Cupcakes & Chardonnay (8 page)

"Not sure yet. I ordered the appliances yesterday. But the place still needs to be painted, tables and chairs ordered, dishware ... the whole nine yards. It'll have to be simple, though. I don't have the money to do anything too elaborate right now."

"The Cattertons aren't paying for it?"

Suzanne was stunned by Karen's assumption. But of course, people were going to assume that Daryle's family was paying. Every time she turned around, there was another wrinkle to this whole arrangement. "Well, Daryle is paying for the lease on the building. For now anyway. Once things get going, the shop will take over that. But everything else, I'm paying for. The business has to pay for itself."

"Well, if you need help with painting or installing things, let me know. John is very handy with things like that."

"Thank you, Karen. I'll keep that in mind." Suzanne was touched by the offer. She'd always been a little envious of Karen and John's marriage. It was solid and loving, a true partnership of equals. At least from the outside, anyway, that was how it looked. Suzanne was learning firsthand that marriages were not always what they seemed.

Suzanne pulled the truck around to the delivery entrance. Carrying the boxes of cupcakes through the museum's catering kitchen put her instantly at ease. She was comfortable in kitchens, amidst the clatter and heat. And the aromas. She inhaled deeply. Whatever they would be eating tonight at the reception smelled incredible already.

It took Suzanne and Karen nearly an hour to get the cupcakes inside the museum and arranged on their stands on the silk-covered table. Alanna's paintings were large abstract landscapes, great washes of vibrant saturated color on the canvas. The cupcakes were frosted in similar vivid colors—bright turquoise blue, deep forest green, glowing sun-orange—to resemble one of her paintings. Suzanne had brought with her a photograph of one of Alanna's paintings that they had used as a guide when frosting the cupcakes. She and Karen traded the photograph back and forth as they arranged the hundreds of cupcakes on the table.

"I'll do the sky. You do the land," Suzanne said.

Suzanne turned back to the box to grab the final few cupcakes. She smacked away the male arm reaching into the box. The arm belonged to Jerry Paige, a bartender who worked for Brent but freelanced for caterers on his off days. "If you value that arm, you'll back away from the cupcakes," Suzanne mock-warned.

Jerry responded by wrapping his arms around Suzanne in a big hug. "I didn't know you were working this reception. Does Brent know? He didn't mention it."

"Well, the artist is her sister-in-law," Karen chimed in.

Inwardly, Suzanne groaned. That was another wrinkle she hadn't foreseen. People felt compelled to tell everyone about her marriage to one of the area's most eligible bachelors. Ordinarily, that might make sense. If it had been one of her friends or employees who had married a wealthy, handsome man, she'd be bragging about it to everyone too. But these weren't ordinary circumstances.

"No way. Alanna Catterton is your sister-in-law? I didn't even know you were married," Jerry said. "Well, you have my congratulations. Stop by the bar with the lucky groom tonight. I'll snag a good bottle of champagne for you two. Something better than the usual reception stuff."

At six o'clock sharp, Suzanne and Daryle strolled into the soaring atrium entrance of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The atrium took her breath away every time she came to the museum—the tall white columns, the black and grey striped floor, the mix of textures and materials. This time was no different. She couldn't help herself. Her eyes were pulled up, up to the ceiling, several stories above.

"Daryle!" The sound of a woman's breathy voice brought Suzanne back down to earth. "I hoped you were going to be here to support your sister." Suzanne lowered her sights just in time to see a woman in four-inch heels and one of those corset-tight bandage dresses leading Daryle away across the floor, her arm hooked intimately through hers. Suzanne had suffered kitchen cuts that required band-aids bigger than that woman's dress.

Suzanne knew she should stride right after the two of them, unhook their arms and stake her claim. What was it Daryle had told her?
We have to pretend this is real, and pretend it convincingly
Oh this is convincing, all right, she thought. We've been here, what, thirty seconds and already you've convincingly dumped your wife for—who? The girlfriend you're keeping on the side?

