White Wedding: A Christmas Romantic Comedy

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

Cover Design: Bailey McGinn

©2022 Carla Luna. Published by Scribd, Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

For my brother John - artist, poet, writer, dreamer

Thanks for always having my back

1

T

wenty-Two Days Until the Wedding

Victoria Blackwood faced down her father, waiting for him to make the first move.

Brian Blackwood hadn’t told her why he’d summoned her into his office at ten thirty on a Friday morning. He’d merely sent her a text, assuming she had nothing else on her calendar.

Which couldn’t be further from the truth. With Christmas less than a month away, her plate was full, dealing with holiday banquets, parties, and weddings. As one of the event coordinators for the Blackwood Cellars Estate, much of the legwork fell to her. Especially since her boss, Lindsay, was on maternity leave until mid-January.

Smart woman.

Victoria loathed her father’s office. The space was dark, stifling, and aggressively male. A shrine to his achievements as the CEO of Blackwood Cellars, her family’s wine empire based in the Temecula Valley. Stuffed animal heads were mounted on the wall above rows of framed awards. A glass case displayed trophies from numerous wine competitions. On the sideboard, a decanter tray held crystal glasses and bottles of premium liqueurs. For his important guests.

When her father lit up a cigar, she recoiled at the strong smell. Setting aside all pleasantries, she addressed him directly. Why am I here?

He leaned back in his chair. I spoke to Ben. He told me the caterer quit.

Even though two months had passed since Ben had left her for Missy, Victoria still flinched at the sound of her ex’s name. But she kept her cool facade in place.

He didn’t need to call you. His assistant got in touch with me yesterday. She allowed herself a satisfied smile, grateful her father hadn’t blindsided her. It’s handled.

Why did it happen in the first place? What did you do?

Me? Why do you assume this was my fault? The unfairness of his words rankled her.

Ben thinks you’re trying to sabotage his wedding.

She wanted to leap off her chair in a rage, but she stared into her father’s piercing blue eyes without blinking. "May I remind you that I never wanted to coordinate my ex’s wedding in the first place? You forced me into it."

I didn’t have a choice. Lindsay’s on leave until January fifteenth.

You could have asked June. She loves doing weddings. As Lindsay’s assistant, June had worked on dozens of weddings. More to the point, she adored them. For a woman who’d been divorced twice, she was surprisingly optimistic about the institution of marriage.

I didn’t think she was capable of taking the lead on such a significant event. Besides, you’d already planned so much of Ben’s wedding before he switched things up. It made more sense to keep it in your hands.

Switched things up. Is that how they were describing it now?

She clenched her fists, digging her nails deep into her palms. Her father could justify his decision all he wanted, but that didn’t make it any less vindictive. When Ben made the request, I begged you to turn it down. But you didn’t listen. And though I’ve hated every minute of it, I’ve given Ben and Missy the same level of service I’d show any other couple. So you’ve got no business accusing me of sabotage.

If anything, she’d been extra gracious, even when Missy acted like a raging bridezilla.

When her father didn’t respond, she continued. Do you want to know why the caterer quit? Heather said in all her years at Blue Willow Catering, she’s never dealt with someone like Missy. And trust me, she’s handled plenty of demanding brides. But Missy had already changed the menu five times. Then, last week, she brought two of Heather’s assistants to tears. She behaved terribly, and Heather called her on it. I don’t blame her for quitting.

And I’d quit, too, if I could.

That day couldn’t come soon enough. But first, she had to repay her debt to her father.

She owed him thousands. Tens of thousands. All because she’d screwed up and he’d bailed her out. But he’d promised to wipe the slate clean if she coordinated this wedding.

On days like today, she wondered if the stress was worth it.

He shook his head, as if to express his sympathy. You could show Missy a little more compassion.

Are you serious?

Ben told me she’s having a rough time of it with the pregnancy.

She couldn’t keep her voice in check any longer. I don’t care. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be the one getting married. She didn’t just steal my fiancé, she stole my whole damn wedding.

The irony continued to smack her in the face each and every day. Before Missy had stepped in, Victoria was engaged to Ben and in the midst of planning her own wedding.

She’d first met him at a charity ball, where he’d won her over with his polished charm. When he proposed a year later, she accepted without hesitation. As the oldest son of Senator Frank Macalister, he easily met her father’s approval. Not only was her father in favor of the match, he told Victoria if she married Ben, she’d earn her Get-Out-Of-Debt-Free card.

