1
Ani
You're not desperate. You're a professional.
Well . . . you're a little bit of both, but you can absolutely nail this.
Ani told herself these words as she stepped out of her car and took in the Tuscan-inspired winery before her.
So this was Ô.
Two weeks ago, when the email had hit her inbox, when Ani saw the bride wishing for a winery wedding, when she saw the massive six-figure budget, she knew her wedding planning business might be saved. And now she was here. Ready to make it happen, if she could calm her nerves.
Ani had seen photos of Ô online, but the Napa winery was far more breathtaking-and intimidating-in person. The stone villa towered over the plot, while well-manicured cypresses flanked the property like sentries, followed by miles of vineyards stretching out on either side.
The time was 11:20 a.m., ten minutes before her meeting with her prospective clients. Bab always said if you're on time, you're late! She wouldn't mind pacing the grounds, taking them in and using the meditative moments to relax her racing heart before meeting the new brides. The weather was perfect-mid- to high sixties-lucky for February, although not unheard of. She had painted her nails burgundy with a matching lip and wore her one silk shirt, pencil skirt, and heels. She hoped the look would bolster her confidence, bring out her inner 2001 J.Lo in the greatest movie of all time-The Wedding Planner, just like her-and, most importantly, wipe clean the memory of the last three months.
Then her phone rang.
Mom. Ani thought about not answering but then thought better of it and picked up.
"Parev, Ani jan," her mother's sweet voice sang.
"Hi, Mom."
"I am here, too!" her father chirped.
Naturally he was. Her parents were always together, constantly together. It was like they were allergic to being apart.
"Is today the day you are going to Ô?" her mother asked.
Ani had told them about the new winery wedding she was hoping to land, just as she told them about everything, usually.
But she did not, would not, could not, tell them about the debt.
"Just arrived, but I'm early, so I have a couple minutes," confirmed Ani, gravel crunching under her feet as she walked toward the open vineyards.
"I still cannot believe that Raffi Garabedian is the owner now," her mother mused. "I must ring Nora and get the details on how this happened."
"Raffi Garabedian," her father wondered aloud. "Was he not the doctor? Moushegh's son?"
"Yes, hokis," her mother answered, with that term of endearment she used most often for her husband. "My soul." "That is why I am wondering how he came to own a winery."
"Well," her father trailed, "his father is a member of the Armenian mafia, so if his son wants to abandon his Hippocratic oath and open a winery, he can."
"Mob business!" her mother cried, and Ani heard the smile on her mom's face. She could imagine her mother playfully slapping her father's arm.
Although there were rumors.
Ani had wondered about the new owner, although he wasn't her main focus today. She'd heard about Raffi Garabedian all right. Her friend Nareh had warned her way back-it was about five years ago, before Ani became a wedding planner full time-that he was a total playboy skeeze despite his status as Northern California's most eligible Armenian bachelor. A fabulously wealthy and handsome doctor-what more could you want, the aunties would say. Her friend had said differently. He's gorgeous, yes, Nareh had told Ani, but vapid and misogynistic. Ani's sister, Talar, had warned her similarly, but now Ani couldn't remember what she'd said. She hadn't had time to catch up with Talar before the meeting today.
But one thing was clear: Raffi Garabedian was to be avoided at all costs.
Ani had seen him on the periphery at this or that banquet, and he'd even shown up at a family friend's wedding. Although she was mesmerized by his dark-set eyes, elegant height, and broad shoulders, she had kept her distance. The word of her crew was far greater than the pull of his hotness.
Today, however, she might have to interact with him. She had no idea how huge the operation at Ô winery was-although the grounds were vast, she realized, wandering through the bare branches of the winter grapevines. Maybe Raffi had staff to meet wedding planners and potential couples, so it was possible she wouldn't see him at all. She'd emailed the winery and someone had emailed back, setting up the time today, but it had been a genericwelcome@owinery.com address. No name was signed. Despite Raffi's apparent unsavoriness, Ani was excited to go to the winery and support an Armenian business, even if the owner was a playboy and his father a possible mob boss. There were so few Armenian-owned venues, it was a bit of a treat to get to visit one.
