Chapter 22 #2
Raffi delivered his stretch goal of three, and now they were cleaned up and on the way to ?. A few minutes from the winery, after pleasant and flirtatious conversation, Ani turned to him, somewhat seriously.
“Okay, almost time to turn off the relationship. Think we can do this?”
Raffi picked up her hand and kissed it. “Of course, Ani jan. That was my last, until you say it’s okay again.”
She squeezed his hand in thanks.
“Although,” Raffi added, “it’s going to be damn near impossible to behave myself anytime we’re together.”
Ani laughed. “C’mon, you love a challenge, though.”
Raffi threw his head back. “You’ve got me pegged.”
Ani’s eyes went big.
“Not,” Raffi said, “like that.”
And they both laughed until they reached the winery.
His winery. ?. Which was usually empty, especially at ten a.m., but was now crawling with people, mostly men, dressed casually, holding…
very large cameras. The sound of Raffi’s car attracted them, like vultures to a fresh carcass.
They turned, then raised their cameras, loud clicks filling the air like locusts.
Raffi’s hand jumped immediately off Ani’s, and he hoped that no one had seen them from this angle.
“What the…” Ani said.
“Seems like Grace’s fame isn’t an online-only phenomenon.” Raffi scowled.
“Holy shit. Do I look sexed up? I don’t look sexed up, right?” Ani sounded panicked.
“No, baby, not at all. Trust me, I held back after you did your hair. You look polished and beautiful. Paparazzi ready.”
“How are you so calm about this?”
He wasn’t. His entire body was buzzing on high alert, ready to protect or defend Ani if need be.
He did not trust reporters in the slightest. He remembered how a couple of them had come banging on his door, wanting to report on Sevan’s death.
The party had been at the house of a major donor for the mayor, hosted by the donor’s son, so it was newsworthy. He wouldn’t let them near his girl.
“I’m not. We don’t have to say one word to them, okay?”
Ani took a deep breath. “Okay.”
Because he had the top down on his convertible, the questions started before they even got out of the car.
A cacophony of voices erupted around them.
“When’s Grace and Kami’s wedding?”
“Who are you? What’re your names?”
“Can you tell us anything about the wedding? Any theme? What’s their song?”
“Is De Niro invited?”
“You’re doing a lot of work back there. Is it going to be done in time?”
Raffi silently waded through them, Ani close beside him, keeping their heads down. He turned around briefly to check on her. Ani was smiling politely, but he could see the fear underneath.
Suddenly, the doors of the winery swung open, and, oh no, it was his father. Moushegh was there, gripping the edge of the door, shouting in Armenian. Then English. “Get out of here. You scum. Get off my property. I will call the police!”
“Dad,” Raffi mouthed, but his father’s eyes were nowhere near him. Raffi didn’t know much about the world of online celebrity journalism, but he knew this could be bad. He did not need the image of ? tainted by the angry bear that was his father. They didn’t need this type of publicity.
Then Ani spun around to face the hungry crowd.
“Hi, everyone. My name is Ani Avakian, I’m the wedding planner.
This is Raffi Garabedian, the co-owner of ? winery.
We’re grateful for your attention today.
Unfortunately, we don’t think Grace will be making an appearance anytime soon, but we are thankful for your interest. I will share that the work Raffi and I have been managing will be done in time for the wedding, and it is going to be stunning.
To maintain the couple’s privacy, we won’t be answering any other questions at this time. Thank you!”
She capped her speech with a sweet smile and turned back, her face immediately morphing into a combination of worry and relief.
There was more clamoring from the paparazzi behind her, but slowly, more and more cameras fell to their sides as they realized they didn’t have anyone famous to capture. Thank God.
Ani, once again, was fucking brilliant. He had to tell her, he had to—
They reached his father at the door, and Raffi and his dad had an awkward silent moment, then Raffi ushered Ani inside, followed behind her, and shut them all in.
Oh God. Meeting the parents. Parent, anyway.
Far, far too soon. But then again, in Armenian relationships, meeting the family often came early on.
That was the norm. Even so, this felt different.
And not in a warm, sentimental way, but in the way that made Raffi’s shoulders tense beside her, his movements just a fraction stiffer than usual.
Because Moushegh was hardly a peach.
Raffi didn’t want to subject Ani to him, not yet.
“Those damned reporters,” his father growled in Armenian. “Defiling our property. No shame, no shame at all!”
Raffi cleared his throat. “Um, Dad, this is Ani. Ani Avakian. Ani, my dad, Moushegh.”
