A Tiara Under The Tree

“Tiffani still needs a sponsor.”

Dominic did not need his sister’s fast best friend thinking there was a future for them. Sponsoring her would not clarify things. “Tiffani’s parents own The Cupcakery. Why aren’t they sponsoring her?”

“They are, but if you’re willing—”

“I’m not.” Dominic cut her off. “I don’t have time for a pageant or the drama of one, Alisha. Try again.” He pushed away from the counter and headed off toward his office.

“You need to become more involved with the community,” Alisha hollered after him. “Folks are still bringing their cars to the mechanic in Peachville. Tiffani knows people. She can be an asset.”

Dominic let the glass door close without a care about the rattling frame. A sigh of relief escaped from the back of his throat. No more hotel rooms. No more surprise visitors knocking on the door. While Dominic wasn’t the best cook, he at least would have something he made without feeling guilty for all the richness...maybe even a protein shake, and then he’d hit the gym. Dominic strolled over to his desk, wondering why he didn’t stay home. When Aamir’s private plane landed on Dominic’s property to drop him off, he should have just stayed home instead of coming in to check on the garage. Alas, Dominic knew he came because the garage was his baby.

The walls in Dominic’s office were adorned with pictures of some of his work: the first car he’d restored, the celebrities he worked with and the first garage he opened up when he turned twenty. Not bad for a kid who almost dropped out of high school. Dominic glanced up at his diploma, framed by his family. His mother had been so proud to have a son earn a full scholarship to Stanford, especially when they grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.

A stack of paperwork teetered on the corner of his custom-designed desk. The hood of the 1969 Camaro had been stripped from the rest of the body and turned into a desk in a twisted form of revenge from an old friend of his who’d found his car-loving wife with another man. Dominic stretched before sitting down. The door to his locker room was still closed, but he knew his coveralls were waiting for him. He’d spent the last two weeks showing off the Ferrari and Porsches he customized for Aamir, but now he was ready to get started working beneath the hood of any of the cars. Being underneath a four-thousand-pound car soothed him.

Instead of getting up to change, Dominic sat and decompressed. His mind went back to the woman at The Cupcakery. For once Dominic wished he’d listened to Alisha and got more involved with the community. He sponsored Little League games. Several peewee baseball teams bore the Crowne’s Garage logo on the backs of their shirts. He never went to a game long enough to get to know anyone, though. Growing up and taking care of everyone in his family had never left time for Dominic to socialize. Alisha, on the other hand, had been out the first weekend she moved here. In order to keep her safe and from driving out to his ranch so late at night, Dominic bought Alisha a condo within walking distance of the garage. The two-bedroom place worked out fine for him as well when he worked later than expected in the garage.

Rapid, hard knocks banged against the glass and the door opened before Dominic had a chance to say anything. Alisha appeared in the doorway, hand on her hip.

“Please,” Dominic said, waving her inside. She didn’t budge but instead huffed. “What?”

“I’m heading out now.”

“Okay?” Dominic asked in a slow drawl.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

Dominic returned Alisha’s huff. “Apparently so. What’s up?”

“You were going to watch your nephew this evening.”

By nephew, Alisha meant her teacup pig, Hamilton. Dominic wiped his hands down his face. “Alisha, I just returned.”

“Yes, from a vacation without me while I stayed here and ran the garage,” she reminded him. “When you told me how long you were going without me, you promised me the minute you got back you’d babysit. And you’re back. Perfect timing, too.”

“Alisha.”

“Dominic,” Alisha whined and bobbed her knee—the telltale sign of an adult temper tantrum. “C’mon. I won’t be out long. I’ll even buy you a pizza.”

With his stomach rumbling, Dominic was sold. But he couldn’t let Alisha know. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Good,” his sister squealed. “I’m going to leave to get ready. I’ll see you in a few?”

“I suppose.”

There were a few things Dominic needed to go through before leaving. He preferred to go straight home, but a promise was a promise. His father, John, made the biggest promise ever and let everyone down. “I’ll be back” was more than a line from a futuristic cyborg. The last words John had said to the family had stuck with Dominic forever. He hated to let anyone down, especially anyone he cared for. Dominic flipped through his mail and spotted the familiar return address from an Arizona home. Like he did with the other letters he received since setting up shop in Southwood, he threw it away.

