Eat, Drink and Be . . . Married Read online

  Snooty much? Then again, aren’t they all? But the other brides-to-be have never gotten in the way of my efforts to make a beautiful stranger beautifully mine. Suddenly pissed by the hindrance, I ad-lib the usual welcome verbiage with some wise-assery. “You have a circus is what you have, but you’re in luck because my boss, set aside this time to give you and your guests a private tasting.”

  My girl suppresses a giggle, hiding her amusement behind a petite hand. I send her a flirtatious wink to let her know I’ve got her back and then notice the dream catcher tattoo on her exposed shoulder. Get outta town! My interests are officially over-piqued, but I’ve still got the bride and her army to deal with so I offer a brief synopsis of what’s to come to the commander in chief. With a nod and a gesture to head inside, I remain at the caboose of their girly train to cozy up to my new lady friend.

  “This should be . . . fun.” I joke. Truth is, I’m actually looking forward to the next thirty to sixty minutes. Because of her.

  “It’ll be anything but. I hope you have ear plugs. You’re gonna need them.”

  We kid around about her dislike for the guest of honor and she compliments me on my tree-decorating skills. Almost inside the tasting room, I finally introduce myself. “I’m Jude, by the way. Come on, let’s get this over with, huh?”

  “Hey Jude, I’m Leila.”

  I laugh, despite how many times someone’s addressed me to the tune of the famous song, and smile when she tells me hers. Layla is one of the best Eric Clapton songs and if I recall correctly, Clapton and McCartney collaborated to make some beautiful music together. Maybe Leila and I can take a page from their songbook and create some magic of our own.

  3

  Leila

  Leave it to Melissa—the one getting married, remember?—and the rest of her already married or currently engaged friends to try to steal the cutie right from under my very available nose.

  From the moment we settled inside, I knew by the way she was ping-ponging her scrutinizing stare between me and Jude that Melissa sensed our insta-attraction. Hell, you can probably smell the attraction because it’s as warm and potent as fresh baked sugar cookies made especially for Santa. But like everything else that involves Melissa, if she’s not the center of attention, it’s a problem. Let me rephrase that—if I’m the center of attention any time we’re in the same room, it’s a problem.

  “Jude, honey, would you mind pouring my gorgeous girl Shannon over there another sample of the Red Steel she liked so much? You practically licked that glass dry, you nasty girl.” Shannon rims the empty with her pointy tongue—gross—and Melissa throws her head back in laughter, causing the reindeer ears she swiped from the bar to fall off her head.

  I almost vomit in my own mouth from their attempts at flirting and being kinky, but Jude doesn’t miss a beat, leaving me to wonder how often this kind of thing happens to him. He’s a good looking guy—like really good looking. Tall build and lean muscles with dark hair and stormy blue eyes. His style is trendy but classy, his attitude is bad-ass but sweet, and he’s well-kempt but rough around all the right edges. I imagine exploring those edges with the glistening sun beating down on our skin as we kiss and touch amidst the vineyard, with only the grapes and vines as witnesses to our sexy escapade.

  I sip what’s left of my wine to gulp down the swell of desire that’s suddenly smothering me. I take note of how the muscles in his arms flex every time he does something with his hands. Who knew the simple act of pouring wine into a glass could be so intimate? Then again, this might just be part of his shtick. Hot guy flirting + tipsy bachelorettes = sales for the winery. Cha ching!

  I bet he has women like Melissa and her circus of debutantes throwing themselves at him all the time. Jude, honey, pour me more. Jude, love, show me around the vineyard. Jude, baby, taste me. Guess I’m no different, seeing as I was daydreaming about what our babies would look like as I watched him uncork a bottle a few minutes ago.

  “Can I get you more?” His hushed, sultry baritone breaks me of my exaggerated fantasy.

  Depends on what kind of more you’re offering I almost admit, but I clear my throat and straighten up, shaking my head instead. “Nah, I’m good for now.”

  The cheerful but premature sound of Nat King Cole’s version of The Christmas Song is starting to pull me into the spirit of the season. And Jude’s suggestive stare is tugging at something totally different.

