The Wedding Crush

Chapter Seven

Avery

Last night, the stars aligned.

Well, first they were disordered chaos all over my dining room table. All week, Stefano’s voice taunted me.

Rushing just feels ill-advised blah, blah, blah.

Ugh,like nightmare fuel, first, my go-to florist—I’m talking flora-scape architect genius—tells me she’s booked through January. Then, same with the deejay, who plays music from this century. Booked. When none of my photographers were available, I figured, this is the worst of it. I was forced to use Stefano’s referral, and call Elena, the travel photographer down the hall from him who it turns out, isn’t a made-up person, but a nice woman despite her husband’s self-help podcast recommendations.

Taking his help, I thought I might die of humiliation because it felt like such an I told you so.

At least, sending a list of unproblematic podcasts felt mildly redeeming. Temporarily, because of course, Stefano thanked me and said he’s excited to listen, effectively stealing my joy.

But the real rotten cherry on top?

Three! Not one or two, but THREE of my key dress designers couldn’t pull off a one-of-a-kind dream dress, ship it, and fit it in two months…

What is wrong with these people? Haven’t they ever heard of wedding magic?

Low-key, I was starting to think, that uptight man put some kind of curmudgeon hex jinx on this ceremony.

Good girl.

He called me agood girl? Why was that so sexy?

Why am I letting this man get under my skin?

Alas, I pulled out my fix-it kit, and voilà! With finesse and the utmost professionalism, I tackled the obstacles with my list of backup vendors.

And my list of IOUs to call in favors.

The Napa bridal boutique with almost every dress Morgan pinned in stock, had “a cancellation.”

The only dress appointment available for months, and they squeezed in Morgan in at eleven o’clock Thursday morning.

Immediately, I called the Sister Circle, begged them to rearrange their schedules, call in sick. Heck, fake a stomachache if necessary.

They needed to be there.

As the thrilled maid of honor and wedding planner, I offered to hand-deliver Morgan to the boutique. After they agreed and Morgan invited her mom and Victoria, I was set to mark my calendar when I realized Ace had a dentist appointment today.

This is my life.

A special blend of highs, lows, and pillow screams, before I play Tetris with my already crammed schedule.

Of course, all to the soundtrack of Cars, playing from the back seat where my little guy is excitedly chomping on mini carrots and enjoying this impromptu field trip.

“Less than three minutes until Auntie Mo comes flying down the steps to give you some sugar,” I say, peeking at him in the rearview mirror.

My heart leaps the way it does every time he Macaulay Culkin–style slaps his hands over his squishy cheeks.

Thank you, YouTube shorts, for that one.

There’s a quiet moment as I flip on my left indicator and slow at a STOP sign, feeling grateful he’ll get to see me working.

As I accelerate through, making a right onto the vineyard’s gravelly lane, I call Morgan on Bluetooth.

“I’m here,” I say when she answers.

“Hey, can you come in for a couple minutes?” she asks. “We’ve got a full hour. I want to give you a list of the changes Dante and I made…”

I flit a glance at the time on the dash, mentally calculating drive time and lunch hour traffic.

“Can you email it to me?”

“Can you afford to pass up a potty break?” she quips, bypassing me for my baby. “Hey, my little Ace with flying colors.”

A couple minutes and a timely stop at the big-boy toilet later, I’m standing in Morgan and Dante’s office with my camera hanging from my neck while she rummages through her Pendaflex.

“Here it is!” Victoriously, she tugs a sheet of paper free. “It just a handful of changes.” She passes it to me.

Oh, no big deal.

No, capping the guest list at fifty when Victoria’s list has 250 people on standby, isn’t wildly unrealistic. Then again, it’ll be like a Venn diagram riddle seating chart when there’s a column beside each name, detailing who, by no means, can be seated next to them. Naturally, they’ll all want to have unobstructed views of the wedding party pairs, each making special entrances with original, never-before-seen dances.

I shoot Morgan a confused glare.

Then I read the last item.

Victoria has requested an invite to Stefano’s ex, Carina.

My attention snaps to Morgan.

