go to Jeffery and Sara’s wedding. Since Marc was Jeffery’s oldest friend, she assumed he’d be the best man—just like he had been for their wedding.
The problem was that the divorce had only been finalized Friday, the same day as Jeff’s rehearsal dinner. The rat bastard couldn’t even wait a day to move on with his life, to erase almost fifteen years of memories from his mind. And the knowing glance Natasha shot her meant everybody in town already knew. It also meant that, although Jeffery had promised no one back home knew about the affair, there was the distinct possibility that he’d lied.
Big shocker there.
Lexi reached for the door handle and heard the familiar jingle of the bells on the other side, welcoming her home, when Marc’s hand covered hers. “Really? Then why do you look like you want to hit me?”
It wasn’t his hold that had her halting in her tracks, or even his smart mouth, it was the softness in his voice and the way his thumb traced gently over her bare finger.
“Look, Jeff called and asked me to be in the wedding. He’s been my best friend since preschool.” The word friend made her heart ache. At one time she’d considered Marc her friend, even through all of the teasing and pranks—but friends didn’t just disappear. “I couldn’t say no.”
“I never expected you to.” But she had expected him to check in on her, even if it was just a phone call to make sure she was okay—which she hadn’t been. She had been scared and hurt and heartbroken. And since all of her friends in New York were somehow connected to the restaurant—and Jeffery—she had also been completely alone.
To an extent, she understood. Divorces were messy, awkward for everyone involved. But Lexi hadn’t been the one to cheat, and yet she had lost everything. Looking back on the past six months, she realized that Marc’s silence had hurt the worst. “Thanks for the help, but I can take it from here.”
“Look, it’s obvious you had a rough night.”
Lexi looked down at her clothes. Did she really look that bad? Marc’s grimace said she did.
“How about you come back to the hotel with me—” Before she could even roll her eyes at his cheesy line, he put his hands up in a show of innocence. “Just for a nap and to get something other than chocolate and sugar in your system.”
Lexi looked down Main toward the Napa Grand and couldn’t help but smile. The once-dilapidated hotel stood elegant and proud. The windows, no longer boarded over, were framed with beautifully handcrafted edging, and ornate marble casings hugged the corners of the building. Even the original stained-glass panes over the circular entry had been painstakingly recreated. It was incredible.
The first time she’d gone inside the hotel, Marc had convinced her that it was haunted. They had snuck in the through the broken window in the back by the loading dock. Even at fourteen, Lexi had been pretty certain that he just wanted to charm his way into her panties, but confident that her panties weren’t easily charmed, she’d agreed. To her surprise, instead of making his move, Marc had taken her by the hand and led her around the place, explaining the history of the hotel and how it had, at one time, been an important asset to the Napa Valley. Then, after swearing her to secrecy, he’d explained how one day he was going to buy the building and restore it to its original state.
In a rare show of uncertainty, he had gone on to explain that it was a dumb idea, since DeLucas made wine, not hotels. Too late, Lexi had been captivated by his vision; where his family saw cobwebs and rotted boards, Lexi saw what Marc did: something magical, tying this generation to a time that was simpler, full of elegance and class.
She looked at the intricate glass dome over what she remembered to be the ballroom and smiled. He’d accomplished that—and more.
Suddenly everything seemed so overwhelming. She really wanted a nap. A stealthy lowering of the head and quick whiff confirmed that she was in desperate need of a shower. More than anything, she needed to pull it together so she could be on her best game if she expected to face her grandma and not crumble.
“I’m really sorry,” Marc whispered, his fingers threading with hers in a sign of support. Was he sorry for not calling? Or because Jeffery had left