The Wedding Crush

Chapter Four

Stefano

Before I reach the vineyard staircase landing Friday evening, Dante is standing in the doorframe barefoot in jeans and a white T-shirt, grinning like a lovesick fool.

“So, your watch does work?” He laughs, pulling me up the last step into a brusque bro hug.

“Perhaps, if I’d been aware you were planning to propose, I might not have given so much weight to overshadowing Mother’s party with talk of Carina’s romantic trysts.”

Dante barks out a robust laugh, stepping back. He shakes his head at me, pressing his hands along my suit jacket.

“Man, this is what I miss about you. Marcello never shows up to chill, dressed to impress, and using phrases like romantic trysts.”

“Glad to oblige.”

He’s still laughing at my expense but, secretly, I’m enjoying this exchange, too. We haven’t had much time for casual dinners and easy conversation. Tonight, feels like an overdue occasion.

Dante smiles this over-the-top smarmy smile as he reaches up with his free hand to loosen my tie, a strange pride emanating from him. “Look at us, two brothers getting together to break bread on a Friday night, laughing, and talking about our lives…”

“Thank you for the invitation,” I say, hoping his jovial attitude will stay the course of this evening.

He blows out an impressed breath then turns on his heel toward the door.

In the foyer, despite my refusal—multiple times—Dante insists on taking my jacket. After several minutes with him asserting, “You’re seriously going to keep your jacket and tie on the entire time you’re here? You know work ended hours ago, right?” I begrudgingly relent.

Mostly because I wouldn’t put it past him to escalate to my shoes and slacks if I continue pressing him.

Taking his advice, I neatly hang my coat on the hook, pull off my tie, and stuff it in my pocket.

As he weaves through the living room to the formal dining room off the kitchen, I unbutton my top button, then work my way to my sleeves, rolling them up my forearms.

Except, when I look up, I come full stop in front of his pinewood table fully dressed with four place settings—two facing sets on either side.

My shoulders slump as I slowly drag my focus from the flatware to my guilty brother.

This week, I’ve made multiple follow-up calls, and left zero voicemails for the same reason I’m here tonight.

I want to talk to him.

Alone.

This is supposed to be a quick chat over a simple meal. At the end of the night, we’ll have eaten, and he’ll have seen reason, leaving me to go back to worrying about the growth of our family businesses and whether jet-black hair dye is the ticket to getting back on the dating market.

Simple.

But before I can fix my mouth to ask any of the many questions barreling against the front of my mind, like who’s joining us and why, Morgan bursts through the swinging kitchen door.

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize you were here!” She sets a basket of sourdough bread in the center of the table and comes in for a full-body hug. “Thank you so much for coming. It really does mean a lot to us.”

“Thanks for having me.” I force a stilted smile as she bounces back on her heels, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

She brightens, quick to fill the silence.

“Dante told me tortellini is your favorite, and I’ve got this amazing recipe from my mom…” She closes her eyes and moans. “Mm-mm-mm, I can’t wait for you to taste it.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

“I know it will be delicious,” I say, still salty, though slightly less annoyed that our twosome is doubling. Flashing her a quick smile, I flit a squinted glance to Dante. “I’m sure it’ll be good enough to eat two plates.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek, inhaling.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and Morgan excuses herself to go welcome our mystery guest.

The second she’s gone, though, I light into Dante.

“Are you serious?” I whisper. “I called you three times this week to confirm we were meeting. I figured you knew I meant alone.”

In the other room, Morgan’s shrill scream is matched by a familiar feminine voice I can’t quite place.

Then again, I’m not trying to.

My focus is centered on the way Dante’s features tighten as if calming himself for what he’ll say next, and I’m all ears. Because why not just invite me for dinner rather than let me believe it’d be just us?

“You’re forgetting I know how you operate, Stef.” Dante’s tone hardens with challenge as his attention darts between me and the living room off the foyer. “Do you really think I don’t know what you want to discuss?” He throws up air quotes.

“Look, I’m not against your engagement if that’s what you’re insinuating. Believe it or not, I’m happy for you.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” he scoffs.

“Well, I am.” I stay the course, determined to get this out. “After what I’ve been through, is it so ridiculous that I’d want to protect you from suffering the same fate?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he snaps. “And contrary to what you think, you don’t always know what’s best for me.”

I nod, giving him his moment.