Suzanne took a deep breath. Don't make a scene, she told
herself. You need to find Alanna and congratulate her, then check on the cupcakes and eavesdrop on what people are saying about them. That'll make you feel better. Focus on the great publicity The Cupcakery is getting tonight. That's what all this is about anyway. Screw Daryle Catterton.

She began to thread her way into the crowd, a smile plastered to her face. She wasn't seeing anyone she knew. She wished she had invited Karen and John, just to have someone to hang out with, a little friendly company. But it hadn't occurred to her. She was usually behind the scenes at events like this. She was infinitely more comfortable there.

She felt someone touch her shoulder. She whirled around. "You'd better have a good excu—" It wasn't Daryle. It was Brent. She nearly fainted with relief and gratitude. "I didn't know you were coming to this! I'd have invited you, but ... why aren't you at the restaurant?"

"I'm going in later tonight," Brent replied. He looked down at his grey suit, the buttons straining to close over his chef's stomach, and his obviously rarely-worn dress shoes. "I've got a change of clothes in the car. Jerry pinged me two hours ago and told me you were going to be here. I figured you might need some backup."

"Oh god, Brent, do I ever." Suddenly she was on the verge of tears. This whole fake marriage business was proving to be more than she could handle. She bit her lip, trying to stop the tears. So what if he went off with some woman? They didn't have that kind of claim on each other, right?

Brent put his hand gently on her arm. "Suzie-Q, what's going on?"

"We were barely ten feet inside the door when he went off with some floozy! I mean, I know we aren't ... but still! To just abandon me as soon as we get here ..."

"I am so going to kill that man. I knew I should have done it years ago." Brent looked at the growing crowd, trying to pick out Daryle Catterton. "He is not going to humiliate you in public like this. If he needed you so much to get his precious inheritance, then he needs to show a little gratitude."

Noelle had been waiting for him, lying in wait. That much was obvious, Daryle realized.  She'd been waiting just inside the entrance and made a beeline for him the minute he and Suzanne had walked in.

"Daryle, darling," Noelle said. Her voice was like syrup, artificially-sweetened syrup. "You aren't returning my calls or texts. You didn't invite me to your wedding." She drew him closer and glared straight at him. "You married the cupcake lady? A working girl? Little beneath you, isn't it?"

"Sorry, Noelle. Suzanne and I knew each other years ago and we reconnected recently. We fell back in love and decided to marry. It was kind of spur-of-the-moment." He'd been saying this line to customers all week and was proud of how smoothly it rolled off his tongue now.

"I thought
we
were in love," Noelle pouted at him.

No, Daryle thought. We were not in love. Most definitely not. We were seeing and being seen with each other. We were sleeping together, using each other for physical pleasure. Though looking at her now, he struggled to remember why he'd wanted her physical pleasures. Her breasts were spilling out of the top of her dress. Tacky. Her perfume was overpowering. Her hair was teased and lacquered into place, a crispy mess he had never liked touching. And to think he had actually proposed Noelle to his mother as a wifely substitute for Suzanne. What had he been thinking?

He looked back toward the center of the atrium, looking for Suzanne. She was nowhere to be seen. That didn't surprise him. She had probably headed straight for the cupcakes. That's all she cared about. She'd be perfectly happy to let him mingle on his own all evening.

Noelle grabbed his chin and pulled his face back around toward her. Noelle's mouth was moving but he couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. He nodded and smiled at her, while he maneuvered his body around to face the atrium.

There she was. Even in a crowd, Suzanne stood out. Her hair was twisted into a loose updo, a few escaped strands swimming around her face. She wore a straight black skirt and a cashmere sweater the pale green color of a dinner mint, a shade that was the perfect foil for her auburn hair. His fingers warmed as he remembered the softness of the sweater as he had helped her out of his car earlier. As he watched, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and the sight of her sleek leg muscles tensing and then relaxing above those slender ankles caused a stirring in his groin.

She was talking animatedly with a heavyset man with thinning blonde hair. The man turned slightly. Damn, Daryle thought. Brent. Figures she would invite him. Being married to Suzanne clearly meant being married to Brent, too. Maybe he should spring for a nicer suit for Brent, in that case. Uh oh. Brent had spotted him and he looked none too happy. In fact, Brent was now marching straight across the atrium, toward him and Noelle.

