Chapter 4
Raffi
Raffi loved Pinterest. He got a lot of his style ideas from the site, in fact. Luckily, his dad had never heard of it, so no chance of giving his dad more ammo for calling out Raffi on his lack of manliness.
Raffi sat at the laptop in the winery’s office, feeling proud of his text to Ani, that he had shown initiative—and very good taste, he might add—and decided to text his book club group chat, MBD.
You’ll never guess, but ? is hosting its inaugural wedding, which will be none other than…wait for it…the queer wedding of an indie movie star and my billionaire ex-girlfriend.
The dots began dancing almost immediately.
His friend Kennedy texted back. That sounds like some Hallmark Channel SEO wish list, not real life.
Riley jumped in. WHAT IN THE HOLY VELVET-SUITED HELL. Is there a vibe board? Will tarot cards be involved? I NEED A GUEST LIST AND YES I WILL SIGN AN NDA.
Raffi chuckled to himself. Riley had more energy than the rest of the book club members combined.
Then Lana, in her signature quiet-snipe style, chimed in. I assume you’re emotionally spiraling. Please let us know if you’re okay.
Raffi: I’m fine. The relationship is ancient history. No spiral. Not even a corkscrew.
Kennedy: We’re flattered you chose us as your emotional support coven.
Lana: Okay, reassured. Permission to roast?
Raffi: Wow, thank you all for these calm and reasoned responses. And Lana you know you have standing permission.
Kennedy: You’re welcome. We contain multitudes. Mostly snark.
Raffi smiled down at the screen. God, he loved this group.
During his MBA program, he joined the club on a total whim.
He’d always liked books when he was younger, fiction books, and then simply stopped reading at a certain point.
None of his friends did, so he didn’t either.
Dad had actively discouraged it, on top of that.
You read business books, money books, not this garbage.
But when Raffi saw their club, titled enticingly Mad, Bad, and Dangerous Book Club, he figured he’d join.
He hadn’t realized it was a feminist book club, even though all the other members were women—he just figured, chicks be reading—and to be honest the nature of the club didn’t dawn on him until the third text that was selected, another literary work dissecting the meaning of female identity.
He didn’t quit, though. He liked what was happening to his brain, being challenged into expansion.
Slowly, over the next six months, he came to meeting after meeting full of questions after having read the work, feeling his entire worldview shift.
Realizing…he’d been kind of an asshole to women for too long.
He’d watched a great deal of romance movies with Sevan, and there was often this notion of “fixing” a man.
In his reality, it had been a whole group of women.
His book club had an AA–like meeting where Raffi confessed, expressed a desire to do better, and his new friends all acknowledged his hopes and told them they’d be there for him.
And they were. And he did do better. Not perfect, but better.
The final member of MBD, Maya, joined the group chat then. Sorry I’m late, a six-year-old tried to unionize the snack schedule. Did I miss anything?
Raffi barked a laugh, the sound echoing through the quiet office—right as heavy footsteps approached from the hallway. His father lumbered in.
Raffi straightened, phone still in hand, thumb hovering over a half reply. But he set it down instead.
Dad’s deep voice betrayed immediate disappointment. “What was all that about? You didn’t tell me Kami was coming.”
“I didn’t know.”
Moushegh clucked his tongue.
Raffi watched as his father gripped the wall and made his way closer to Raffi, one hunkering, uncomfortable step at a time. He could see the pain on his father’s face.
Moushegh had always been an imposing man.
Six foot four to Raffi’s six foot two, broad-shouldered, and muscular, with eyebrows so thick they made jaws drop—he truly had the look of a mafioso, which didn’t help the ridiculous rumors that had been spreading for years.
But lately? His father had shrunk at least an inch, and his muscles had atrophied as his peripheral neuropathy attacked his body, particularly his legs and feet.
“So? Why was she here? I thought you were having a meeting about a wedding,” his father demanded. Raffi could tell that his father was trying to hide how hard he was breathing. The walk over here must have been difficult.
“Kami was the wedding client. She’s getting married, wants to have the ceremony and reception here, at ?.”
He could see his father doing mental calculations of who Kami was with, how the two women were arm in arm and canoodling like lovers do, because they were, in fact, lovers. Raffi braced himself for the bigotry tidal wave about to crash.
“To that woman?”
Lord, let him be patient.
“Yes,” Raffi replied. “And I think it could be a great thing. They want to throw a lavish reception. ? could be in magazines and get good press as Napa’s hottest wedding destination.”
“With…” His father’s voice was low and dangerous. “A gay wedding?”
“Yes, Dad,” Raffi kept his voice firm. “With a gay wedding. Believe it or not, you can make it into Vogue as a same-sex couple these days.”
“Leave it to you to reference a women’s magazine.”
Raffi scoffed. “That’s because everyone knows Vogue. A shepherd in Anjar thirty years ago knows Vogue.”
As grating as it would be to work with Kami, Raffi recognized this wedding needed to happen, badly.
Not only, as he told his dad, would it get their winery on the map, but he also was honored to host a queer wedding, maybe do something good for a change.
The general Armenian population’s attitude toward queerness was so backward it angered him.
