him and
each offered a quick hug.  Mamma Fiatti watched from the kitchen as she stirred a pot of marinara sauce.  Coretta tried to divert her attention from the meddlesome woman and focus on the encouraging fact that Lorenzo had obviously spoken about her to his sisters.

“Go for a walk, lovebirds!” Margarita commanded with a grin.  “You’ve been working all morning.  We can take over from here.  What is family for?”

Coretta turned to Lorenzo with a hopeful expression.  Already weary from the morning’s activities, she needed a breath of fresh air to recoup before the night kicked into gear.  Lorenzo, too, seemed exhausted and only too happy to step out for a little while.

“Thank you, ladies,” he addressed his mother and sisters.  “We’ll be back by sunset.”
He winked.

“Don’t be gone that long!”
Antonella hollered.

“They’re lovebirds,” Margarita mused, winking.  “They need some time alone.”

Ignoring their comments, Lorenzo took Coretta onto the terrace, which led down to a pathway and wooded area.  He exhaled deeply, obviously relieved to be away from his family.  “You can tell my sisters are in their twenties.  Still acting like teenagers!” He laughed.

“I think they’re adorable.  Your whole family is
so nice,” she said carefully, even though she wanted to say,
your whole family except for one big rotten egg
…

“They’re not too bad,” Lorenzo
mused.

“So how come your sisters know about me?” Coretta asked prettily, linking arms with him.

Lorenzo’s expression sobered as he admitted, “They’ve always known about you.  Since college.”

“But how?” She asked, perplexed.

“Because back in my inexperienced days, I used to ask my little sisters for advice on love.  You know I was with Barbara at the time, but I wanted you.  I asked Antonella and Margarita what they thought I should do.”

“And?  What did they say?” She asked
curiously, hoping she would like the answer.

He shook his head and chuckled.  “They said I should forget about Barbara and ask you out.  I guess my feelings for you were obvious even then.  Plus, they never had a good feeling about Barbara.  My mother couldn’t stand her.  She likes you much better.”

Coretta bit her inner cheeks to stop herself from bursting into peals of laughter.  So the terse attitude and all those snide comments meant Big Mamma
liked
her?  If such rude treatment were Signora Fiatti’s idea of
liking
someone, then Coretta couldn’t imagine the abuse Barbara must have taken.