Her mother's voice changed suddenly. "You must keep your heart open, eh, Ani?"
Ani's heart instead plummeted to the depths of her stomach. Not this talk, not now. The vineyard seemed to crawl on and on forever. Ani hadn't walked far, but she felt suddenly lost in a labyrinth.
"Mom-"
"Listen, tsakougus," her mother replied, using the endearing word for "my child." "It's been two years since Kami-"
A sharp pain pierced Ani's heart. "Mom-"
The name alone, Kami, made Ani shrivel up inside. She wished she had her drink, wished she could feel the ice-cold matcha latte flow down her throat and douse the embers Kami had left on her heart.
Her mother barged on. "We are worried about you. You have not dated one single person since then."
"I have," Ani insisted, trying not to get angry and failing. "I've been on the apps and gone on dates, and they've all been terrible. Or nothing, bland. I don't feel anything for anyone." "Anymore," she wanted to add. Not since Kami.
"This is why I am saying," her mother continued, "meeting online does not work for everyone. You have a chance to meet this handsome man in person-"
"Maybe. I might not."
"-and charm him the way you do everyone."
Before Ani could say that she didn't want to charm him, she had to respond to the compliment, which was simply untrue. "I do not."
"You do. You are special."
Ani let out a sardonic laugh. Right. Her, special. The B student, the one who got stood up more often than not, the one who couldn't get her business off the ground and was instead running it into the ground. The one who got dumped by the one.
A crow cawed overhead. Ani snapped out of her spiral and checked the time.
"I gotta go. I don't want to be late."
"Okay, Ani jan, promise me. Open your heart."
Easy for you to say, Ani thought. Her mom and dad had been madly in love since they were sixteen. Giggling like teenagers and sneaking off on dates for forty years.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
"Listen to your mother. Bye, shakaruhs," her father added helpfully.
Ani stared at the horizon a moment in silence, then paced back to her car. When she arrived, her phone dinged twice and she saw two notifications.
One from her kick-ass assistant, Sanan, which read, Good luck today, boss!
The second, an overdraft fee notification from her bank. Goddamn it. She knew she shouldn't have indulged in that extra-large matcha latte, but Ani couldn't help it. The iced green tea always put her in the best mood, and lately she needed all the help she could get. She'd deal with the bank later.
Ani swiped away the tough-luck notification and responded to Sanan.
Thank you! I'm here now, it's gorgeous. Hopefully I can close this.
Sanan responded: Btw I googled Grace's IMDB page and noticed her latest credit.
Grace was the bride-to-be who had emailed Ani, filling out Ani's contact form and plopping in that jaw-dropping budget. From the sound of Grace's message, she was the one in charge of planning and wanted to surprise her fiancée, Mimi, with this venue. Ani and Sanan promptly Instagram-stalked their potential client and discovered that Grace was an indie movie actress originally from the Bay Area.
Sanan continued, Her new movie is in post-production and it stars . . . Robert De Niro! Granddaughter taking over the mob family business. Title? Mafia Princess.
A whole new flurry of both excitement and worry hit Ani. She was about to meet someone who had breathed the same air as Robert De Niro? Grace's expectations were probably going to be high. Ani needed to believe she could do a wedding of this caliber.
Mafia Princess! Ani texted back. Damn, I'd watch that. Gotta go now, I'll update you!
Two mob references in one day. Ani wondered what type of astrological retrograde caused that to happen. She also wondered if Mimi was an actress, perhaps someone Grace met on set. Grace's Instagram didn't include any photos of her fiancée, but she did have a picture of their hands holding, with eye-popping engagement rings on each of their respective ring fingers.
From inside her car, Ani grabbed her tote bag and her $47 (thanks, overdraft fee) drink.
She also gathered her courage.
Ani's discount pumps clicked on the pavement as she strode up to the winery.
Then, as she came closer to the villa, the thick doors at the entrance opened and out stepped the owner himself, the one she'd been warned about.
Raffi Garabedian.
