Now the guests were beginning to fill the dance floor, signaling the last few hours of the party. There was still one person he needed to find. One conversation left unfinished.
And now he could finally talk to her.
31
Ani
Raffi strode throughthe sea of guests, heading straight to her.
She was shaking, she realized. His speech, his public declaration of her capabilities and his belief in her—it meant so, so much. The validation she never knew she needed.
And the wedding had gone well. Better than she could have expected. At this point, it was nearly over, all the difficult parts were done, and there was almost nothing left for her to do that was crucial. She should feel relieved, and part of her did, but another part felt crushed. Still wounded from the article, from the aftermath she’d already felt today at this wedding.
Raffi was in front of her, a vision, so tall in the sexiest suit she’d seen him don yet. The tie had a subtle abstract design that made her think of legs slipping through silk sheets. He smelled of desert winds. He looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.
“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.
The music was a slow Armenian song, and the whole scenewas so similar to their first kiss. She couldn’t resist. She was scared—scared of what she wanted to say to him—but she couldn’t keep from touching him, having him hold her close. They weren’t supposed to make their relationship public until after the wedding, but it was just a few hours until it was technically “after the wedding.” So why not?
But when she placed her hand in his, he walked her away from the dance floor, away from the wedding itself, around the corner to a quiet side of the villa. They stood on a small trail, with a soft light above them and endless vineyards on all other sides. They were alone.
Raffi wrapped his arm around her waist, and she curled into him, feeling the familiar sensation of being calmed, protected. But then little alarm bells flared inside her, telling her that her sense of peace was false, that she should still be anxious and worried.
“Raffi,” she said into his shirt, into his strong chest. “Thank you for that speech. For saying those words in front of everyone.”
He ran his hand up her back, into her hair, stroking it down toward her shoulders. “I meant every word. I had to hold back, actually. Made sure I mentioned the actual brides instead of gush about you the entire time.”
She chuckled, but mostly relished the feel of his hand against her. Her entire body prickled at his touch.
“What did you mean this morning?” he whispered. “When you said you needed time to think?”
He sounded nervous. She felt for him. She didn’t want to hurt him.
“Just that—” she started, but she couldn’t finish. Two worlds warred within her, one shouting, “What are you doing?Everything is perfect! Don’t ruin this!” and the other shouting that mantra she’d heard in her head since she could remember, the one that had quieted lately with Raffi, but the one this morning’s article had brought back, surging strong as a monster of the deep: “You’re not good enough.”
“I’m not sure you should be with someone like me.”
Raffi stopped dancing but still held her while he stared at her. “What?”
“You read that article. It was true, all true.”
“We all make mistakes, it’s just—”
“This was too big. Too stupid. Too careless. I want to be with you, I do. I’m just mortified. Next thing everyone’s going to think is that I’m some gold digger, being with you.”
“Who would…” But then he trailed off, having realized the answer. He continued, less sure of himself, “I mean—people do often talk about that stuff, but they’re wrong. You know I’d set straight anyone who said that.”
Ani leaned against the warmth of his chest, savored it. This might be the last time she felt it against her cheek. “Do you know,” she asked, “three separate people came up to me today? Distant family friends, people I know on the periphery. They came up to me and asked if I needed financial help. Three totally unrelated people.”
Raffi muttered under his breath, “Fuck.” Then, he stammered, “I thought I—I saw an older couple talking to you. Saw the way your face fell. That’s just—they were just trying to—”
She said it then, with conviction. “I’m not good enough. Just admit it.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. No, I never will. That’s bullshit, Ani. Somewhere in there, you know it.”
She didn’t say anything, too sad to reply, not sure if she believed him or not.
He asked, “Who did this to you? Who convinced you that you were less than? Was it that fucking high school dance?”