How many times has he used some version of that statement with me, only to come pleading for advice later? You’ve got a superiority complex; you don’t know me…but how do I get her to notice me? Don’t comment on my relationship…but she left me, and it hurts, so how do I get her back?

I’ve got half a dozen years on him, and I’ve saved his ass too many times to count. That’s what I do. I look out for my family. I spare them by letting them learn from my mistakes.

“Don’t I, though?” I chew the inside of my cheek. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with an engagement. I’m simply saying take some time. Learn each other. Learn what’s important to you as individuals and as a couple. Consider the benefits of giving yourselves the necessary time to embrace your union before the actual wedding day. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” he parrots.

Dante sighs, his frustration clearly mounting. “Jesus, can you just stop and listen to yourself for a second? A union? We’re in a relationship.”

I shrug. “Semantics.”

“Whatever, you sound like some abstinence brochure listing the features and benefits of waiting. Time is an illusion.” He scratches his temple. “Morgan and I have been through enough in life to understand the risks and value of what we have. We don’t take it for granted.”

“Again, that’s not what I’m saying.” I huff out a frustrated breath. “You’re young.”

“And therefore, inexperienced, right?” Dante scoffs. “You’re not that much older than me.”

The volume in the foyer grows louder.

Dante lowers his voice, leaning in. “Let’s be clear, you’re my brother, and like I said, I’d love your support. But if that’s not something you can bring yourself to give—”

“Look what the San Francisco air blew in!” Morgan announces, breaking into my brother’s unveiled threat as she ambles into the dining room with Avery Ellis on her heels.

Immediately, Avery sets her dark brown eyes on me, annoyance clouding over her mainstay sunny disposition.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, visibly as put out about my presence as I was by the fourth place setting. When I wordlessly fan out my hand to the table in explanation, she turns back to Morgan. “What is he doing here? I thought we were relaxing over wine and that Tia Williams movie while you catch me up on what I missed Tuesday…”

Ah yes, their weekly girls’ night. How could she have passed up a wine-fueled happy hour to gossip?

The air is charged with tension.

Surprisingly, Morgan ignores her question and claps her hands together, pasting on a cheery smile instead.

“We will absolutely be doing the movie…after a nice sit-down dinner,” she clarifies as if this was the plan all along.

Except, suddenly, I suspect it was.

Avery folds her arms across her orange-sweatshirt-clad chest. Her blonde ponytail is swept over one shoulder. She’s in sneakers and matching sweatpants, dressed for comfort. She was lured in under the pretense of a relaxing night to unwind with her friend while Dante promised me food and a one-on-one, knowing I’d jump at the opportunity to reason with him.

They wanted us both here. Even if that meant keeping us in the dark about the reason.

What is really going on here?

Morgan playfully nudges Avery’s shoulder with hers. “The more, the merrier, right?”

Avery darts an assessing gaze between Morgan and Dante then back to me like she’s still chewing on this version of what’s happening, and not the unabashed ambush we both know this is.

“Right,” Avery cautiously agrees.

“Well, okay, then…” Morgan’s wide-eyed gaze flickers not so subtly to Dante.

“Ah, yes.” He clears his throat. “I hope you’re hungry. My fiancée and I have been in the kitchen making tortellini, salad, and warm sourdough bread for you—from scratch.” He looks at her lovingly. “We’ve also got some red blend wine to pair with it. Or a Riesling if you want white or sweet. A little music and we’re hoping we can all enjoy some time together, and just…talk.”

And there it is.

“Talk,” I repeat, tasting the lie on my tongue.

“Yup, a little conversation over a home-cooked meal. A chance to catch up,” Dante says vaguely.

There’s definitely an agenda.

Quietly observing, I take note of the way Dante keeps rubbing the back of his neck, and Morgan’s restlessness, her fluctuating pitch.

“Ms. Ellis.” Dante takes a few steps back, sliding out a chair for Avery before pointing to the one beside hers. “Stef…”

As we both slowly walk toward the table, I briefly consider tonight could be a romantic setup.

His silver-fox brother, her wedding-obsessed best friend. It’s textbook double-date matchmaking. The sort of thing that happened all the time in those romantic comedy movies Carina made me watch.

Except between our hosts’ dips in and out of the dining room to bring out the meal, my appraising glances at Avery aren’t met with appreciation. After a stuttered scan of my shirt, she questions why I’m staring, scoots her chair another inch away from mine, and shoots me with a sidelong scowl.