"A word with you, Mr. Catterton."

Suzanne watched as Brent strode away toward Daryle. From the look on his face, Daryle was not happy. There had never been any love between those two men. She struggled to suppress a smile. Even though Brent was a softie at heart, he did cut an imposing figure. Nearly six feet five and burly, his kitchen staff lovingly called him Andre the Giant. And while he was no maniacal television chef, he could put the fear of God into a person, when necessary.

She really didn't want to stick around and watch what was about to happen, She'd seen Brent read enough other people the riot act; she knew it wasn't generally pleasant. She opted instead to go check on the cupcakes. Cupcakes never let her down. Never dumped her at the door. A cupcake had never—not even once—broken her heart.

A line of well-dressed art patrons snaked slowly along the dessert table. As soon as Suzanne joined them, her stomach growled loudly and she remembered she hadn't eaten dinner. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the coffee urn and filled a dessert plate with white chocolate-covered strawberries, then moved to the center of the table where her cupcakes were prominently displayed. Half were gone already, a good sign, she thought. A very good sign. She couldn't resist straightening the table card that said
, "Cupcakes by The Cupcakery."

"Suzanne! There you are," Alanna Catterton said. Suzanne turned around to see Daryle's sister stepping away from a crowd of admirers. "I was beginning to worry that my brother ended up working late and you'd miss the reception. Where is my brother, by the way?"

Suzanne waved vaguely in the direction of the museum entrance. "Schmoozing. I came to check on my babies here."

Alanna turned to the group of people, who were still hanging on her every word, and said, "Everyone, this is Suzanne Austin-Catterton, owner of The Cupcakery. We have her to thank for these delicious treats tonight. Personally, I'm just going to eat cupcakes instead of dinner!"

People began to step forward to tell Suzanne how much they loved The Cupcakery, which flavors were their favorite, which seasonal flavors they wanted all year round. Alanna waved her arms above her head. "Oh—I almost forgot—" she called out. "Suzanne is opening a new location in Napa. Soon, right?" Suzanne nodded and shrugged.

A low buzz rose from the crowd and Suzanne was inundated with questions about the new shop. Where it was, when it would open, did she have plans for a third location. Suzanne found herself relaxing, forgetting about Daryle. She could talk cupcakes and her business all day long. It felt good to receive compliments from all these people. They were complete strangers to her, yet they were also her customers. And they loved what she was doing and wanted her to do more of it. She knew how to be the owner of The Cupcakery. She didn't know how to be Daryle Catterton's wife.

It took a good twenty minutes but, eventually, a chastened-looking Daryle squeezed his way through the crowd where Suzanne was still holding court. Brent was one step behind, like a bodyguard or a celebrity handler. When they got to her, Brent veered off toward the bar, silently mouthing the words, "champagne."

Alanna saw her brother at once and gave him a hug. "I wondered when I was going to see you. Thank you for coming. Both of you," she turned toward Suzanne. Suzanne's cupcake fans dispersed into the larger crowd.

"Wouldn't have missed it, Alanna. You know that."

"Have you eaten yet? I think the real food is going almost as fast as the desserts. If you want some, you should probably do that soon."

Daryle looked at Suzanne. "Have you—"

Suzanne shook her head. "I'm starving though. I haven't really eaten since lunch."

Just then, Brent returned with two flutes of champagne. He extended one to Daryle. "Compliments of Jerry." He leaned in and kissed Suzanne on the cheek, then handed her a flute. "I've got to run. But the weather is supposed to be glorious tomorrow. Meet me and Seth for a picnic in the Marin headlands?"

Suzanne nodded. "I'd love to. Noon-ish? I'll bring the cupcakes?"

Daryle just stood there and fumed. How he wanted to just haul off and punch that man's smug face. The nerve! Making plans with his wife like he wasn't even there. Granted, he and Suzanne had no plans for tomorrow—he was driving back to Napa tonight after the reception—and Brent wasn't romantic competition for Suzanne, but the presumptuousness still rankled. Brent was making it clear that he had a claim on Suzanne, a claim of friendship, that Daryle would never have.