Dominic lingered in the office for a little bit while Alisha and her friend got ready at her condo. He saw no need to sit in Alisha’s frilly living room and dodge Tiffani’s attempts at flirting. It wasn’t like Tiffani wasn’t pretty—she was—but she was also his sister’s good friend, which meant she had a lot of qualities like Alisha. Dominic wanted a woman with goals in life. Alisha cared about the next party and Dominic blamed himself for always indulging in her demands. His mind wandered to the woman at the bakery as he lifted his hand to knock on his sister’s door. He shook his head at the idea of asking the cupcake woman if she wanted to get paid to stand around and look pretty at some pageant.

The door opened before Dominic had a chance to knock. A wave of scent from a sweet-smelling candle swooshed through the opening of the door. Tiffani popped her head out.

“I thought I heard the elevator.”

Alisha lived in one of the newer condominiums in Southwood. It was built in a square with a courtyard down below in the center. The elevator closer to Alisha’s place was out of commission. The other elevator was down the hall on the other side. How Tiffani had heard the elevator when he took the steps was beyond him. Had she seen him pull into the parking lot from Alisha’s balcony?

Rather than embarrass her, he nodded. “Yep, that was me.”

A pink teacup pig wearing a pink tutu wedged his snout in the door crack. Tiffani stepped aside to let Dominic in. Once Hamilton finished sniffing him, he began to hop around Dominic’s black boots. A load of laundry tumbled in the dryer in the room to the right of the foyer. Dominic proceeded down the hall, passing the guest bedroom he slept in on the nights he worked too late and the kitchen to the left. The island bar was home to a number of expensive bottles of wine. A pile of folded laundry sat on the edge of Alisha’s glass-top table. In the living room Dominic found clothes on top of the long pink-and-gray-plaid couch. The gray recliner was covered with a pink blanket with Hamilton’s toys. The only thing open was a love seat. With Tiffani hot on his tail, Dominic chose to stand in the center of the living room and play it off as if he wanted to check out the view from the glass doors leading out onto the balcony.

“So, how’s business?”

Small talk. Great. “Business is fine,” Dominic answered politely. “I’m guessing since there was one peach cupcake left, business is good for you, too?”

“Oh, yes, my mama is pleased with the sales.”

Dominic nodded in agreement. In his research of where to set up shop, Southwood’s business scene was exploding with mom-and-pop shops. The only thing not growing was the club scene, and Dominic was fine with that. The sooner the ladies left, the sooner they’d return and Dominic could get back to the ranch.

“I should have made a new batch for you tonight,” Tiffani suggested.

“No, really.” Dominic shook his head and patted his gut. “I don’t need any more.”

“Any more? You gave the last one away,” Tiffani shrieked. The corners of her mouth turned down in a frown.

With perfect timing, Alisha strolled into the living room. The outfit she wore, half a black dress that stopped just at her butt and black stiletto heels, was best suited for a nightclub in Miami and, considering she was his little sister, best on someone else. “Gave away a cupcake? Are you nuts?”

“Some new girl in town,” supplied Tiffani with an eye roll.

Alisha looked up at Dominic. “You met a girl?” Alisha’s voice dripped with pride.

“I’m not Quasimodo, Alisha.”

“No, you’re not,” said Tiffani.

“I didn’t say you were,” Alisha said, playfully punching him in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you met a girl? When do I get to meet her? What does she do around here?”

Dominic grabbed Alisha’s fist and tapped her on the shoulder. “This is exactly why I don’t tell you things. You guys go on and enjoy your evening.”

Alisha pouted for a moment before grabbing her clutch out from under the pile of clothes on the couch. “I ordered a pizza. My favorite, so I expect there to be leftovers.”

“You eat a whole pie once or twice and suddenly people start claiming their own.” Dominic chuckled.

“I’m serious,” warned Alisha. “And Hamilton has an order of carrots and celery coming, too.”

The pig got to eat healthier than the people. Hamilton squeaked at Dominic’s feet. Dominic bent down and heavy-handedly petted the thing. “Why do you have a tutu on him?”

“Because a tuxedo would look silly.” Alisha sighed and nudged Tiffani forward so they could leave.