I quickly toss out that theory.

Plus, I’m far more interested in what our hosts want to talk about.

So, once we’re all seated with our plates and wineglasses full, and everyone has complimented the chefs, we dig in.

All of five minutes pass, the silence filled with clanking silverware and polite smiles, before Dante prefaces, “I gotta be honest here…” further ramping up my anticipation.

Avery steadies her fork halfway to her mouth, her attention, like mine, centered on my brother.

“I really want you two to be friends,” he says.

“Omigod, yes,” Morgan agrees.

Friendship is the reason they brought us here?

I feel my eyebrows dipping, and before I can stop myself, I ask, “Why?” I mean it to clarify Dante’s intentions, but it comes out like I’d rather die before I consort with Avery Ellis.

Whether she’s offended or not, she doesn’t let on, though.

“Yes, is there a reason?” she asks, warmly.

It’s strange, but I understand her approach. If Dante and Morgan have gone out of their way to bring us together when an email or text could’ve sufficed to put Avery and me in communication or a “friendship,” their motivation feels like it stems from something grander.

It’s Morgan who answers us.

“You’ve got so much in common, and we can’t help wondering if you’d have found out on your own had the vineyard listing hoax never happened, you know?” The inflection in her voice lifts with the unspoken question.

Are you willing to give each other a chance for us?

Immediately, my answer is no.

Grudges are one thing. But keeping me out of the loop when it concerns my brother’s engagement? It rubbed me all the way wrong. What’s more, I’m convinced that Avery’s rose-colored glasses are simply proof of youth and naiveté. She’s unrealistically hopeful because she hasn’t experienced enough of life’s ups and downs. Not just about people but the choices we make that with age, we look back on in hindsight with so much clarity.

And that’s fine, as long as you’re not guiding someone else’s decision that could leave him spiraling in grief and suffering.

“Maybe.” I give a noncommittal nod, not wanting to come off too harsh with Avery again.

To my surprise, she quietly, stubbornly sips from her glass, sets it on the table, then twists to face me.

“She’s absolutely right,” Avery says with conviction. “That prank, 100 percent helped shape my view of you. Your role in that ‘family ruse’ could’ve left their relationship as collateral damage.”

It’s a matter of maturity,I reassure myself.

“I hear you, and I acknowledge your point,” I respond. “For the record, my intention was never to hurt my brother or Morgan.”

Good. Maintain your cool.

“Yes, this is why we’re here tonight.” Morgan weaves her fingers with Dante’s, meeting Avery’s blank stare. “We all want to move past this. He’s my soon-to-be husband’s brother. My brother-in-law.” Then she turns to me. “And she’s your soon-to-be sister-in-law’s best friend.”

Avery seeks out my stare again. “I know why you’re here.”

The accusation in her tone grates on my nerves.

Again, I remind myself this is what this generation does. They get hot-headed, venting and blowing things out of proportion. They point fingers first then ask questions later.

“Well then, by all means, please share it with the class, Pollyanna.”

Shit, don’t sink to her level.

“Pollyanna?” Avery releases a hysterical laugh. “See, you don’t fool me. I see right through your over-starched suits and quiet judgment.”

“I just meant that you’ve got such a warm personality.” Clearly, with everyone except for me.

“Yeah, I bet.” She purses her full glossy lips. “Well, since we’re talking about moving on and positivity, I thought I’d encourage you not to be such a rain cloud, stealing other people’s sun just because you’re going through a hard time.”

“Okay…” Morgan interrupts. “Looks like maybe we should take over things from here.”

But Avery is undeterred in her mission.

“So, your marriage is over and I’m sure that sucks rainbow cannonballs. But you know what? You’re still here. You’re still on this side of the grass. Why not celebrate life to the fullest while you’re in your prime?”

At this, I’ve got to laugh.

She’s somehow managed to insult both me and my marriage before she sprinkles me with confetti. Then she follows it up with a veiled compliment? I’m in my prime, now, am I?

I snicker. “Rainbow cannonballs, huh?”

“Yes, and I saw her post.” She stays her course, hooking a hard turn into left field. Except, she says it so softly, so sympathetically, I almost miss it over the drumline pounding in my ears.

How did this become about me?

Carina’s hand-holding post flashes across the front of my mind, jolting me back to Avery’s soft gaze.