Ani had seen him only in dim lighting before, with purples and blues flashing about at evening Armenian dances, and he was already unmistakably handsome there. But here? In the cool, filtered light from the Napa clouds, Raffi standing there in a white Oxford button-down, slacks, and polished black shoes, Ani had the thought, the actual thought, I've never seen anyone this gorgeous in my entire life.
He was tall, yes, but it was the way he held himself like an aristocrat that caught Ani's eye. Broad shoulders and long, long legs. The sharpness of his jawline stole her breath, as did his heavily lidded dark eyes. His hair, so thick and gelled to one side in a sexy coif. She wanted to run her hands through it.
Get a goddamn hold over yourself, akhchig, she inwardly muttered, and remember what Nareh said.
The way Raffi regarded her, though, didn't seem like he was eating her up with his eyes, slicing into a thick, juicy steak. And why would he, when she was just . . . fine-looking? Not a woman anyone would immediately read as hot.
And yet Raffi stared at her with what Ani considered to be interest, with curiosity, and she felt the tiniest surge of hope that maybe Nareh was wrong and he didn't suck, and her mother was right and she should open her heart-
That thought was interrupted by her heels crunching into gravelly rock at the threshold of the winery. Ani wobbled, trying to right herself. In one motion, Raffi bounded over to help, but Ani felt herself bobbing out of control as she kept attempting to find solid ground but was thwarted by the small rocks that had declared war on her patent pumps and seemed intent on knocking her down. Raffi reached to catch her right as she was about to face-plant but instead caught her arm, just as the contents of her extra-expensive, extra-large matcha latte smashed against his white shirt.
He did not immediately let go of her arm, even as he stared down at the damage.
Ani put her now-empty hand over her mouth because his Oxford was entirely soaked in green. It was so bad, but her brain still registered the curve of his pecs and the way the pressure on her arm where he was gripping her felt weirdly safe and good. No, no it doesn't, she tried to tell herself, remembering Nareh's warning words. He probably reached out not to help but because it was an opportunity to touch a woman. Gross. Still, the look on his face read "concern," not "sleazy delight."
Ani hopped out of her shoes in order to stand properly, and when it was clear she was able to balance, Raffi let go of her arm. She wondered if his gripping fingers had left a mark on her skin.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "These rocks, they-I mean, for anyone in heels, this is a total liability. Who put these here?"
By the look on Raffi's face, it was clear to Ani that it was him. He had put them there.
"This was YSL, you know," was his response, gesturing to the shirt, his voice as irritatingly deep and handsome as the rest of him. He appeared less in shock, more in disappointment.
Ani went from being apologetic to apoplectic at his snobby response.
"Such liberal use of the past tense. I could get that stain out in two minutes."
She was about to add that she was sure he could buy another one when her eyes were drawn to the clack of footsteps from above. A large older gentleman with thick eyebrows stood on the balcony of the winery, frowning down directly at Raffi. She barely made out the man's words in his low, growling voice. "Tun mart ches tarnar."
"You'll never become a man."
Ouch. That had to be Raffi's father, the mythologized mobster. Ani quickly averted her eyes. And speaking of ouch, she made her way barefoot across the craggy rocks, back onto the smooth concrete, mere steps from the massive winery doors. She slipped her shoes back on, trying not to be aware of how intimate a gesture this was to do in front of someone she'd just met.
She stared at those blasted pebbles. "So were you going for, what, a moat around the property?"
Raffi drew in a breath sharply. "I thought it'd give the place a little something extra."
Ani gestured around her. "Believe me, this is already plenty extra. You should remove that unless you want a lawsuit on your hands." Then she caught his eyes, which appeared worried. "Not from me. From, you know, guests. Prime drunk patron stumbling block, right here."
"I thought wedding planners anticipated everything. Couldn't you tell your heels wouldn't make it?"
Ani was stunned. First, Raffi knew she was the wedding planner, not the bride. Had he . . . looked her up? Second, he was being combative, and this was not behavior she expected from supposed sexy, devil-may-care Raffi. Rude. And third (the one that made her blush), no, she hadn't anticipated it because she was too busy being distracted by his hotness. As annoying as he was, she couldn't deny his Adonis-like appearance.
Copyright © 2026 by Taleen Voskuni. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