Now he had a chance to showcase the wedding of the year.
If they could celebrate Kami and Grace so openly and so luxuriously, it could be a major turning point for the Californian diaspora community.
Five years ago, he wouldn’t have fought his dad so hard for this, but now he knew better. Once again, thanks, book club.
“Why can’t she marry a man instead? She should be marrying you, you know.”
Raffi stopped short of rolling his eyes, which he knew would cause an outburst from his father about “treating him with respect.” And he shoved away that brief feeling of deep hurt that pulled in his stomach, remembering his and Kami’s talks about their future so long ago.
“Dad,” Raffi said. “That’s over. It’s been more than a decade, and besides, she was the one who dumped me. I don’t think she’s interested.”
“This is despicable, just despicable. We’ll be the laughingstock of the entire community.”
Raffi regretted his seated position; he wanted to be standing eye to eye with his father, to take a step closer to him. His heart was hammering as he prepared himself to fight this fight.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, imitating nonchalance.
“Dad,” he said, “trust me on this. We say who’s a laughingstock and who’s not.
If we’re hosting this wedding, no one’s going to point fingers.
And—” He raised his voice somewhat as he saw his father open his mouth to retort.
“I want to do this. It is a good thing to do, and it’s going to be good for business. I’ll say it again: Trust me.”
Owning a winery had been his father’s lifelong dream after decades of working nonstop running a wealth management firm.
A winery, his dad thought, was the pinnacle of class.
As kids, Raffi and his brother had been dragged to Napa constantly, although Sevan always found ways to make the trips fun, especially as teens when he would sneak Raffi glasses of the good stuff.
Around that time, Moushegh built a massive wine cellar in his house.
When guests came over, they received lengthy explanations about the various vintages that were to be paired with dinner.
He was known as the wine and cigars guy, but mostly the wine guy.
When the moment had come, Moushegh had big plans to make ? thrive.
Unfortunately, it was also the year his dad’s peripheral neuropathy ramped up and stole his mobility.
His body couldn’t keep up with the demands of the huge winery grounds, and he was too stubborn to accept any type of mobility device.
Moushegh had been on the verge of selling the property after just a year of owning it, when Raffi stepped in and offered to run the day-to-day.
His father would still be the owner, but Raffi would manage it.
And Raffi, right now, knew that he was not going to bend to his father’s backward way of thinking.
Moushegh shook his head, disgusted, and turned away.
“I am too tired to argue. You want to run this place into the ground, make us the ridicule of the community, do it. See what happens.”
Raffi crossed his arms. “Oh, I will.”
The text from Ani was like a balm after the conversation with his father.
Instead of fighting with him, she agreed with him.
Raffi stayed in the cool, airy office, which carried the faint scent of oak barrels, overlooking part of the vineyards.
In the distance, beyond the precise rows of dormant vines, low mist clung to the earth, curling over the land like a quiet whisper, making the whole valley look untouched, almost otherworldly.
She had said: Good start. I like this one.
Then she sent a screenshot of the dome that he also liked best.
That’s my favorite one, too. Eye to eye, he texted back.
Ani replied: We should get started as soon as possible. Do you have time for a call?
He did. He couldn’t lie that it sent a bit of excitement through his body when Ani asked him to chat.
For fuck’s sake, one of the last things she’d said to him in person had involved sticking fingers in places they didn’t belong.
She took her job seriously, and she also was feisty as hell.
And she’d dressed him down multiple times. Color him intrigued.
“Parev, Ani.”
There was the tiniest pause before she replied. “Parev, Raffi.”
Speaking in Armenian didn’t count as flirting, right? Maybe it did. Time to course correct.
“You wanted to chat? What’s up?”
“Yes,” she said, without skipping a beat this time.
“If we’re going to finish the brides’ wish list in time, we have to get started ASAP.
I’m working on designs right now, but I have to be honest that I don’t know any contractors, so I’d just be searching around the internet and getting bids.
I wanted to see if you had any contacts. ”
He sure did. “Oh yeah, I have a guy.”
Ani responded quickly. “This is not the type of job where you can just ‘have a guy’ and it’s some unlicensed family friend who can’t even caulk a shower properly.”
He tried to not think about her saying the work caulk.
“You seem to be speaking from experience.”
“I might be. So? Is he legit?”
Raffi smirked. “You mean did he just build Thomas Keller’s new personal residence by hand? Yes. He’s legit.”
He heard her intake of breath on the other end of the line, and it sent a small wave of pleasure through him.
“You’re not kidding, right?”
“I would never joke about caulk work.”
A frustrated sigh now. God, why had he said that? Then she replied, “And he’d be available?”
Raffi stretched out in his chair luxuriously, knowing he’d done well despite his stupid comment. “He’d better be; he’s one of my best buds. Plus, he owes me a favor. And this would be a nice payday for him, too, so I’m betting he’s in.”
“Fine,” she said, sounding slightly irritated. “Can we start on Monday? I’ll come up to the site. Say nine a.m.?”
Raffi stopped himself from saying “It’s a date” and instead went with “See you then. Have a great weekend, Ani.”
Another quiet pause. “You too, Raffi.”