I gritted my teeth. The Village Blend certainly didn’t need Trend to make it popular. If I it were up to me, I’d drop the whole damn thing, but it wasn’t just me involved here. I’d be letting Janelle Babcock down big time. She’d just started Pastries by Janelle and she’d worked on the wedding presentation for over a month. Janelle was counting on this national exposure to showcase her dessert catering.
I faced Breanne. “Why is Nunzio backing out?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Her eyebrow arched. “But I have an idea.”
“Well?”
“From the wording he used, I believe it has something to do with spending the last few nights alone.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you remember that card he slipped you?”
Matt appeared just then. “Card? What’s this about a card?”
Breanne glanced over her shoulder at Matt. “It seems our favorite Italian sculptor took a shine to our little barista here. I told her she should give the man a whirl, and now she has a second chance. The text message said Nunzio will talk only with you, Clare. He’s expecting you to ‘discuss the situation’ with him in his hotel room tonight.”
Matt’s jaw dropped. So did mine.
“It’s your coffee and dessert station,” Breanne added blithely. “If you want it featured in the magazine, then you have to find some way to change Nunzio’s mind. I have enough to do. Oh, look who’s here! Come, darling.” She crossed the room, a slightly stunned Matt in tow.
“Unbelievable,” I whispered. Otto was still standing beside me. I noticed he was wearing a half smile. “Otto, did you just hear what she implied?”
“I heard.”
I closed my eyes, massaged the bridge of my nose. “How in the hell am I supposed to handle this?”
Otto softy chuckled. “I may not know Nunzio personally, Clare, but I’m sure he’s like almost every other artist I’ve dealt with. Their most vulnerable organs aren’t their hearts or their brains but their egos.”
“Their egos?”
He nodded. “A tortured artist wrestles with a negative self-image. A confident artist brandishes an arrogance that can undo him. Paint it bold or shade it shy, on either end of the spectrum, it’s the artist’s ego that’s in play.”
Otto drained his glass and set it aside. “Believe me, Clare, I deal with it regularly. Today, for instance, my travails were with Tio, that rising Spanish sculptor I was telling you about. An important collector wanted to purchase the man’s most famous work. It’s called The Trellis. Oh, you should see it. I’ll have it on display in my gallery for at least another week. It’s a stylized garden trellis with a pair of lovers wrapped around each other like vines. Tio was reluctant to part with it, until I pointed out that the buyer would soon be lending his collection to the Museum of Modern Art for an exhibition, and so...” Otto paused and smiled. “Tio relented.”
I nodded, happy for Otto’s triumph, even though I frankly didn’t see how his advice was going to help me in my current situation. My problem was with Nunzio’s libido, not his ego.
“There you are, you rotter!”
A British voice was shouting over the party noise. I turned to see a redheaded woman knocking a server aside. The young man’s tray of choros a la chalaca went flying, and I gasped, heartbroken at the sight of a mountain of mouthwatering mussels sent clattering across the floor.
The woman who’d done the dirty deed didn’t appear to care. She looked to be in her late thirties, and she hadn’t dressed for a party. Her bulky wool pinstripes and sensible heels looked more like she was on a break from a bank office or legal firm. The dreary gray outfit didn’t take away from her flawless, peaches-and-cream complexion, however, and I watched with growing interest as the woman made a beeline for Matt, her angelic face flushing angrier by the second.
“Bugger!” she cried. “You’re ‘not the marrying kind’! That’s what you told me! Then I get this in the post!”
The woman waved a gold-embossed card and threw it in Matt’s face.
“Bridget, I—”
“Oh, shut up, you git.”
I thought the woman was going to slap Matt. Instead, tears came to her long-lashed brown eyes, and she fled the room.
In the silence that followed the confrontation, Matt stooped down and picked up the engraved card she’d flung. I moved closer and saw that it was a wedding announcement. I knew what Matt and Breanne’s wedding invitations looked like, and this wasn’t it. This was just a simple engraved announcement card declaring that Matteo Allegro would be marrying Breanne Summour in New York City. It gave the date of the nuptials but no other information.
Seriously odd.
From the expression on Matt’s face I could tell he was as dumbfounded as I was. Then a conclusion appeared to dawn in his eyes, and he whirled to face his mother.
“Someone’s been sending out wedding announcements to my old flames—which explains why these women have been confronting me all week. This was your doing, Mother, wasn’t it?”
Madame, who was still visiting with Javier Lozado and trying to cheer up Hector Pena, blinked in complete shock. “I swear to you, Matteo, I did no such thing.”
Matt turned to face his fiancée. As soon as he saw her expression, he knew the truth. “You did this. Didn’t you, Breanne?”
“Yes, it’s true,” she said, not a trace of contrition in her tone. “I had my assistant download your PDA for the addresses and phone numbers stored inside. I just wanted all of your friends and acquaintances to know that you were getting married, that’s all.”
“When?” Matt demanded. “When did you do this?”
Breanne shrugged. “Maybe a month ago.”
I shook my head. The woman’s expression appeared to be all surprised innocence, but her action had been coldly calculated. She’d effectively notified every last woman in Matt’s little black PDA book that he was no longer available.
“Son of a—” He shook his head. “You invaded my privacy, went into my PDA without telling me. You contacted people from my past, with your own agenda, without even warning me. You humiliated me, Breanne. You, you—”
Breanne reached for her groom, but he pulled away.
“Get away from me,” he rasped.
“Matt, please—”
But he wasn’t listening. Before anyone could stop him, Matt stormed out.
“Please, someone, follow him,” Madame said with worried eyes.
Flanking Matt’s mother, Javier and Hector instantly nodded and chased after Matt. Koa Waipuna took off after them.
As soon as they were gone, all heads turned to Breanne. By the time she finished a swallow of her Pisco Sour, her calmly superior mask had slipped back over her stunned expression. But I’d gotten to know the woman well enough in these last few weeks to see the little cracks around her edges. Matt’s violent reaction to her brazen stunt had rocked her. Up to now, he’d been patient and accommodating. She was probably expecting him to roll over and accept this little prank without a peep. Clearly, she’d miscalculated.
On the one hand, I was appalled that Breanne had violated Matt’s privacy. But I had to admit I was pretty impressed with the move. It was shrewd, a way to keep Matt from straying—with all the old flames, at least. Her actions also made me wonder just how well Roman knew his best friend. Sure, Breanne gave lip service to being free of middle-class morals, but this little trick made it clear that she actually did care about fidelity—or at least sharing Matt with other women.
I felt myself smiling. If anything, this was a good sign. In my opinion, Breanne was starting to act like a wife.