But six months before their wedding, Ben cheated on her with Missy Cavendish, an old flame who’d moved back into town. Though he apologized and promised to mend his ways, Victoria only took him back after her father pressured her into it. A terrible mistake, since Ben broke off their engagement three months later and confessed he was still in love with Missy. And since she was pregnant, they needed to get married as soon as possible.

Finding a venue to host their two-hundred-person extravaganza was no easy feat, given that Missy wanted an elaborate, Christmas-themed wedding. So, Ben—being the dick he was—asked if he and his new bride-to-be could use the same date, the same venue, the same everything that he and Victoria had originally planned for their Christmas wedding.

Victoria wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn’t getting married on her home turf. And she wasn’t lifting a finger to help him. But instead of supporting his only daughter, her father kissed up to Senator Macalister’s son and said, Of course you can have your wedding at Blackwood Manor. Victoria will be happy to arrange it.

There was no coming back from that.

A flicker of remorse crossed her father’s face. Like he was sorry he’d put her in such an excruciating position. But the moment passed. He set down his cigar in a glass ashtray. Have you lined up any other caterers?

Actually, I have. She glanced at the antique grandfather clock beside his desk, bought at auction, worth thousands. Pretentious as hell. I should get going because I have an interview with one of them in a few minutes.

And if I spend another second talking to you, I’m going to throw that stinking cigar in the trash.

That was quick, he said. I’m surprised you got anyone with the holiday season in full swing.

It wasn’t easy. After her conversation with Heather, Victoria had gone through her roster of caterers, to no avail. She’d almost bottomed out when she got a yes.

Who are you interviewing?

Martin Sanchez. From Tres Hermanos.

The Mexican place in Escondido? You think Ben’s family will approve? You can’t just serve tacos and call it a day.

She gritted her teeth. Tres Hermanos is one of the best Mexican restaurants in San Diego County. I’ve heard nothing but good things about their catering company.

She’d already called a couple of their clients, who’d given rave reviews.

Her father grunted. Wouldn’t be my first choice. Or my second. But I guess you’re out of options, aren’t you?

I guess so. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to be late. She stood and left her father’s office.

One day, she’d be free. Then she could work for whomever she damn well pleased. Date whomever she wanted. Take back her life.

But today was not that day.

Rafael Sanchez checked the boardroom for a thermostat. One he could adjust, preferably ten degrees lower, because he’d worked up a sweat. The room was far too oppressive with its massive cherrywood table, dark leather chairs, and heavy, crimson drapes. Along one wall, a series of black-and-white photos depicted the early days of Blackwood Cellars, back when it was a humble winery in the Temecula Valley rather than a multimillion-dollar company.

He wiped his forehead and wished, for the tenth time, that one of his older brothers—either Martin or Tony—was here instead of him. Both had far more experience managing high-end catering gigs than he did. Though he’d joined them on dozens of jobs, he’d never overseen an event of this magnitude.

But there weren’t any other options. Both his brothers were unavailable.

You can do it, Martin had said. Turn on that lady-killer charm and you’ll win over Victoria Blackwood.

But not too much charm, Tony said. Keep it professional.

And keep it in your pants, Martin added.

They needed to stop with the lady-killer shit. Sure, he’d gone through a wild phase when he was younger, but he was over that now. If he wanted to prove himself to his older brothers, he had to seize his chance. Win Victoria Blackwood over. Secure the contract. And deliver an amazing wedding banquet, Sanchez-style.

If you can pull this off, the word of mouth would be fabulous, Martin said. Got it?

He did. Blackwood Cellars had hosted a lot of high-profile events at their spacious estate, but they’d never called on Tres Hermanos before. Getting in good with them could be huge. Which was why Martin had suggested an in-person meeting rather than a phone interview.

On the table was a pitcher of ice water and a few glasses. Rafael poured himself a glass and cleared his throat. All he had to do at this meeting was show Ms. Blackwood his menus and convince her to bring her clients to Tres Hermanos for a tasting. Once they tried the food, they’d be hooked.

As the door handle turned, he plastered a bright smile on his face, fully prepared to wow Ms. Blackwood with his charm and his brother’s creative menus.

But as soon as she walked in, his goals flew out the window.

Because the last time he’d seen her?

She’d been naked.

And she sure as hell hadn’t called herself Victoria Blackwood.

2

V

ictoria stared at the man standing behind the boardroom table.

What the hell?

As always, she’d done her research. Tres Hermanos was an upscale Mexican restaurant, founded by three brothers, that had been a fixture in Escondido for decades. Six years ago, Martin Sanchez—the oldest son of one of the owners—had expanded the business by starting a catering company affiliated with the restaurant. Victoria had read an interview with him in the San Diego Union-Tribute. He was in his thirties. Married with two kids.