“By now, I’m sure everyone has,” she reasons. “And so what if people are talking? It’s time for you to start looking up and looking to your own future, not stifling everyone else’s.”

Heat climbs up my neck to my face, but I clamp my mouth shut.

Despite my mounting irritation, I don’t want to exacerbate the situation. I keep my emotion in check. Lashing out won’t benefit me. Adding water to a grease fire won’t stop the burning.

“Okay, we’ve veering off on a tangent,” Morgan warns.

But Avery holds up a finger.

“One last thing,” she says before she drills in her final point. “Maybe you’d have friends if you stopped being a complete grump to everyone who knows and cares about you.”

It’s so absurd.

So preposterous that someone who knows literally nothing about me or my marriage—any marriage, for that matter—is commenting on how and at what speed I should move on.

Falling in love takes time. It’s only logical that falling out of it should require the same.

I pull in a lungful of air, and pin Avery with a pointed stare. I’m prepared to impart some choice words on her but as I push my sleeves up my forearms, I register her attention shifting with my movements.

My gaze flickers to her flushed face.

Now, shockingly silent, her eyes burn a fiery amber hue, her lips parting as she watches me fold my arms across my chest and lean into the curve of my seat back.

Instantly, the curiosity I felt walking into that tent, my eyes searching her out, it surges to the surface of my mind.

Is she checking me out? Is she turned on…by my forearms?

No, couldn’t be.

But just in case, I bend my arm, flexing my bicep as I question, “A complete grump?”

She leans forward, her focus lingering on the bulge of my muscle for a split second more before it snaps up to my eyes again.

“Are you seriously just going to k-keep repeating everything I say as a question?” she stammers.

Her breaths shallow.

Oh, yeah. Something is happening here.

“Maybe.” I dart my tongue out, and trace my teeth over my lower lip, outright ogling her now.

Eager to continue testing my theory, I reach up, dragging my fingers over my lips.

Like she’s under my spell, Avery mirrors my movement, pressing her fingers to her mouth, too, and it’s beyond gratifying. It’s unnerving how fast my pulse races.

Goddammit, it’s an instant self-confidence boost.

Once upon a time, before I started dating Carina, women asked me out for drinks. I’d get phone numbers written on the side of my cup in cafés. I’d catch them staring. I had style and game. Twelve years of marriage, loss, and a divorce may have robbed me of my confidence to get back out there, but in this moment, I’m certain I’ve still got…something.

“What does that even mean? Maybe?” she asks.

“I just…I have so many questions, Miss Ellis.” I lower my voice, playing up the bass. “First, I’m a silver fox, which, thank you. Then something about rainbow cannonballs… Now, I’m a grump?” I raise an eyebrow. “Which exactly is it?”

A light flush creeps over her cheeks.

She swings her legs back under the table and lowers her focus to the half-full wineglass in front of her.

Are we fighting or flirting, Pollyanna?

“Wait, you called him a silver fox?” Morgan asks, suddenly flooring it down that tangent. “I mean, I definitely see it but, what was the context?”

“It was nothing.” Avery waves off the question.

I flash her a small smile when she glances in my direction, the temptation to unfasten more than just my top shirt button increasing exponentially.

But she doesn’t circle back to her point.

In fact, no one says anything for a beat.

Fifteen minutes go by as we go back to stuffing tortellini and bread in our mouths and washing it down with wine.

It’s only when Morgan stacks her and Dante’s plates to the side that I assume we’ll circle back to the subject at hand. Maybe get to the real reason—beyond our age difference—that Avery and I can’t be around each other two minutes before we clash. Maybe shed some light on why she can’t get past the hoax or why she’s only Pollyanna with everyone else.

Except, it’s Dante who intertwines their fingers and meets our stares.

“Babe?” He gives Morgan the floor.

Nerves smooth the lines of her face as she sinks her fingers into her dark textured curls.

“We’d love for you to be our best man and maid of honor.”

Avery gasps, pushing to her feet to walk around and hug Morgan. They squeal and fall into a tight hug with Morgan confessing that this past Tuesday, she’d already asked their friends to be bridesmaids.

I’d love to say I sprang to my feet to do the same with my brother.

I can’t though.

Instead of laughing and screeching with them as they veer off into plans for “a dreamy outdoor wedding on the vineyard…” I’m fixated on the rest of that sentence.

“In September,” she says.

As in less than three months from now?

Dante rounds the table, tapping my shoulder and snapping me to.

