Say It Like You Mean It
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Rochelle Alers
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Chapter One
Patrick Williamson signaled, changed lanes and then accelerated onto the freeway leading to LAX. “Are you sure you’re ready to exchange palm trees and ocean views for sleet and snow?” he asked his brother.
“It’s too late to back out now,” Joaquin said, smiling. He’d sold his luxury condo in the Hollywood Hills to an international businessman, offering the current owner the entire contents of the three-bedroom residence to fast-track the sale. Then he’d moved in with Patrick as he prepared to ship his vintage car and personal possessions across the country.
Patrick shook his head. “I still can’t believe that you’re leaving California and moving back to New Jersey.”
Slumping lower in the leather passenger seat in Patrick’s pickup, Joaquin Williamson exhaled. “Believe it, bro. I promised Mom that I would overhaul the gardens at Bainbridge House, and there was no way I could continue serving clients here and oversee the project back east. I would’ve put off relocating until the summer if Taylor hadn’t changed the timeline for the hotel’s grand opening.” What originally had been projected as a two-year timeline for restoring the sprawling property was recently updated to be completed in one.
Patrick smiled, steering with his right hand while he combed the fingers of his left through a wealth of reddish hair. At the same time, minute lines fanned out around his brilliant blue eyes. “That’s because you’re a control freak and you must micromanage everything, Joaquin. Even when you had a staff of experienced workers, you still had to reexamine everything they did.”
Joaquin’s smile matched his brother’s. “I learned that from you.”
Patrick nodded. “And I had an excellent teacher. If you’d worked directly with Dad, then you’d know where I got it from.”
“From what I’ve heard about collaborating with Dad, I’m glad I didn’t have to,” Joaquin countered. What he did respect about their father was that he’d never brought his work home. Conrad Williamson may have put in long hours Monday through Friday at his Manhattan-based investment company, but he’d devoted every hour of the weekends to his wife and their children.
And despite sharing the same last name, Joaquin and his adopted siblings did not share DNA. However, there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do for one another. And that included honoring their mother’s wish to restore her late husband’s ancestral home to its original magnificence. Joaquin’s mantra was “family first and always.”
He was looking forward to examining the estate’s neglected formal gardens. Over the decades, resident caretakers had managed to keep the lawns and hedges free of weeds; however, that hadn’t staved off the overgrowth of what had been carefully laid out flower beds.
What had initially been a residence for countless generations of Bainbridges beginning in the late nineteenth century was now slated to become a twentieth-first century hotel and venue for weddings and private parties that could accommodate up to and including three hundred guests.
“I have to admit that I was shocked,” Patrick said after a comfortable silence, “when Taylor asked me to allot funds to cover the payroll for around-the-clock workers, but then I understood once he told me he wanted to advance the date for the grand opening.”
Joaquin let out an audible breath. “In order to have everything up and running by Memorial Day weekend, he needs the twenty-four-hour, five-days-a-week work crew.”
The first week in January, his engineer brother Taylor, who had assumed the responsibility of overseeing the entire restoration, had returned from his honeymoon and started a video session to inform Joaquin and their veterinarian brother Tariq that he had updated the timeline for opening the hotel because of ongoing escalating costs of construction materials and supply chain shortages. Taylor had previously told their sister and professional chef Viola, after he’d conferred with Patrick, that he’d projected celebrating the grand opening this spring rather than the following year.
Patrick shook his head. “I still can’t believe how fast the project is moving. When we went there for Taylor’s Christmas wedding, only the ballrooms, kitchens and the suites on the second floor were completely renovated.”
Joaquin nodded in agreement. Taylor had uploaded weekly videos of the work on the guesthouses and the installation of a second elevator. “When Mom showed us the property last year, not only were we shocked that Dad had spent the first twelve years of his life in a house with eighty-six thousand square feet, while none of us knew of his connection to the Bainbridges.”
“Every family has secrets, Joaquin.”
“I know that, but what I cannot understand, Pat, is why Dad told Mom about the property and not us. Why didn’t he want his kids to know about his ancestors until after he’d died?”
Patrick’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s because Dad was an extremely complicated man. What I still can’t wrap my head around is that our little sister is going to become a married woman,” he said, changing the topic.
Joaquin’s dark brown eyes met his brother’s blue ones. “Our sister will be thirty in a couple of years, so that doesn’t make her so little anymore. I’m just surprised that she would fall for Dom because they seem like complete opposites. He’s quiet, solitary, while Viola is so outgoing. And he seems quite content being the estate’s caretaker.”
