“Janice has been working there for over twenty years,” Lucinda said, as though Marc should be up on every damn Baudouin in the valley.
Marc ran his fingers through his hair. He should be. Just like he should have known this would happen.
Although Lucinda was a Baudouin and ChiChi had married a DeLuca, neither was willing to throw away a lifelong friendship over a silly feud. That didn’t mean Lucinda was above using her family ties to the academy’s associate dean to gain information, especially if ChiChi asked.
“Does anyone else know?” Please say no. The last thing he needed was Gabe up in his business, going all big brother for the next few weeks. Or worse, old man Charles finding out and, like ChiChi said, somehow using it against Marc with the town council.
“Not even Janice,” Lucinda clarified, straightening Mr. Puffins’s neckerchief with a tug.
Marc raised an unconvinced brow.
All three ladies exchanged panicked looks. Pricilla pulled out a truffle and handed it to ChiChi, who took a nervous nibble before giving a defeated nod.
Lucinda patted ChiChi’s knee, much the same way as she did her cat, and said, “Janice has been having online relations with a man.”
“A man who had, up until last month, been having relations with me,” ChiChi snapped, lips pursed into a tight line.
“Sweet Jesus,” Marc murmured, wanting to cover his ears. He looked at his sweet nonna with her white hair, designer churchwear, and little round reading glasses hanging from a diamond-encrusted chain and grimaced. Then he turned to the window, judged its size, height, and drop to the ground, and quickly determined that a broken leg would be far less painful than finishing this conversation.
“Marco DeLuca,” ChiChi scolded, making the sign of the cross. “I raised you on a vineyard, not a farm.”
“Sorry, Nonna. I just…Can we not—”
Pricilla pulled out another square of fudge, eyes narrowed in warning.
“Put it away, Pricilla. We didn’t come here to talk about whoopee. We came here because we have a proposition,” ChiChi said with an innocent smile that had Marc looking at the window all over again. The only thing stopping him was the thought that Lexi might still be in the alley.
The last time ChiChi and her friends had a proposal that involved his hotel, it had ended with a drunken bachelorette party, a small bedroom fire, and a confused group of firemen who’d come for a convention on fire safety and left with wadded-up bills in their jeans.
“The Daughters of the Prohibition is about to be hijacked,” ChiChi said. “Isabel Stark and that woman you’ve been keeping company with have been asked to head up the junior league. They think that just because Natasha’s good at lighting your fire that you’ll hire her to heat up your kitchen too.”
“For the Showdown,” Pricilla added.
“I’m not sure who I am hiring.” Marc snapped his laptop, and the e-mail to Natasha, shut. “And just because Natasha and I are friends—”
Mr. Puffins let loose a low and gravelly growl that vibrated his hat.
And Pricilla waved the fudge in his face.
Right, lying.
ChiChi released a breath, her shoulders sagging just a bit, and for the first time Marc saw just how old his nonna had become. She looked small and fragile and so unlike the bold force that had molded his life.
“It is important to this town that this year’s Showdown remains true to the founding fathers’ ideas. That we abide by the traditions that were set before us. A lot of people’s dreams have come true at this event.”
“A hundred years of dreams that those ladies are willing to overlook to make room for newer, shinier things,” Pricilla added, her hand clutching her chest.
“The Summer Wine Showdown was always about family and friends and community,” Lucinda said. “We understand that you need a little flash to get the celebrities and media. That they bring in more money for the hospital and school. But some things, the ones that seem silly to your generation, matter because they are the heart of the event.”
“And you think if they have a say in the catering that it will change the event?” Marc asked, because he heard what the grannies were saying, but he didn’t understand how something as simple as a caterer would affect the bigger picture.
“This town is a family, Marco.” ChiChi leaned across the desk to take Marc’s hand. “Family is about sharing wine, breaking bread, remembering the past. Your grandfather and I met at the Showdown. Your