  He smiles in response to my answer and settles his elbows on the wooden bar top, his eyes gleaming as his tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip. “I can turn good to better, if you’d like.”

  My eyes pop at his admission and the southern region of my body nearly ignites in flames. There’s no use even trying to deflect his boldness. I’m not usually this vulnerable, but damn it if that last sample of wine hasn’t gone straight to my brain. Throwing caution to the wind and realizing I’ll probably never see Jude again after we’re done here, I flirt back. “What do you have in mind?”

  He leans closer, our faces inches apart, his woodsy smell and sweet breath tickling my nose. I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear, anticipating his response. Without another word, Jude’s fingertips graze my hand in slow circles. I regard the connection only to be yanked away from it before I can savor it.

  “Leila, can I speak with you a moment?” Melissa spins me around and pulls me into a corner.

  I look past her and notice Jude has quickly busied himself behind the bar as if we weren’t just dancing with desire. The rest of the girls pretend to chatter in small groups even though it’s clear they’re eavesdropping on me and Melissa.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she snarls like a vicious dog.

  I wince at her inappropriate reaction to me having a little fun, disliking how it feels to be scolded as if she’s my mother. “What exactly am I doing, Melissa?”

  “You’re acting like a slut,” she whispers, her insult stinging like a slap in the face.

  I can’t believe she’d call me that. I’m the single one here. She’s been teasing and flirting with Jude the whole time while wearing that rock on her finger and I’m the slut? “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am. As my matron of honor, Shannon planned this very expensive, very extravagant weekend so we could relax, bond, and celebrate my upcoming wedding. This is a girl’s getaway, not an excuse for you to hook up and make a fool of yourself. Show some respect!”

  Respect? What did I do wrong? I’ve been minding my Ps and Qs the entire time. Bored to tears but going with the flow like the dutiful bridesmaid I vowed to be. What am I missing? “How am I making a fool of myself?” My voice escalates which adds to Melissa’s irritation.

  “Stop throwing yourself at that boy. You look . . . desperate, and it’s quite embarrassing.”

  Am I hearing this correctly? Are these words actually coming out of her collagen injected mouth? All thoughts of keeping the peace for the sake of my father fly out the window, along with my composure. “How am I embarrassing you, Melissa? That man and I were having an innocent conversation and you broke it up. Why? Because he wasn’t interested in speaking to you! If anyone has anything to be embarrassed about, it’s you! I’m not the one shoving my almost married plastic boobs, acrylic nails, and hair extensions in that boy’s face. It kills you that he noticed me, doesn’t it? It really bothers you that it’s not about you for a change.”

  The room is silent save for Melissa’s harsh breathing and the tail end of Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You which adds to my surmounting rage because I hate this damn song. Her hands are balled at her sides and the smoke is ready to spew from her Tiffany diamond-adorned ears. I ignore the fact that our two-on-two lashing has as audience of thirteen girls—none of whom are on my side—and Jude, who is trying ever so valiantly to mind his own business. With an exaggerated, very spoiled-brat-like huff, Melissa narrows her eyes and points her bony finger in my face. “You don’t even belong here, Leila. You’re not one of us. You�
��re only in this bridal party because Daddy begged me to include you.” Her hands fly to her hips, proud of herself for hurting me.

  Tears burn the edges of my nose and sting the corners of my eyes. I shouldn’t care. Deep down, I know she only asked me out of obligation, but as much as we dislike each other, we’re still sisters. She’s my only sibling. Isn’t blood supposed to be thicker than water? Aren’t we supposed to hate each other on the outside but love each other on the inside?

  At this moment, however, none of that exists. I don’t see an older sister to look up to, to confide in, to bond with. I can only see her for the ugly, selfish, jealous person she is, and I’ve had enough.

  I don’t offer any response. I don’t excuse myself, and I don’t look back. I exit the room, run out into the vineyard, and when I’m certain no one has followed me—not that anyone would’ve anyway—I collapse with my knees to my chest under the shade of a sprawling willow to let my pent up emotions get the best of me.