“What you see in Dominic Shaw isn’t exactly what you get.”
“What are you talking about?” Joaquin asked.
“Dominic worked remotely for Dad’s company after I moved out here to get involved in Andrea’s family’s winemaking business. He happens to have degrees in economics, accounting and finance.”
Joaquin whistled softly. “Talk about family secrets. I had no idea that he’d worked for Dad or that he’s a college graduate.”
Patrick laughed. “That’s because Dad had a mandate that he would never discuss business outside of the office, and it was one rule I followed to the letter. What I still can’t get over is the notion that Viola is engaged to a man she just met.”
“By the time they’re married, they will have known each other nine months,” Joaquin said in defense of their sister. Joaquin wanted to tell his brother if he had taken more time to get to know his ex-wife, he would not have married her. Viola had sent out a family group text that Dominic Shaw had proposed marriage on Valentine’s Day and that she had accepted.
“Speaking of nine months,” Patrick said, “Taylor and Sonja must be counting down the months when they’re going to have their baby.”
“I don’t know about you, Pat, but I’m looking forward to becoming an uncle.” Taylor and Sonja were expecting their first child in late May.
Patrick signaled again, changing lanes as the sign leading to the airport appeared in the distance. “Mom is going to be beside herself once she becomes a grandmother. She started talking about being a grandmother right after you married Nadine.”
Joaquin had wanted to completely forget about the woman he’d married but knew that wasn’t possible. Their brief marriage of less than two years had scarred him emotionally and made him wary of future relationships. He’d dated women but eschewed commitments, and this was something he’d professed before their initial encounter. Some were willing to accept his stance while others walked away, but not before thanking him for his candor.
“Well, Mom will get her wish once Taylor and Sonja have their baby.” Their older brother had had a short engagement once Sonja Rios-Martin revealed she was pregnant, and they were married three months later in a Christmas-themed ceremony in a ballroom at Bainbridge House. “Speaking of weddings, have you and Andrea decided on a date?”
A frown settled between Patrick’s eyes. “Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for, brother? You’ve been engaged for more than a year.”
“We’ll marry when the time is right.”
Joaquin stared out the passenger-side window at the passing landscape. He wanted to tell Patrick that if he didn’t intend to marry Andrea, then he should end the relationship rather than string her along.
“If you say so, Patrick.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patrick asked, visibly annoyed. His face flushed with high color.
“Nothing.” Joaquin didn’t want to get into an argument with his brother about his fiancée. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d wanted to remind him that he and Andrea Fincher were totally opposites. She was pampered and outgoing, while Patrick was quiet and controlled. She craved the spotlight while he preferred to remain in the background.
“How long do you think it will take before you miss partying with your wealthy clients?” Patrick asked, again changing the topic.
A hint of a smile lifted the corners of Joaquin’s mouth. “You call it partying, to me it was networking.”
“Being photographed with celebrities is what you call networking?”
Joaquin nodded. “Yes. Whenever a client invited me to their home for a dinner party and someone mentioned that I’d designed the exteriors, most times I was able to secure another commission. After a couple of years, I learned to turn it on for the paparazzi and turn it off whenever the cameras weren’t around. Most of my commissions came from referrals, but there were a few I had to turn down.”
He paused. “I made a name for myself in the architectural landscaping field and a lot of money along with that, but there were times when I was close to burnout from all the socializing. So when Mom told us about Bainbridge House last spring, it was a win-win to redesign the formal gardens.”
His adopted father had been the last surviving descendant of Charles Bainbridge, who’d been commissioned to build the château during the Gilded Age. While all of Joaquin’s siblings had signed on to work directly for Bainbridge House, the exception was financial wizard Patrick, who’d agreed to act as the chief financial officer for the restoration and when the hotel was fully operational. It was an undertaking he was able to accomplish not only electronically but also remotely.
Patrick gave Joaquin a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “So, you’re really serious about leaving Cali for good?”
Joaquin nodded again. “Very serious.”
“Good for you.”
Joaquin heard something in Patrick’s voice that told him his older brother wasn’t as comfortable with what would be his current lifestyle now that he and Joaquin would no longer live in the same state. Not only did Patrick live almost three thousand miles away from his family, but his relationship with Andrea had been less than satisfying. However, Patrick was emotionally less demonstrative than any of his siblings. He tended to hide his feelings behind a facade that all was right in his world. And Joaquin wanted to remind Patrick that there was the neglected vineyard on the estate.