Alone in the living room, Dominic glanced around for the remote control. By the time he found it underneath the third cushion, the doorbell rang. He figured it had to be the pizza—Alisha’s favorite pizza, spinach Alfredo. He’d half expected Alisha to leave him with the bill, but the delivery guy said the pizza was paid for and left without waiting on a cash tip. She probably felt guilty for asking him to babysit Hamilton. Of course, Dominic thought with a chuckle, if she really wanted to make things right, she would have ordered a double-pepperoni pizza.

Dominic set the extra-large box on the counter. From the smell alone he knew the order was wrong. This was a double pepperoni, not what Alisha ordered. He raised his brow in question, wondering if Alisha had pulled a fast one on him and really got him his favorite. Who was he kidding? She mentioned she wanted her leftovers. And Hamilton’s dinner was missing, as well. Dominic tilted the box up to see the name on the order. Lexi Pendergrass Reyes, apartment 501.

If he wasn’t mistaken, Lexi was married and living in the suburbs. Last fall he’d serviced a beautiful 1952 Fiat 8V. The car had been a present from Lexi to her husband, Stephen Reyes, who happened to be the same man who sold him the ranch. They were nice people, but Dominic knew they didn’t live here. With a huff, Dominic grabbed the cardboard box and turned to Hamilton. “I’ll be right back with our food.”

Hamilton squealed an answer and then, with a snort, turned back toward the living room, spun around three times and collapsed on a pile of clothes on the floor. Dominic shook his head and walked out the door. He found apartment 501 on the other side of the building. Had he realized, he could have gone into the bedroom and called out from the courtyard-side balcony.

Loud music thumped down the hallway. The Reyes family had two girls. Was one of them old enough to be throwing a party? Dominic found himself in a dilemma. Did he stop the party from going on or did he at least make the pizza exchange? He preferred going against a teenager than dealing with Alisha’s wrath when she came home in a few hours to the wrong pizza.

Three brass numbers stood between Dominic and the pizza. Savoring the moments with the best pizza in the world, Dominic reluctantly knocked on the door. The music shut off. The sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood floor neared the door. He expected several people. With a whoosh the door swung open. Almond-shaped eyes widened at the sight of him. Long, lean and slender spilled out from a pair of black stretchy shorts, which hugged her curvy hips. Instead of the bun she wore earlier, a twelve-inch diamond crown was on top of her dark hair.

“Cupcake Girl?”

Chapter 2

“Dominic Crowne?” Waverly breathed the man’s name and hoped to slow down the quickening pulse zipping through her veins. Since she’d seen him last, he’d shed the tailored suit and replaced it with jeans—a pair of well-fitted jeans—and a T-shirt. Tattoos covered his arms. She tried not to stare too hard. He might as well have come with a neon sign that read DANGER. Excitement coursed through her veins.

Dominic leaned against the door frame with a pizza box propped within the crook of his arm and against his hip. A dangerous smile, accompanied with a quick wiggle of his brow, crossed his face. “You’re not Lexi.”

“This is her place,” Waverly explained. “Lexi is letting me crash here for a while.”

“Crash here for a while?” He frowned. “Is your place being painted or something?”

Waverly shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Are you volunteering or something?”

“Maybe the ‘something’ part.” Dominic licked his lips, and Waverly forgot about the howling in her stomach from a few minutes ago before pizza arrived. She stepped backward into the foyer of her apartment and caught a glimpse of her pink-tinted cheeks in the large gold-framed mirror by the door.

Waverly cleared her throat. “So, do you normally walk the halls with pizzas?”

“Oh, my bad.” He shoved the pizza toward her. “You haven’t looked at yours yet, have you?”

“I was about to sit down.”

“Right after the crowning?” Dominic asked and pointed toward the top of her head.

Heat filled her cheeks. She cocked her head to the side, untangled the combs holding her tiara in place and released her unruly hair. “Sorry, I was just...”

Dominic held up his free hand. “It’s okay. You had that second cupcake today—it was worth celebrating, I understand.”

Waverly decided not to expose her greed and tell him she’d eaten a total of three cupcakes today. “Thanks.” She laughed lightly. “You said something about a pizza?”

As if remembering the food in his arms, Dominic blinked and inhaled deeply while he nodded. “The delivery guy mixed up the apartment numbers. My sister lives across the courtyard and she’s going to kill me if I don’t leave her any leftovers. She only bought the one, even though I’m here to do a favor for her.”