  4

  Leila

  I’m not sure how much time passes as I sit here feeling sorry for myself, but before long I hear footsteps crunching the fallen leaves. I’m too embarrassed to look up because I know it’s Jude. There’s no way on a cold day in hell would Melissa come out to check on me or apologize for being so mean.

  Sure enough, when I lift my head from my knees, the dried up tears make my face feel tight and the sight of the kind man before me has the same effect over my heart.

  “You okay?” he asks. It’s a simple phrase, but the gesture behind it makes me want to wrap my arms around this noble stranger and thank him for caring.

  “I’ll be fine. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and rest my back against the bark of the large tree.

  Jude checks behind him toward the direction of the tasting room, and then scoots down to take a seat beside me. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I sniffle.

  “Then forgive me for intruding, but . . . why’d you come?”

  “Because I like to do the right thing, even when the right thing is so wrong for my sanity.”

  That elicits a chuckle out of him, giving me a reason to smile for the first time since I stormed outside. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  Jude crosses his legs at the ankles, gazing out across the vineyard. “Actually, no. I totally get you.”

  Is he just being nice or does he really understand? “So, you’re telling me you make a habit out of placating everyone, too?”

  Scraping his teeth over his lower lip, he nods his head. “If by everyone you mean my cousins, my grandparents, my mother, then yeah. You know me pretty well for having just met me.”

  I scrunch my brow, confused. It’s true. I don’t know anything about him, but I definitely hadn’t pegged him for the kind of guy who let people push him around. “I don’t believe you,” I blurt, wanting to add some company to my misery.

  Fingering a tuft of grass in the small area that separates us, he sighs. I’ve never actually seen a man sigh so morosely, but it’s evident from Jude’s far-off look and the way he busies his fingers that there’s more to this book than a handsome cover.

  “Hey, don’t get shy on me now,” I say, urging him with a nudge. “You just witnessed me having an all out brawl with my sister back there.”

  “Yeah, that was kind of . . . entertaining.” The sullen boy is replaced with the jokester, but I’m not about to let him slip away completely.

  Pulling a chunk of crispy grass out of the ground, I playfully toss it his way with a scowl.

  “All right, all right. Sorry.” He brushes the debris from his white shirt and then throws his hands up in the air. “If you must know, you’re not the only one with . . . an overbearing family.”

  “Good choice of words,” I scoff, “but they’re not overbearing. They’re just messed up. Royally. My dad’s not so bad, although it seems he’s the one who got me into this mess in the first place, but . . . Hey! This is supposed to be about you.”

  Jude laughs, homing in on my face. I’m momentarily embarrassed by the way his eyes examine me, but I’m comforted when a spark of adoration glimmers from his blue irises. Not only is he checking me out, he’s enjoying our time together. Maybe there’s something to be said for being yourself with a perfect stranger with zero expectations of taking it to the next level. Not that I wouldn’t love to explore that prospect, but . . .

  “You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed.” Jude interrupts my inner gawking and my hands fly to my cheeks to hide what must be a rosy blush. “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “If you say so,” he chides, tapping his fingers against the ground in a catchy, thumping rhythm.

  I recognize the way his fingers almost climb a ladder and then descend again, twitching as if they were born to be moving at all times. “Guitar?” I ask, unable to drag my eyes from the invisible music he’s enchanting me with.

  “And piano.” He wiggles said fingers in the air with a confident smile. “How’d you know?”

  “You can’t keep your fingers still, and only an artist could be as insightful and in-tune with someone else’s emotions as you are.”

  He nods his head slowly, lips puckered, eyes gleaming. “Intuitive and beautiful. You’re batting a thousand today, Leila.”

  Thwarting his compliment because I’m not one to seek out attention, I encroach further. “Do you play often? Write your own music?” I really want to know more and I’ve kinda got this thing for musicians.

  “No and yes,” he answers, short and quick.

