“Yes, we do.”
“And your max capacity?” Ani asked, as if she already knew he had no fucking clue.
He knew the indoor capacity, because that was a fire code thing, posted inside. But outdoors, he’d have to eyeball it.
“Two—” Raffi started, trying to read Kami’s and Grace’s expressions to ensure “two hundred” fell within their range. He could probably fit two hundred here. Right? Neither of them seemed fazed, so he continued.
“About two fifty.”
Ani glanced around skeptically. “About two fifty. I see.”
He suddenly felt that the number was rather high. A breeze blew past, making him wish he’d worn his sports coat, and a shiver rattled down his spine as Ani studied him.
“That’s fine,” Kami said. “We want it more intimate. One hundred or so people.”
“Tiny for an Armenian wedding,” Raffi said, surprised, but also pleased because now that he thought about it, two hundred fifty people could definitely not fit comfortably seated in the garden.
“We want to do some traditional rituals, and some modern.” Kami giggled, holding Grace’s arm. “Obviously.”
It did occur to Raffi then that the first wedding to be held at Ô would be a queer one. His father would absolutely hate that. But too fucking bad, Dad.
And with that thought, Raffi felt his father’s gaze on him. He glanced up to see his dad on the balcony, presiding over the grounds like a malevolent landlord. Which, technically, he was.
Kami seemed to catch his eye, too. “Oh my God, parev, Moushig! Long time no see! This place is stunning, like actually magic.”
His father nodded in her direction. He might disapprove ofKami’s choices, but her parents had still been important business allies to whom he was metaphorically indebted, and he wouldn’t want to upset them.
Ani continued to grill Raffi with questions he had never considered before. What was the electricity situation like out there? Could they have hard liquor on the premises as well as wine and beer? Was there a noise curfew? Raffi swallowed and squirmed his way around each subsequent query she threw at him.
Ani seemed to have regained her composure after the shock of seeing Kami, although every now and then, when Kami nuzzled into Grace’s hair or kissed her hand, Raffi would witness that green shade return to Ani’s cheeks. It baffled him that she would choose to accept this job, grinning and bearing her way through it.
Once the tour was over, Kami and Grace said they needed a minute to chat. They walked into the villa, which left Raffi and Ani alone.
She stood there, and he could see her chest rise and fall as she breathed, while a gale of pink petals showered around this beautiful woman.
Then she spoke. “You’ve never held a wedding here before, have you?”
Raffi felt like he’d been slapped in the face. Had it been so obvious?
“Well,” he countered, “maybe a wedding like this will be a first for both of us.”
She straightened, turned her chin up slightly. “My portfolio is not up to date.”
“Uh-huh,” he said disbelievingly, and then once again heinstantly regretted letting his inner voice out. He was being a jerk, and her knitted brows were driving still more guilt into him. He had to turn this around.
“Listen,” he began. “I feel like we started off all wrong. Let’s try again. Lunch? My treat. No lawsuit rocks involved. There’s a place nearby with these life-changing truffle fries.”
Ani turned cold suddenly. Her eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms. “No, thank you. I don’t date vendors.”
Vendor!He had never been called such a boring, sexless descriptor in his life.
But he wasn’t trying to ask her out. He really did want to press reset on their introduction. Still, the rejection was clear.
Raffi of the past would have taken her no as a challenge to amp up the charm and try to convince her, but not anymore.
“My bad,” he said. “I didn’t mean as a date. Just, you know, peace talks over truffle fries. But I fully respect and fully heard your no.”
She didn’t seem entirely comforted by his words. The look on her face, the tilt of her eyebrow, suggested she was confused.