Really driving home that there was an Armenian woman before them who could understand every word.
His father shook himself as if he hadn’t really noticed until now the presence of a lady, as Moushegh sometimes said.
“Ani, eh?” his father asked. “You speak Armenian?” he asked in Armenian. God, the first question. He was already sizing up Ani for future wife potential.
“I do,” Ani said. “Not perfectly,” she said with a perfect Armenian accent, “but I understand it well.”
“Lovely girl,” his father said, and Raffi about wanted to die. “What are you doing with my son here?”
Ani held her breath, and Raffi quickly answered. “She’s the wedding planner. We’ve been working together.”
“Ah, yes,” Moushegh said. “I recall now, seeing you the day Kami Mardian was here.”
Moushegh lurched over to the window and peeked out. “The cockroaches appear to be leaving. Whatever you said to them, Ani, my girl, seems to have worked.”
Ani was standing near enough to him that Moushegh tapped her on the shoulder twice. Ani didn’t seem to mind; her smile was genuine.
“Thank you. I’m relieved it did.”
Speaking of relief, Raffi wanted to get Ani away from his dad as soon as possible because who knew what would come out of Moushegh’s mouth next.
“Ani, we’ve got a lot of work to do. Let’s head out back.”
“Oh, okay. Nice to meet you, Mr. Garabedian,” Ani said in Armenian.
“Please, call me Moushig,” his dad said with a smile.
Oh no. Dad liked Ani. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. Probably a good thing, but it still made him feel uncomfortable. His dad wasn’t kind. Raffi didn’t want Moushegh inflicting any of his negative vibes onto his girl.
His girl. He liked that.
It was a little after ten now, and Raffi felt he’d lived an entire lifetime since waking up.
From coffee to the video, to diurnal activities, to surprise paparazzi, to his dad meeting his brand-new girlfriend.
It was too much. He breathed out a great sigh when they were entirely out of Moushegh’s earshot.
Raffi steered Ani into a storage closet, mostly empty but with some spare bar towels, bottle openers, extra menus, and the like.
The faint scent of oak filled the air as he closed the door behind them.
“Sorry,” he said. “Needed a little quiet alone time with you before jumping into the next thing. And who knows what’s going to be out there.”
“Pirates?” Ani ventured.
He smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“You were amazing, by the way. How did you do that? In the car you were practically shaking, talking about your sexed-up hair, and two seconds later you were addressing the press like the president of the United States.”
She shrugged. “Figured it might help take the attention off your dad. Journalists don’t like getting yelled at, I imagine. I used to follow a lot of celebrity gossip back in the day, and I remember reading that the paps would get even for celebrity bad behavior.”
“Well, you were fucking fire. Water, really. Cool, smooth, placid as hell.”
“Thank you…” She blushed pink, and it was so damn cute. God, he adored her.
“But Raffi,” she said. “We should be extra careful now. I don’t think the press is interested in us at all, but you never know how big Grace is going to get.
If they dig into her history, then Kami’s history, and find out that you and me both dated Grace’s future wife?
They might get interested. So let’s sort of lie low?
Do not look at me adoringly like you were two seconds ago. ”
“You could see that?”
“Oh yes, and I would like much more of it at a later date.”
“Good. You’re getting it.” He kissed her quickly to keep his arousal at a minimum. They had things to discuss in this closet. Not things to do. Even though he really, really wanted to do things.
“And also,” she started biting the edge of her nail, then whisked her hand away. “This wedding is now a lot more high stakes.” She looked downward. “As if it wasn’t already,” she muttered.
That was odd; what was high stakes about the wedding as is? That it was Kami’s and Ani felt some sort of obligation to make sure it went well? Or that she was dating the guy who ran the place?
“What do you mean by that?” Raffi asked.
For a millisecond, Ani’s expression mirrored a frightened doe’s, but it zipped by so quickly he wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all. Then she appeared unconcerned. “You know, that I’m trying to break into luxury weddings and this could be my chance.”
“Ah, right.” He felt bad, suddenly, about his comments when they first met about her lack of elaborate weddings on her website. What a dick. “You’re going to crush it.”
“Well, let’s hope so. The press around Grace? It can be a really good thing,” she said, beaming. “Because I think we can pull it off. Disastrous if we can’t. But seriously, it could mean big things for us both, if we do it right. And I believe in us.”
His hands alighted to both her shoulders. “I believe in us, too.”
Raffi bent forward, drawn like a tide, and kissed her. A quiet agreement, a whispered promise between them, that Raffi was sure, in that moment, nothing could break.