Joaquin glanced at his watch. He had a little more than an hour to make his flight.
When he did arrive at Bainbridge House, he would assume residence in one of the six guesthouses on the property. Charles Bainbridge had had the guesthouses erected in a valley away from the main house to assure some of his guests’ optimal privacy. Dom and Viola were living in one, and after renovating and updating three more of the remaining six, Taylor and Sonja had recently moved into theirs. Joaquin had agreed with his siblings that living in a guesthouse was preferable to occupying a suite of rooms in the mansion-turned hotel.
Patrick arrived at the airport, maneuvered up to curbside and got out at the same time Joaquin alighted from the pickup. He hugged his brother. “Thanks for everything.”
Patrick thumped his younger brother’s back. “Anytime.”
Tightening his grip on the handles of his carry-on, he walked into the terminal. Rather than reconnecting with his extended family during the holidays, Joaquin would now see Taylor and Viola every day.
And Joaquin had not lied to Patrick when he revealed he’d tired of socializing. He’d had to be in party mode when he would’ve preferred to stay home and do absolutely nothing. And unlike Patrick, he was unencumbered. No girlfriend. No fiancée. And no wife. It was only after his marriage ended that Joaquin vowed never to be that vulnerable again.
He’d asked Patrick to handle the sale of his landscaping business, and now that he’d sold the condo, he was ready to return home. It had been years since Joaquin had thought of the Garden State as home, despite returning every year for the required family get-togethers. He’d left home at eighteen to attend college in California and stayed. Now, sixteen years later, he would reverse the trip. This time for good.
Shannon Younger sat on the window seat in the apartment above the garage at her parents’ house staring at the rain lashing the windows as she waited for the steaming hot chocolate in an oversized mug to cool enough for her to take a sip without burning her tongue. She’d shampooed her hair and then applied a deep conditioner before covering her head with a plastic cap and then lathering her face with a cucumber mask.
She was grateful the manager of the DC restaurant where she filled in as needed in the kitchen had sent her a text the night before alerting her not to come in. She’d been able to sleep in late and share Sunday dinner with her parents. It was something she hadn’t done often enough once she’d signed on to work every other weekend.
Working part time would not have been financially possible for Shannon if she didn’t live at home with her parents. She’d offered to pay rent for the apartment, but her mother was adamant about taking money from her children—even if they were employed adults. Shannon had decided to offset their generosity by cleaning, doing laundry and occasionally cooking for her schoolteacher mother. She’d had to remind Marcus Sr. and Annette Younger it was the least she could do for their ongoing support as she awaited the position as an executive pastry chef for a New Jersey hotel the following year.
Shannon didn’t mind being on call when she’d compared it to her last gig when she’d worked for a condescending caterer his staff referred to as Beast. But only out of earshot.
She’d had enough of his yelling and dictatorial mandates and finally resigned three days before the New Year. She knew she’d shocked the man when she’d sent him an email explaining that she would no longer work for him. Rather than reply to Shannon’s email, he’d called her offering to double and even triple her fee, but he’d failed to understand that it wasn’t about money. It was about respecting those working for him.
She’d endured intense instructors in culinary school because many were perfectionists and sought to bring out the best in their students. And it had paid off because she had graduated at the top of her class at Johnson & Wales University. Shannon had promised herself that if she ever had the opportunity to run her own pastry kitchen, she would not abuse her staff. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Running her own kitchen was no longer a pipe dream; it would become a reality next year. A lot had changed in her life since she’d walked away from her acting career and cheating actor-husband. That decision had allowed her to start over as a pastry chef.
It was as if Viola Williamson had become her fairy godmother, granting her most fervent wish. She was introduced to Viola at the Younger family’s annual Halloween festivities last October by Dominic Shaw, a friend of her brother’s. Viola had mentioned that she and her brothers had inherited a historic château and were currently refurbishing it to eventually open as a hotel and wedding venue.
She and Viola bonded at once; Viola asked Shannon if she would make the wedding cake and desserts for her brother’s Christmas-themed wedding as soon as she found out Shannon was a pastry chef. Shannon had quickly agreed. It had been the first time she’d had the full responsibility of creating the desserts for a wedding. Viola even wanted to hire her as head pastry chef for Bainbridge House once the hotel was fully operational.
