He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “Why are you doing it then?”
Ani panicked. She could not, absolutely not, tell Raffi about her debts. Being Kami’s weeping ex was bad enough; she couldn’t also be the weeping ex who was not solvent. Raffi wouldn’t understand that anyway. He’d think she was some idiot who couldn’t manage money. And maybe she was.
“I can’t say no to her,” was what Ani said.
Raffi nodded, his jaw tight.
She felt an awkwardness in the air, so she asked, “So you dated her toward the end of high school?”
Raffi looked up sharply. “And first year of college. Why? She talking about me, spilling all my secrets?”
Ani chanced a half smirk. “What secrets do you have?”
He returned her smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
She would, actually. She found that she really, surprisingly would.
The way he was standing here, in the middle of uninspiring concrete shops, he was like a king. So tall and elegant, with his broad shoulders and dark eyes. He was in another suit today. Navy. And he was talking her down from her Kami meltdown, surprisingly successfully.
“Kami mentioned some family friend she dated around that time.”
“Great things to say about me, I’m sure.”
“Surprisingly, not much,” she said. “But your families are close?”
Raffi shrugged. “In a way. They were business partners for a while. My dad managed the Mardians’ money, invested for them, that kind of thing. They’re one of his biggest clients, so he’s always tried to maintain a good relationship with them. That’s the only reason he’s allowing this wedding on his property.”
It took a second to understand what he was saying. “You mean a queer wedding?”
“Exactly. Ole Moushegh isn’t exactly the most open-minded man.”
Ani needed to know, so she asked it.
“And you?”
Raffi’s stance relaxed, and he leaned back slightly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he gazed out toward the bustling atrium. “I’m glad we’re doing it, barring the whole Kami thing.” He turned to her fully then, his voice growing with conviction. “Show the Armenian community here that we canhave a big fat gay Armenian wedding and it’s okay. That the world doesn’t end if we celebrate queerness. It makes us stronger, actually. What a concept!”
He wasn’t just shrugging it off; he seemed invested in it. She didn’t want to stereotype, but the typical Armenian man wasn’t usually a champion of queer rights, so she figured Raffi was, at most, indifferent. But Raffi appeared enthusiastic. This part of him hadn’t made its way through the rumor mill. Raffi Garabedian, playboy misogynist extraordinaire, and also a…proud queer ally?
She nodded in support of his words. Then she noticed, finally pulled out of her misery, that Raffi seemed happy to stand here and talk to her. His posture, his face, they were welcoming, like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Speaking of which, she did wonder what the hell he was doing at this shopping center in the Embarcadero.
She asked, “By the way, what brings you here?”
Raffi cleared his throat. “Our worlds collide again. I dropped off some of my wine with Kami’s aunt earlier—”
Oh. She kept forgetting that Raffi’s and Kami’s families went way back, to the point where Raffi would be hand-delivering his wine to Kami’s aunt. Ani also had been far too distracted to notice that Tantig Shoghig had wine bottles with her.
“Met her downstairs and loaded them into her car. Then, while I was in the area, figured I’d pop into some restaurants, beg them to buy our wine. It’s goinggreat,” he said sarcastically.
“Shoot, that sounds tough.”
“Got to keep trying.”
Raffi picked up his briefcase and the wine carrier. “You good now? Or, you know, better?”
Ani gave him a small smile. “Definitely better.”
He started to walk away, and Ani felt a sadness creep into her heart.