“So, what do you say? You down to be my best man?”

I push to my feet, forcing a smile. “You bet—” I break off.

But he must sense the question in the lingering silence. He scratches his scalp, reluctantly tipping his chin to me.

“Next September, right?” I ask.

The women slowly turn to us, quietly assessing the situation before Morgan winces. It doesn’t surprise me when Avery links hands with Morgan.

Friendship and loyalty.

She’s the supportive best friend with no words of wisdom. Nothing to say. No sage wedding planner or friendly advice. Just leap and hope you fly, huh?

No help.

“So, it’s safe to say there’s no reasoning with you about a longer engagement.” I nod, weighing how much I want to say. Then I figure, what the heck? “Not even a year? Seriously, why the rush?”

Avery comes to their defense.

“Because they’re in love and nothing in life is guaranteed. I don’t know, maybe because it’s their decision. Or because they know if they wanted to get married tomorrow, I’ll support them.”

She reaches across the table, grabbing her glass and polishing off the remains of her wine.

“Of course, you would.” I poke my tongue in my cheek, fed up with her little digs. “Life is nothing but a series of parties for you, right, Pollyanna?”

Quietly, Avery replaces her glass in front of her.

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“Figures.”

Avery tugs at her sweatshirt sleeves, then stretches the collar to pull it over her head without ruffling a single hair.

Dante shakes his head. “Look, we don’t want to make things worse between you two. Let’s just—”

“No, Stefano’s got so much to say.” Avery laughs as if now I’m not the one checking her out in a thin beige tank that exposes every smooth golden-brown inch of her skin and molds to her round breasts. “Have you ever thought maybe I’d rather spend my life celebrating the moments and breaths and wins and ups and good times? I’ve had my share—still have my share—of hardships. Not that I owe you any explanation. But I don’t want to live in the shadows of grief.”

She stretches, thrusting her chest forward, and a slow smile builds as she watches me watching her now.

I don’t have the heart to tell her there’s lettuce stuck in her teeth.

Dante settles on his chair again and clasps his hands on the table.

“When I thought we were losing the vineyard, it put so much in perspective for me, Stef.” He pauses for a beat. “I don’t want to wait on the right time. It feels right for us and what’s important to our legacy.”

Morgan and Avery return to their seats as well, like they too sense there’s a few more kinks to hash out.

“With the on-site cabins finishing up next month, we thought it would be amazing to be the vineyard’s first wedding,” Morgan adds.

“Our ancestors walked on this land. They ran their fingers through that soil and those ribboning vines. Think of it as—”

Morgan cringes. “Oh, my Lord, please don’t say it.”

Dante laughs.

“Think of it as christening this land.” He shrugs at the three of us chuckling and groaning our disapproval. “Whatever, maybe we’ll do that, too. But to your point, marking a special first like this wouldn’t hurt profits…”

The mood in the room noticeably lifts.

He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Our guests will fill all the cabins. Then we’ll still be able to help local lodging partners.” Dante is on a roll, appealing to my business brain, and shamelessly, I’m listening. “Winery subscriptions will pick up. With the photos alone, adding them to our brochures and ad copy, wedding packages will be booked out for years.”

Avery snaps her fingers.

“Ooh, and I’ve got a few magazine editor clients, too. Wedding features in Vines + Vineyards, Visage, Blissful Bride, and Northern Living… Look out world, wedding of the century loading.”

I hate that it does indeed appeal to my financial outlook for our conglomerate of companies. We’ve got delis and restaurants to cater. We work with affiliate lodging partners to sleep overflow guests. We could feature the private label wines.

Frankly, a Fortemani wedding would be marketing we can’t buy.

But couldn’t it still be in a year? Or two?

“I’m in.” Avery throws up spirit fingers before she bumps my shoulder with hers.

Her expression screams, you know you want to celebrate, too.

I do.

“Listen, I agree. It all sounds amazing, and although I’ll be honored to be your best man, you know where I stand on a longer engagement, and I think it’s rushed.” I shrug. “Vendors need time. Florists, photographers, bakeries—they need more than two and a half months to pull something like this off.”

It’s my final appeal to reason.

Which Morgan shoots down in one breath flat.

“Unless you’re working with the dream team. With Avery as our wedding planner and you as her vineyard liaison, we’ll make it work.”

No, this won’t make things worse between us.

Oh boy.