With widened eyes, Waverly bobbed her head from side to side. She took a step forward into the hallway and peered into the steaming-hot box for a peek of a double-pepperoni pie. “I wonder what I got. What other pizza could there be?”

“Jesus, now more than ever I need to know your name,” Dominic groaned, pressing his hand against his chest. “At least I need to know your first name. Your last name isn’t necessary.”

She cocked her hand on her hip and laughed. “Why is my last name not necessary?”

“Because it’s about to change to mine.”

“At least let me hyphenate it,” Waverly responded with a laugh. “Waverly Leverve-Crowne.”

“As long as we can eat double pepperoni and cupcakes every day.”

How was she supposed to just take her pizza from him without offering some of hers? Waverly opened her door wider and waved him inside. Taking the cue, Dominic strolled in. His walk was cocky, and he was confidently aware of his sexual prowess. Waverly inhaled deeply and shook her head. Something about this seemed wrong...but when was she ever known to make the right decisions?

“The pizza is in the kitchen,” said Waverly. She walked passed him, bumping her shoulder against his hard biceps. Steam still rose from the cracks of the large square box. Stepping away from the kitchen gave herself the chance to realize she hadn’t been able to smell the spicy pepperoni. Now she caught a whiff of the Alfredo. Chicken Alfredo was good—on a plate of pasta. On a pizza? Waverly frowned. “Does your sister like you?”

Dominic came around the island bar of her kitchen. He set her box on the counter next to the fraudulent pizza. “Depends on her mood. I’m guessing she doesn’t tonight.”

“What a shame you don’t share things, because I feel so horrible for you not having a normal pizza.” Glad to be in the presence of someone who appreciated a classic pizza, Waverly grinned. She attempted to pull the box closer to her side of the counter, but Dominic held on to one corner with a finger and stopped her.

“Well, hold on now.” His left brow rose and matched the amused smile spreading across his handsome face. “Didn’t I say there were exceptions?”

“No, but I’m guessing one of them is for pizza?”

“For you,” he said with a wink, “I’ll make the exception.”

The line was corny, yet Waverly laughed—not just laughed but giggled. “I feel so honored.”

“Well, it’d be my honor to dine with the queen,” said Dominic, grabbing the tiara from her hand. A shocking overprotective sensation washed over her. This might have been what new mothers felt when someone held their newborn babies. The sparkly band looked so tiny and fragile in Dominic’s large, rough hands.

Waverly touched the crown with her fingers. Having it on top of her head was natural. With it off her head, she felt anxious. Tonight she’d planned on having a date night with herself. “Sorry,” Waverly mumbled and took the crown from his hand. She placed it back on top of her head where it belonged.

“Do you always wear a crown?” Dominic asked. He squinted his light brown eyes at her. “Was I so blinded by your beauty earlier that I didn’t notice?”

“No,” Waverly replied and moved toward the cabinets. She reached for the blue-and-white-patterned plates from the cupboard above the sink. She got up on tiptoe. Warmth oozed down her body when Dominic appeared behind her to help guide a plate down. Dominic took it from her hands and set it on the counter next to the one she had already taken out for herself. “I wasn’t expecting company this evening, and I’d already reserved a table for a pity party of one.”

“Now, what would a woman like you be doing with a table like that?” Dominic leaned against the counter as if he belonged there. And he did, as odd as it sounded. The blue Victorian accents on the cookie, flour and sugar jars in the kitchen made Dominic look like a bull in a china shop.

“If I told you, you’d think I’m crazy.” Waverly chuckled. She motioned for Dominic to have a seat at the counter with her. Dominic opened the large lid to the pizza. Pepperoni-scented steam rose through the air. “Would you care for a beer?”

For a moment Dominic pressed his hands to his bowed head. She wondered if he was religious and praying before his meal. “Dear Lord, thank you for bringing this woman before me. Smart, beautiful, seemingly sane if you don’t count the tiara and drinks beer? Not sure what I’ve done to deserve this, but thank you.”

Waverly shook her head. The left side of her face tightened with her half smile. “You’re crazy.” Quickly she grabbed two bottled beers from the door of the fridge and kicked it closed before returning to her guest. She set the bottles down as Dominic began to serve the pizza.

“Then we’re the perfect pair,” said Dominic. “One slice or two?”