This guy?

Not Martin.

His name was Rafael. By now, he had to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, since he was in his early twenties when she met him in Baja, five years ago.

If anything, he’d only gotten more handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, with light brown skin, searing dark eyes, and thick black hair. Hair that had felt absolutely luscious under her fingers. He was wearing long sleeves, but if he rolled them up, she’d see tattoos up and down his arms. There wasn’t an inch of his body she hadn’t explored.

"You’re Victoria Blackwood?" he said.

She tried to speak, but nothing came out. At the very least, she owed him an apology. An explanation. Something. But she couldn’t form the words. He filled a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and handed it to her. She took a few grateful sips, stalling until she regained her voice. I…I am. But you’re not Martin Sanchez.

I’m his younger brother. Rafael gestured to the chair opposite him. You should sit. You look pale.

She nodded and sat down. She still couldn’t believe she was facing Rafael. I thought you worked in San Diego. At El Marinero or someplace like that.

He crossed his arms. I did. But I came back to Escondido four years ago and started working for my brothers.

She tried to control the rush of emotions coursing through her. No matter how great her shock, she needed to stay focused and secure a caterer for the wedding. I don’t understand. What happened to Martin? His assistant said I’d be meeting with him.

Sorry about that. There was a scheduling mix-up with our master calendar, and Martin only found out this morning. Neither of my brothers are available that night. Martin is hosting a private dinner as part of a charity auction, and Tony is tied up with a wedding in San Ysidro. But Tres Hermanos would still love to have your business. That’s why they sent me.

His voice was calm. Even. How could he act so poised when she could barely contain the memories flooding through her? Nights of tequila and abandon. Swimming nude at a private beach. Long, leisurely sessions in bed.

Damn it, Victoria. Pull yourself together.

She took a deep breath. Have you ever catered a wedding on your own before?

Just one. But it was much smaller.

How much smaller?

He rubbed the back of his neck. Ah…eighty people, give or take. It was for my cousin. In her parents’ backyard.

Eighty people? Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her voice from rising. I’m expecting two hundred people. And they’re expecting…a certain level of service.

Our service is excellent. If you need referrals, Martin can provide you with plenty of names.

It didn’t matter how many names he gave her. Tres Hermanos might have a great reputation, but trusting an inexperienced caterer for her ex-fiancé’s wedding was a wreck waiting to happen. Not to mention she and the caterer shared an intimate, personal history.

She drained the rest of her water and set down the glass. I’m sorry, Mr. Sanchez.

His dark eyes fixed on her, displaying a hint of annoyance. Rafael.

I’m sorry, Rafael, but this isn’t going to work. You’ve never managed an event on this scale, and I can’t have anything go wrong. There’s also the fact that—

That we were lovers?

Lovers. Because he’d been more than a mindless vacation romp. During the two weeks they’d been together, she’d actually cared about him.

Just not enough to tell him her real name.

She cringed. I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it. Or that it was a distant memory.

"I haven’t forgotten any of it."

She looked into his eyes, and it was evident he hadn’t. Despite his composure, he was no doubt remembering every passionate, tequila-soaked moment they’d spent together.

He cleared his throat. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known who you were, but now that I’m here, I don’t want to lose this chance. I’m a professional, and I’ll behave like one. No one will ever know about us. His gaze darkened. Wasn’t that how you wanted it, anyway?

She winced, remembering what she’d done to him. How she’d left him when he was sleeping, without ever giving him her real name, her phone number, or any way of tracking her down. If she had an ounce of self-preservation, she’d send him away now, but she only had three weeks left. And as her father had pointed out, she was low on options. If nothing else, she should review Rafael’s menus.

Do you want to show me what you’ve drawn up?

Any hint of the resentment he’d shown earlier disappeared as he slid the pages over to her. From the information you sent us, I assume we’re just handling the wedding reception. Is the rehearsal dinner already taken care of?

Yes. It’s a smaller event—forty people, at most. We’re hosting it in one of our private dining rooms. Our executive chef and his crew are handling it, but they weren’t available for the wedding.

Or rather, they’d suddenly become unavailable once they’d gotten a dose of Missy Cavendish in full bridezilla mode.

Got it, he said. Our company has handled everything from party buffets to formal sit-down dinners. Keeping your demands in mind, we came up with five possible entrees for the plated dinner and eight types of appetizers. But if you need more options, we can easily provide them.

