Helia inclined her head. “I’ll have to. I’m sure Alessio left it where he said.” Alessio Venzago was the fourth generation of Venzagos to make wine for the Wilde family. Collin’s three generations of grandfathers had held the role of head winemaker, with the Venzagos being their right-hand men. When Roger inherited, he’d had no interest in making wine, so had handed the reins fully over to Alessio.
Her mother nodded. “While you’re waiting for Collin to stop by, can you check in with Akin and make sure he has everything he needs?”
She nodded and headed toward the building that housed their industrial kitchen to talk with the chef. A visit that would likely take less than five minutes. Akin was a man on top of things, as connected to the success of their business as the family itself. Prone to culinary curiosity, he thrived at Sundaram, where they’d made a name for themselves astheplace for mixed-cultural weddings in the Napa Valley. It wasn’t all they did, but if a couple coming from two different cultures wanted a wedding that seamlessly, and beautifully, blended both, Sundaram wasthe name that everyone spoke. From food to decorations to officiants to transportation to music, she and her family made it happen. And Akin adored the challenge. Indian and Chinese? Done. Azeri and French? Not a problem. Argentinian and Senegalese? He had it covered.
“Hi, luv,” he said, spotting her at the door. “Everything okay?” he asked, returning his gaze to the sauce boiling in a pot.
She smiled. “I’m here to ask you that.”
He flashed a smile, his teeth a slash of white against his dark skin. Like so many of the people who worked at Sundaram, he embodied a blend of cultures. His smooth dark skin and high cheekbones coming from his Nigerian mother and his startling gray eyes from his white British father.
He nodded. “The crew was in earlier. I sent them home to get a few hours of sleep before they have to be back at three.”
“At least it’s December,” Helia said. A sunrise wedding in the summer, when the sun came up at five thirty rather than seven thirty, meant the crew arrived shortly after midnight.
He wiggled one eyebrow, then dropped his gaze back to his sauce.
“What’s that?” she asked, walking closer.
“The rosewater syrup for the gulab jamuns,” he answered, referring to one of the desserts they’d serve with dinner. This couple had decided on a sit-down meal but wanted a dessert station with an assortment of their favorite sweets from their respective childhoods—everything from homemade Ho Hos and Oreos to kheer, kulfi, and of course, the gulab jamuns. The latter, deep-fried milk curd balls, needed to start soaking in the syrup by midnight to ensure the right flavor and consistency.
“I’ll bring the wine over first thing in the morning. The champagne is already chilling. Need me to make any calls? Rattle some cages?” she asked.
Akin grinned again. “No, luv, we’re good. Everything else is ready to go.” She hadn’t expected anything less. Akin disliked drama and chaos more than he disliked a messy kitchen. A trait that bred loyal kitchen employeesandkept everyone’s blood pressures low.
She nodded. “Holler if you need anything. You know where to find me,” she said, leaving him to his work and heading to the office.
“Hey, sweetie,” her dad said, holding the door open as she approached.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
“Your mom had a question about the placement of the agni she wanted my input on,” he replied, referring to the small firepit that played a significant role in most Hindu weddings, including the one taking place tomorrow.
“Can you tell her Akin has everything under control?”
Her dad chuckled, his dark eyes glistening with an easy humor. “When doesn’t he?”
Helia inclined her head and smiled back. “I saw Collin.”
A tiny frown twitched on his lips. “Wilde? He’s back? Did he come for the memorial?”
“Yes, yes, and I don’t know.”
Her dad studied her before turning his head and looking toward Bacco—not that they could see the castle from Sundaram. “Is he doing okay?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, he’s okay, as in, he’s alive. I don’t know if he’s still in the military or not or how he feels about…” She waved in the general direction of the castle. “Although he seemed a bit lost when I saw him.”
Again, her father turned his head. He gave it a subtle bobble—a trait he’d picked up from his Indian mother—and shoved hishands into the pockets of his quilted jacket. “I imagine he is. Will we see him?”
“He said he’d come by.” Now that she’d left him alone with all his memories, she wasn’t so sure hewouldstop by, but he had her number. Too bad she hadn’t gotten his.
“Then he’ll stop by,” her father said. “Make sure to find your mother and me when he does. We’d like to see him, too.”
“Of course,” she said. Her father’s gaze swept over her face, then he nodded and walked toward the event space.
She watched him go, wondering how her parents seemed to make love—relationships—look so easy. Sure, they fought occasionally, and sure, they got on each other’s nerves. But when the chips were down, they turned to each other. For more than forty years.
Whereas her marriage lasted a whopping four. She consoled herself that it ended with a whimper, not a bang—just two people realizing they wanted different things out of life. Adam was currently somewhere in Mongolia shooting a documentary on a nomadic tribe, doing what he loved. The same as her. Event planning might not be the sexiest job, but she loved it, especially weddings. And she was damn good at it.