“Why would she want her here?” I ask. “That seems so…fudged up,” I say for Ace’s sake. Not that he’s listening to anyone besides the great Lightning McQueen.

Morgan shrugs. “Dante said she still considers her family.”

I consider this for a moment, wondering how his mother doesn’t see how having his ex around might not be conducive to Stefano moving on with his life after the divorce.

Shoving the thought aside—because that man isn’t my business—I ask Morgan to watch Ace for a few minutes while I take some photos of the main lawn and the terrace.

I’m gone, maybe, ten minutes. Maybe.

When I get back to the office, though, it’s empty.

Halfway down the hall, I spot my best friend, frantically opening and closing doors, and whispering Ace’s name.

“Where are you? This isn’t funny, hiding from Auntie Mo.”

“Yes, baby, how did you get away from workaholic Auntie Mo if she was watching so closely?”

Morgan whips around.

“Omigod, I checked my email for two seconds,” she explains. “Then I turned around and he was gone.”

Together, we double-team the rest of the rooms before we pour out the front door. In no time, we’re rushing down the entry steps toward the main lawn. My nerves are all over the place, and I’m about to start yelling his name, when Morgan throws out a crowbar arm, halting me.

When I meet her wide-eyed stare, she presses her forefinger to her lips, then taps her ear.

We grow still, listening.

Soon, Stefano’s deep chortle fills the air.

My immediate instinct is to U-turn, and sprint back to the house. I can’t handle another run-in with Stefano Fortemani. I should be searching for my son who could be playing with table spiders on a trail somewhere or drunk off dirty grapes.

But then, Stefano asks, “Where are your parents?”

Immediately my body slow-motion, zips around, my ears perked toward his voice.

Is Stefano talking to Ace?

“I don’t have a dad.” My son’s clear, high-pitched voice fills the air, and my heart lurches.

I want to jump out from behind this bush, and tell him, “You have a dad, who gave his life for us and this country. Just because he can’t be with us now, that doesn’t mean he’s not looking down on you, proud as the day you were born.”

Instead, I cover my heart with my hand, heat stinging at the corners of my eyes as I listen.

“Well, is your mom here?”

Somehow, I feel like I need to hear this. I’ve been so busy shielding him, filling his life with so much joy, I don’t think I realized he may feel Justin’s void as much as I do.

Emotion clogs in my throat.

He’s not too young to understand.

“She’s taking pictures. We’re on a field trip. You can come, too, but you have to ask my Auntie Mo,” Ace says, sweetly.

A small, sad laugh tugs at my heartstrings.

“Oh, well thank you for inviting me. Should we go look for your mom and auntie?”

I pull in a deep breath, prepared to make my way back to the steps to wait for them, but it seems Ace is in no rush to find me yet. Not until he asks his burning question, first.

“What’s your favorite car?” he asks.

As I pry the tiny branches apart, taking in Stefano’s long limbs and rigid posture in a cobalt suit, I expect him to give Ace some perfunctory answer and quickly hunt me down.

But Stefano’s dark eyes dart to the sky then to Ace’s tiny Lightning McQueen corvette in his hand.

To my utter shock, he smiles warmly, and it’s like he’s pulled an Uno Reverse card on me.

“Phew, that’s a serious question.” He scrubs a hand over his beard scruff, comically feigning deep concentration, though I sense this isn’t, in fact, a hard one. He squints at Ace. “Do you know what a Ferrari 250 GTO is?”

Warmth floods through me, watching him smile and humor my baby with a thoughtful answer.

“Is it a Corvette? My favorite car is a red Corvette just like Lightning McQueen,” Ace supplies.

No shocker there.

Which only makes me feel slightly better about all the money I’ve spent on a car bed, themed sheets, and toys.

Morgan slaps a hand over her mouth, and I’ve got to bite my tongue not to laugh. Even though our drive home will center on talking to strangers again, I can’t discount how adorable this conversation is.

Stefano chuckles.

“Well, I can see how you might be confused. They both come in cherry red, like your friend, here. The Ferrari is an Italian race car, though. Luxurious, elegant, perfect for a gentleman who appreciates and dreams of owning a handsome vehicle.”