“Are you going to judge me if I put two slices together for a pizza sandwich?” Waverly asked, adjusting her invention. In midserve, Dominic dropped a slice onto the floor, dug his keys from his front pocket and pretended to push himself away from the counter. Was he shocked? Turned off? “Too disgusting?”

“No, not at all.” He laughed. “I’m bringing you in front of the justice of the peace right now.”

“If Jillian wouldn’t have a fit, perhaps.”

“Who is Jillian?” Dominic asked. “Your mom?”

Waverly nodded and took her seat. “Yes.”

“I get it.” Dominic nodded and took a seat, as well. “She’d want to be there at our wedding.”

“Maybe so,” said Waverly. “I think she’d be more pissed off at me ruining my chances to enter the Miss Georgia Pageant next year. A married woman cannot enter.”

Dominic nodded slowly while he fixed two slices together like she did. “Okay, so we’ll hold off our wedding until after you win.”

“No,” said Waverly.

“No?” Dominic repeated with a hint of hurt in his deep voice.

“Sorry. It’s a habit for me to say I’m running for Miss Georgia.” Waverly picked up a slice of her pizza and took a bite of the tip. For a moment she closed her eyes and let her tongue savor the spiciness of the pepperoni and the creamy yet salty flavor of the mozzarella cheese. When she opened her eyes, she found Dominic staring at her.

“I can’t eat until you tell me the rest of the story.”

“There’s nothing much to tell,” Waverly said with a shrug. “I was a beauty queen and now I’m...” She hesitated and hated the idea of telling Dominic the whole story—meme and all. “I’m an outcast.”

“Outcast means drama-free.” Dominic raised his beer in the air. “Here’s to being an outcast.”

Waverly lifted her beer in cheer. Their bottles clinked in a toast and they ate for a few minutes in silence. There were a few moans of pleasure here and there from the both of them, each enjoying a true American pastime. Halfway through his first slice, Dominic cleared his throat.

“I’m going to assume it’s safe to say you know about pageants.”

An uncomfortable lull washed over Waverly. She hated having to explain pageant life to people who weren’t familiar with the culture. Irresponsible television documentaries made a mockery of the sport. Most folks ironically judged women who donned bathing suits and ball gowns. Waverly did not want Dominic to get the wrong idea of her. “Are you serious?”

Chewing, Dominic shrugged. Distracted, Waverly wondered how much weight he lifted every day to get his muscles so big. The fabric of his cotton shirt was stretched to the limit against his tattooed arms. She couldn’t make out all the designs but could identify a bird, maybe an eagle or a hawk, a few knives and words written in a foreign language. Clearly he was addicted to the ink. Sweat beaded above her upper lip and she began to perspire under her arms. Waverly knew summers in Southwood brought a whole new meaning to Southern heat, but damn, Dominic Crowne rewrote the definition. She took a swig of her beer.

“I’ve been out of the country,” said Dominic. “I didn’t think I missed so much. What’s up?”

If he hadn’t heard about her embarrassment, it would only be a matter of time. In order to get ahead of the embarrassing meme, she needed to show him now. Waverly pushed away from the counter and retrieved her cell phone. The latest version had been turned into a mock-up video spliced together with images, the work of someone’s overactive imagination. The tiara was turned into a silver keg, and instead of Waverly placing the crown on her replacement’s head, she was knocking her out. Little cartoon blue and yellow birds flew around her replacement’s head.

“Well—” Waverly sighed “—here’s what you’ve missed.” Dread washed over her. How long after he watched the video would it be until he keeled over with laughter?

“Hey,” Dominic said softly, covering the phone in her hand, “whatever you want to show me, I’m sure it is in the past. I’m interested in you today, here in the present.”

“You really need to see this before you get involved with me.”

Dominic winked and washed away her fear with the stroke of his fingers against her wrist. “So you admit you’re interested in me.”

“I don’t see how we can marry tonight without a mutual attraction,” Waverly said with a grin. She pulled her wrist away, hating the immediate withdrawal of his touch. Addicted after one touch?

Dominic wiped his hand against the length of his face. “Attraction is putting it mildly. We eat the same kind of cupcake and pizza, drink the same beer.”

The imaginary neon orange warning sign over his head flashed, but Waverly ignored it. Why bother following the rules now? An unmistakable pull drew her close to him. Her wrist twitched for him to take it again; he did, and let his fingers lace with hers. “What more proof do we need?”