“If you say so, Ani jan.”
“I do.”
Raffi visibly swallowed, and Ani wished she could hug him.
“That shirt, the first day, the YSL one—it was Sevan’s, my brother’s.”
Ani’s body instantly surged with guilt, thinking about how she had destroyed it. She had thought it was just a shirt. Just a stupid, expensive shirt.
She had been so caught up in her own indignation, she’d never considered there was more beneath the surface of Raffi’s irritation that day. Never questioned why a man who otherwise seemed indifferent about so much had looked genuinely wounded when she’d ruined it.
“Raffi, no…Oh God. I can’t believe I did that. I am so sorry. Sorry doesn’t even cover it—”
But he waved her off. “I meant it before. It’s been ten years. I’m not saying I need to get over it—I’ll never be over Sevan’s death—but I need to change how I react to memories of him.”
Ani wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how to, then Raffi continued. “That’s why I said that ridiculous thing to you. ‘This was YSL.’ Or whatever the exact words were. I freak out about everything related to Sevan, and the fear of missing him is so intense I guess I—sometimes I lash out. You didn’t deserve that. So actually,I’msorry.”
Ani shook her head. “You don’t have to be. Not at all. I understand you.”
He didn’t speak. His eyes shone.
Then he seemed to shake himself. “Enough sad topics for one drive,” Raffi said. “Can we talk about crushed velvet again?”
Ani made sure her voice carried the weight of her words and said, “Raffi. You can talk about this anytime. I mean it. It doesn’t bother me at all and I—I want to know more.”
“All right,” he said in a soft voice.
Then, he reached over and took one of her hands in his.
Her breath caught. His hand was so big, enveloping hers, warm and smooth, and his touch lit up her whole body, sparked up her spine.
He gave a light squeeze. “Thank you.”
Ani brushed her thumb against his and felt lightheaded at her boldness, stars dancing at the edges of her vision. Desire pulsed through her, want and hunger growing.
But then he released her hand, and the moment was over. Her skin felt cold in his absence, achy without him. She desperately wanted to touch him again.
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. Her heart was still racing, ridiculous and unchecked, like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the moment was over. She forced herself to focus on the familiar rhythm of her breathing, the way her body fit into the leather seat, the coolness of the air slipping in through the edges of the car.
They didn’t speak again, and she wondered if Raffi was undergoing a similar unraveling. Both silent while burning below the surface.
Soon after, they arrived at DePietro Winery.
Conversation started up again as soon as they pulled into the long driveway. She began talking about its landscaping,the front entrance, the benefits of a smooth driveway versus a crunchy one—comfort versus rustic. Ani latched on to her words, forcing her mind into the details, the logistics, the work. She needed to anchor herself in practicality, in things she could measure and define.
Raffi parked and hopped out. “Shall we go see about a fountain?” he asked.
“Let’s,” Ani said, and pretended that her skin didn’t still tingle where he’d touched her.
14
Ani
DePietro Winery wasextravagant. The Vatican of wineries. That was its gimmick, with Roman columns, Donatello replicas, and an imposing fortress of Italian cypress trees.
Ani and Raffi cut through the winery building toward the back garden area, where the fountain was that Raffi had his heart set on. He didn’t want an exact copy, but the overall feel was supposedly what Raffi had in mind. And Ani knew it was a terrible idea.
They reached the monstrosity in question, a massive, deep fountain set against a wall, with statues and sculptures growing out of its every surface. A couple of the designs nearly grazed Ani’s head as she poked around the place.