My shoulders shake with stifled laughter, though, to Morgan, I still ask the question, niggling at me.

“What’s Stefano doing here?” I whisper.

We crouch down, inching closer to spy on them behind a bush, while she quickly brings me up to speed on his hours-long visit to the vineyard. He’s been down by the guest cabins, inspecting the progression of the project to ensure they’ll be ready by September.

I don’t know why this surprises me.

By all accounts, he’s a skilled businessman. A reliable, structured, overly cautious overachiever who rarely steps out of his comfort zone. Everything about him exudes type A, straight and narrow living.

His presence on the property today makes complete sense. He’s concerned about the vineyard’s lodging partners, and what the eventual photos in brochures will do for the bottom line.

Why wouldn’t he take his assigned lodging project and immediately go to task?

Also, why is it shocking that he hasn’t given me pushback about planning a wedding he doesn’t agree with?

“He’s ninety-five and he has stickers,” Ace adds, snapping me out my thoughts. Apparently, much to Stefano’s amusement.

As I pry the tiny branches apart, taking in Stefano’s long limbs and rigid posture in a cobalt suit—on another sweltering hot summer day. He’s smiling and talking to my baby with animated hands. I’m dumbfounded by his duplicity.

Nothing about what I’m looking at meshes with the person I’ve built up in my head.

Stefano releases an impressed chuckle. “Whoa! A ninety-five-year-old Corvette, huh?”

Ace is tickled pink, like an almost centenarian car is both unfathomable and the funniest thing he’s ever heard. My son lets loose an infectious, musical laugh that warms my insides.

“No, silly,” he says. “That’s his number. He’s a race car.”

“Ohhhhh…”

Adrenaline rushes through me, and I’m secondhand elated.

“God, he’s so good with kids,” I whisper to Morgan.

It was an observation. Really, just me, musing about how easily Stefano is getting along with my son.

But my best friend doesn’t miss the opportunity to help me reconsider a friendship with him.

“Well, you know he and Carina tried…” To have babies, she means. “Dante said they miscarried twice, and it took a huge toll on them. IVF and adoption weren’t part of their plan either.”

My throat tightens, as I put two and two together.

“Do you think fertility was at the root of their divorce?”

“Girl, you never know what happens in people’s marriages, but I’m sure it didn’t help.”

I cover my heart with my hand, now, inching closer still. I’m overwhelmed with emotion for a man who I thought I’d figured out. He’s been through the depths of hell, his heart broken repeatedly. Of course, he’s concerned for his brother. Of course, he’s holding on to what family he’s got left.

I look again at this man with his impeccable grooming and a full head of salt-and-pepper curls. His intense brown eyes seem softer the way he’s engaging with Ace.

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with a harrowing realization.

We go about it differently, but Stefano Fortemani and I want the same thing. We want to shield our loved one from the pain we’ve experienced.

I get a light, floaty feeling in my chest.

Ace clearly has no clue what Stefano’s talking about, but Ace looks up at him like a car-loving god, evidently eager to add value to the subject when he contributes, an excellent point that, “Sally is a blue car. She’s Lightning McQueen’s girlfriend.”

Evidently, enjoying this conversation more than he might’ve imagined, Stefano masks his snickers.

“Sally, you say?”

Naturally, Ace fishes out a happy blue miniature car with big cartoon eyes from his pocket.

“Ah, a Porsche.” Stefano’s eyes light up. “I’ve got a black one parked at my house, not too far from here, in Healdsburg. If you ever come back to visit, I’ll bring my car.”

Ace’s shoulders sag at his sides. “I live in Fracisco.”

Morgan shoots me a chastising glare. “You really need to teach your kid not to tell all y’all’s business to strangers.”

“That’s the thing, he normally wouldn’t,” I say. “He usually runs from strangers.”

Wistfully, I watch them together, two guys discussing cars, the way I’ll likely never be able to. And I know this might just be a phase, but I realize Ace needs strong male role models in his life to answer all the questions I can’t.