Thank you. Her mouth watered as she read through the pages. The appetizers on his list included shrimp and avocado ceviche, carnitas sliders with cilantro slaw, green chili and beef empanadas, and sweet corn tamale cakes—all of which sounded more appealing than the chopped kale salad she’d brought for lunch.

When she asked him for more information on the entrees, he eagerly described each dish in detail. His enthusiasm didn’t surprise her. Though he’d been working as a bartender when she met him in Baja, cooking had always been his true passion.

She set down the pages. This all looks good. I’d be happy with any of these choices, but my clients are a little pickier, so let’s give them as many different options as possible.

For all she knew, Ben might balk at the thought of serving Mexican food. He’d never been a big fan of anything ethnic. But she owed it to Rafael to give him a shot.

Can you set up a tasting for them? she asked. The sooner, the better.

How about tomorrow morning? On Saturdays, we open for lunch at noon, but I could set up a tasting in our catering kitchen around eleven thirty.

She had no idea if Ben or Missy were free, but she’d call them and stress the urgency. Thanks. I’ll let you know if there’s a conflict. Otherwise, you can expect us at eleven thirty. And… As much as she hated to bring up the past, she had to be certain he wouldn’t slip. You won’t breathe a word about Baja?

In an instant, the light vanished from his eyes. You have nothing to worry about. The smile he gave her was so formal, so lacking in warmth, that it made her shiver.

Unable to stand another second under his scrutiny, she thanked him and left the boardroom. Only after she was back in her office did she let out her breath in relief. But her ordeal was far from over. Now she’d have to spend Saturday morning stuck in a room with her ex-fiancé and her former lover.

After Victoria left, Rafael took a moment to get his head together.

What were the odds?

He poured himself another glass of ice water as a flood of emotions surged through him. Confusion. Anger. Pain. And frustration, because no way in hell could he handle this job.

Upon seeing Victoria, the rush of memory smacked him upside the head. When he’d met her in Baja, she was coming off her sophomore year in college, so she had to be twenty-five by now. But she still looked the same, with skin like cream, icy-blue eyes, and delicate features. And that long, sleek curtain of hair, the color of a raven’s wing. Hair that had felt amazing when she’d brushed it across his chest as her lips explored his body inch by inch.

But the woman he’d known had been passionate and free-spirited. Nothing like the tightly wound businesswoman he’d just spoken to. Hard to believe she was the same person.

Once he’d gotten over the shock of seeing her, he wanted to demand answers. To ask her why she’d lied about her identity and ghosted him after their time together in Baja.

You know why, idiot. Because you weren’t worthy. You were just her dirty little secret.

Not that he’d been entirely honest with her either. Though he’d shared a little about his life in San Diego, he’d deliberately avoided any mention of Tres Hermanos or his older brothers. At the time, he’d been trying not to dwell on the mistakes he’d made back in Escondido. Mistakes that had left his family so frustrated they’d shuttled him off to live with his uncle.

But he hadn’t lied about his name. If Victoria had wanted to contact him, she could have found him easily. He couldn’t say the same for her. She’d called herself Tori Dubois and claimed she was from Beverly Hills.

He gathered up his menus and let himself out, taking the stairs down to the main floor of Blackwood Manor. Built in the late 1800s as a baron’s mansion, it now served as the headquarters and public face of Blackwood Cellars in Temecula, an hour northeast of San Diego. The manor housed a tasting room, two private dining rooms, a theater, and a grand ballroom. Outside, the vast grounds of the estate included gardens and public venue areas, abutting acres of vineyards.

He’d spent an hour reading about it before he left Escondido because he hadn’t wanted to appear ignorant during his presentation. But in all the research he’d done, he’d never thought to look up Victoria Blackwood.

A huge mistake on his part.

He was halfway back to Escondido when his phone rang. He answered it right away, knowing Martin would be checking up on him.

How’d it go? his brother asked. You work your charm?

I did, but… He clenched his hands around the steering wheel.

But what?

I don’t think I can do it. Although he’d kept his cool during the meeting, he wouldn’t be able to maintain it for the next three weeks. How could he work with a woman who’d lied to him the entire time they’d been together?

Of course you can, Martin snapped.

It’s two hundred people. And—to quote Victoria Blackwood—they’re expecting ‘a certain level of service.’ He was still irritated at the way she’d delivered that line, as if to put him in his place.

Then we’ll provide it, like always. You can handle it. You’ve been with us on loads of gigs. And you did a great job with Araceli’s wedding. I’ll make sure you have experienced help, both in the front and the back of the house. All you have to do is run the show. You’ve been asking me for an opportunity like this for months.

"But Victoria was expecting you."

"I