Page 8 of White Wedding
“Down the hall and to your right,” Rafael said. “And I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
Hewas sorry? Victoria could barely contain her fury as Ben escorted Missy out the door. Before she could apologize to Rafael, he darted out of the room. The smell of vomit overpowered everything, even the delicious food, so she concentrated on breathing through her mouth.
Rafael returned with rubber gloves, a bucket, some rags, and a bottle of cleaning spray. When he knelt to clean up the mess, Victoria approached him. “I’m sorry.”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Why? You’re not the one who threw up.”
“For bringing them here. They’re so rude and entitled. Working with them has been a nightmare.”
“Then why do it?”
“They’re getting married at the estate, and I’m the events coordinator there. Well, the junior events coordinator. My boss, Lindsay, is out on leave. But I’ve done weddings before. I usually love them, but this one has been a trial. Not that you need to know that, but…”
What was wrong with her? Rafael didn’t care about any of this. He wrung out the rag and continued cleaning.
She twisted her hands together. “I’m not sure if Ben and Missy will want to use you or not, but—”
“Honestly? I hope they don’t.”
“I understand. They’re horrible.”
“Not just because of them. Because of you.”
His words hit her like a physical blow. She stepped back a pace. “Rafael, I—”
He looked up at her. “Don’t apologize. If they choose Tres Hermanos, I’ll do whatever it takes to please them, even if it means cleaning up vomit. And dealing with you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
If there was a God, Ben would go with Artful Parties.
Because if he chose Tres Hermanos, the next three weeks would be even worse than she’d anticipated.
And that was saying a lot.
Chapter 4
By the time Rafael got off work at seven, he was close to exploding. After he’d finished cleaning up the tasting from hell, he headed back into the kitchen to cook for the lunch crowd. Then he helped Tony cater an afternoon mixer that lasted until six. Normally he liked getting a break from the restaurant, but they’d been low on servers, which meant everyone on the catering staff had to hustle twice as hard.
Most of the time when he was at work, he could tune everything else out. But today, no matter how busy he got, he couldn’t get Victoria out of his mind.
After his meeting with her on Friday, he’d done a little more research on the company. In addition to their estate and vineyards in the Temecula Valley, Blackwood Cellars owned ten percent of the global wine market, with vineyards in Napa, Oregon, and Spain. Which made Victoria some kind of wine heiress.
No wonder she hadn’t told him her real name.
He drove over to Pancho’s, a grungy, run-down gym where he could work out his frustration on the bag. In the past, he would have dealt with his anger by getting drunk. Or chilled out with a little weed. But those days were over. He was done being the family screwup, using booze or pot to dull his senses. Instead, he preferred to blow off steam through pure, physical energy and a lot of sweat.
After his workout, he grabbed a shower and headed back to his apartment. He and his two cousins, Ernesto and Dario, shared a three-bedroom place a few miles from the restaurant. When he let himself in, he called out, then waited for a reply. Nothing. His cousins were probably out with friends or shooting hoops at the Y.
Though he’d spent the entire day working with food, he was eager to cook. Another guaranteed stress reliever, especially in the comfort of his own home. Tonight, he was attempting tacos árabes—a Mexican dish from Puebla with Lebanese roots.
Even though his brothers gave him a hard time about it, he liked experimenting with cuisine from other countries. The recipes didn’t always turn out the way he planned, but he enjoyed using unfamiliar spices and mixing different flavor combinations. Occasionally he imagined what it might be like to have his own restaurant—a funky little fusion place where he could unleash his culinary imagination.
Maybe someday. For now, he needed to focus on doing a kick-ass job at Tres Hermanos and earning back his brothers’ trust.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a bowl of thinly sliced pork that he’d left to marinate in a mixture of lime juice, herbs, and garlic. After drizzling oil in a sauté pan, he turned up the heat. While he was grabbing an onion out of the crisper, the door opened.
As long as someone was home, he and his cousins left the place unlocked. A Sanchez family rule.