Her cell phone rang, and she swung her legs over the cushioned window seat and walked on sock-covered feet to the galley kitchen to retrieve it. She set the mug on the countertop. Reaching for the phone, she saw the name of the caller on the screen and smiled.
“Hello, Viola. Would you believe that I was just thinking about you?”
A laugh came through the earpiece. “I hope they were good thoughts.”
“Of course they were.”
“I’m calling to give you some good news.”
Shannon’s eyebrows lifted slightly when there came a pause. “Talk to me, Viola.”
“Dominic Shaw and I are engaged, and we’re planning to marry this June.”
Shannon froze, then slowly folded her body down to a stool at the cooking island. “You’re kidding?”
“No, I am not kidding. Dom is planning to ask your brother Marcus to be one of his groomsmen, so please don’t say anything to Marcus until Dom speaks to him. My sister-in-law will be my matron of honor, and I’d like to ask if you would do me the honor of making the cake and desserts.”
Shannon could not stop grinning. “Congratulations! And I am not going to say I knew it. Even though you’d admitted that you and Dom had only known each other for a couple of months, something told me Dom wasn’t going to let you go.”
“And I’m not going to let him go. Shannon, I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m crazy in love with him.”
“Good for you and good for Dom. Do you plan to hold the wedding at Bainbridge House?” Shannon was happy that her brother’s friend had been given a second chance at love.
“If the weather holds, then we’re planning on a garden ceremony and outdoor reception.”
It would be the second time Shannon would assume the full responsibility of designing a cake and desserts for a Williamson wedding. She’d also done double duty of supervising the Bainbridge House kitchen, because even though Viola was the executive chef, she was also maid of honor for her best friend.
“If I didn’t look like a hot mess right now, I’d FaceTime you so you could see me grinning like a Cheshire cat.”
“Is that a yes, Shannon?” Viola asked.
“Of course it’s a yes. When do you want to get together so we can talk about what you want?”
“You have to let me know when you’re free.”
“I am free this coming week.
“Good. A lot has changed since you were last here.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“And there’s a lot more, but I’ll wait and tell you once you’re here.”
Shannon wanted to ask Viola if she and Dom were expecting a baby and if it was their reason for the short engagement, but she didn’t want to overstep. Her eventual position as pastry chef at Bainbridge House meant Viola, as executive chef, would be her boss.
“Aren’t you going to give me a hint, Viola?”
“Nope. You will see once you get here.”
Viola was outgoing and incredibly talented, and she was what Dom needed to get over what he’d gone through with his ex-wife. “Oookaaay,” she said, drawing out the word into two distinct syllables. “Now I’m going to spend the weekend wondering what you’re hiding from me.”
Viola’s laugh came through the earpiece again. “The only hint I’m willing to give you is one I bet you’re going to like.”
Now Shannon’s curiosity had gone from moderate to extreme, wondering just what it was that Viola was withholding from her.
“Now, you know you’ve ruined my day, because I’m going to rack my brain to trying to figure out just what it is you’re not telling me.”
“As I said before, I’m certain you’re going to like what I have to tell you.”
Shannon sighed. “If you say so.” A beat passed before she said, “Is it okay if I come up on Tuesday?”
“Tuesday is perfect. How long can you stay?”
“I have to be back in Baltimore by Friday because I’m on call.”
“That should give us more than enough time to decide what I want. Just text me when you get here, and I’ll meet you at the gates.”
She congratulated Viola again on her engagement and then hung up. The first time she’d come to the château, Shannon felt as if she’d stepped back in time to when Gilded Age nouveau-riche had flaunted their wealth with items she deemed wretched excess. How many dozen sets of dinnerware, silver and crystal did one family need? Bainbridge House contained more than one hundred rooms, and Sonja, Taylor’s wife and the château’s architectural historian and archivist, told her that Charles Bainbridge had employed a permanent staff of thirty to see to the needs of him, his wife, ten children and the estate.
Fast-forward 140 years, and once Bainbridge House celebrated its grand opening as a hotel, the Williamsons would have even more staff to run it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Shannon had to admit that once restored to its original splendor, the estate would make one believe they had entered through a truly magical portal. And if Viola had hinted as to the changes since her last visit, then Shannon was looking forward to revisiting Bainbridge House.