“How about this?” Stefano claps his hands. “Let me help you find your mom. I’m sure she’s worried sick about you. Then if she’s okay with it, we’ll get you back out here for a ride with Sally.”

Ace’s bright brown eyes sparkle with excitement.

Morgan and I barely make it to the steps before they wander up the path.

“Mom, the man has Sally locked in his garage!” Ace announces.

Stefano plants himself beside Morgan and throws up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.” He chuckles but I don’t miss the searching glance he darts to Ace before he meets my stare. “Hello, Avery.”

His dark brown gaze bores into me as he straightens his tie.

“Hey, thanks so much for bringing back the little explorer.” I tuck a flyaway hair behind my ear, unsure how to troubleshoot the errors I might’ve made with him. “This is Ace, by the way, my son.”

His brow furrows slightly.

I don’t miss the quick glance he flits to my left hand.

After our ChatVideo meeting on Monday following my marriage bomb-drop, I knew he’d had more questions about my husband and my bare ring finger. Still, I pressed on with the meeting, determined to prove I wasn’t too young and naive to run a business. Maturity isn’t determined by age or time. Not that we were ever in a position to share personal details about our lives.

But now, I’ve got a son, too?

He must have a million questions.

Graciously, though, he doesn’t broach any of them now.

Stefano’s expression softens.

“Nice to meet you, Ace. I’m Stefano.” He gives him a hardy handshake. “Your Auntie Mo…” He flashes Morgan a confirming glance, waiting for her nod before he continues. “She’s marrying my brother.”

My son is uninterested until I add, “They’re together like Lightning and Sally,” without realizing, it might be a dead giveaway that I’d eavesdropped on their conversation.

After Ace hugs his Auntie, Morgan takes him inside for one more bathroom stop before we get on the road for her dress-shopping appointment.

Then, I’m alone with Stefano.

Silence thickens between us for an awkward beat.

Neither of us knows what to say. We’re so used to bickering, proving our loyalty to Morgan and Dante. How should we act when we’re not at each other’s throats?

Or when the other has just shown your son a considerable kindness when he thought no one was looking?

He straightens his tie again. Then he looks at me thoughtfully.

I feel him scrutinizing my face.

A prickling sensation scatters along the back of my neck. My thoughts race, urging me to regain control of the situation before I spiral down the good girl fantasy hole.

“I hear it’s going to be a full house at the bridal boutique.” He flashes me a smile that might as well be an olive branch, the way I latch on to it.

I’m the first to break eye contact.

“Oh, yeah.” I exaggerate a sigh, glancing up to the house. “Both mothers, the Sister Circle, plus Ace. Let’s pray there’s champagne on the premises.”

Our combined laughter is stilted and careful, like we’re both holding back for the other’s sake.

I get this unrelenting urge to get this weight off my chest.

“Listen, Stefano, I know we’ve got another ChatVideo meeting this afternoon, but I just want to take a second and tell you how much I appreciate you talking cars with Ace.”

When he looks at me, I search his eyes, hoping my words feels as genuine as I intend them to be.

“He’s a great kid.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

A few seconds later, Morgan and Ace come bounding back down the steps to wait by the car.

Stalling, I shoot Stefano another glance. “Don’t let me forget to go over them when we meet at two, but Morgan gave me a list of requests…” I drag the word out for dramatic effect.

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “Do I even want to know?”

I cover my face with my hand. “Oh God, no. Think choreographed pairs dances as we enter the ceremony…”

“Sadly, I’m prepared for worst-case scenarios concerning my brother, so I might be equipped to help.”

Equipped? Really?

It’s absolutely corny. A totally, fittingly and unknowingly dirty innuendo, and so comically him.

Inside I’m cracking up because it’s not friendship or aligning stars, but somehow, laughter and comfort feel like a step in the right direction between us.

Just then, Morgan reminds me of the time, and as I tell Stefano I’ll see him in a few hours, climb into the car, and pull onto the main road, my breath catches in my throat.

I’m more looking forward to our meeting than dress shopping with my best friend.