  When he sees me leaning in, dying for more information, he takes pity on the girl who desperately needs a distraction from her screwed up day and finally opens up. Within seconds, he’s animated, bursting with an explanation. “Yes, I write my own music. I’m currently putting together my first album—a collection of my best stuff from the last few years. It’s almost done, actually. Super proud of it. But . . .” The excitement in his demeanor wanes as if a light has been snuffed out before it reached its full radiance. “To answer the other part of that question, no, I don’t get to play often.”

  “Oh, no? How come?” I’m intrigued. If I had the gift of musicality, I’d use it every chance I got.

  “Because I live here and anyone who lives here is sucked into the never ending vineyard vortex one way or another. It’s a curse.” He rakes those deft, magical fingers through his hair, his jaw tensing as he continues. “Besides, my mother’s right, I can have a lucrative future here—learn from my cousin, play my cards right, and then maybe run my own place one day. Make a name for myself. Because, truth is, right now my music merely a hobby. Everyone knows how impossible it is to get noticed these days unless you’re selling your soul to the devil on one of those television competitions or wearing yourself out playing gig after gig, night after night. As much as I hate to admit it, my future is here, in this tiny corner of the world, and I should be grateful to Becca and Trent for all they’ve done to take me under their wings.”

  “Sounds like you’ve tried to convince yourself of that a time or two.”

  “Try a time or a fifty.” He laughs through his nose and then taps on his head with a closed fist. “Doesn’t seem to be penetrating this thick skull, though.”

  “So maybe you shouldn’t let it, Jude. Maybe you should follow your gut and follow your dreams.”

  “Says the girl who’s only here to make everyone else happy.”

  Touché. He’s right and I don’t have a comeback because anyone who knows me, knows I’m not about to ruffle any more feathers just to prove a point. This’ll all blow over. I’ll rejoin Melissa and fall in line like the rest of her pathetic soldiers. It’s what I do. I’m a people pleaser. If only I were a me pleaser.

  “Wow,” I muse. Suddenly, I’m feeling sorry for myself—and Jude—all over again. Not only because we’re two people living for everyone but ourselves, but because I know that if given the time, Jude and I
could be really good friends. Or possibly more. We seem to click on a level that strangers just shouldn’t.

  “Wow, what?”

  I shake my head and pout. “This day keeps getting worse and worse, doesn’t it?”

  He places a hand on my knee as he sits up straighter. His touch electrifies me from the outside in, and the concern in his warm gaze brings a genuine smile to my lips. “Worse? I was trying to make it better by coming out here and talking to you. I thought I was making headway.” This guy. He’s so damn cute. It’s so refreshing compared to the alpha, bravado, cocky attitude most guys my age try to exude. Jude’s a perfect mix of everything a man should be, and I know this from being around him less than an hour.

  Feeling bold, I reach over to clasp my hand over his. As one, we look down at the unexpected union and then back into each other’s eyes. “You haven’t done anything wrong. In fact, you’ve been the only good thing about this day. What I meant was—it sucks that I’m just passing through and I have to get back on that bus with my tail between my legs and pretend the highlight of this trip wasn’t . . . a nice stranger with a keen eye for Christmas decor.” I tease him by detouring my brain into admitting what it’s really thinking. I can’t exactly confess that I’d give up the rest of the afternoon with those unbearable brats to get to know him better. I’d sound very much like the slut Melissa accused me of being.

  “Hey! You say that like it’s a bad thing. Up here on the lake they give all kinds of awards out for this kind of thing. I’m a three-time champion. My decking the halls skills never go unnoticed.” He waggles his brows up and down.

  I arch my own brow and narrow my eyes at him jokingly. “I’m still munching on candy corn and cozying up to horror movies on Netflix. Nobody’s halls should be decked . . . yet.”

  He smacks an open palm against his chest, clutching his shirt. “Oh no, you wound me, Leila. I didn’t peg you for a Grinch. Here I am thinking I’m being all chivalrous, opening up my heart, flirting with you like nobody’s business, and you’re a, a . . . certified Scrooge. Don’t tell me I’m meddling with a non-believer.”