by Beth Bolden
The assembled friends and family laughed, but Bastian knew from the strain on Reed’s face that he wasn’t trying to lower expectations; this truly wasn’t easy for him.
“Today,” Reed continued, “we’ve all gathered here to witness the loving union between Evan and Miles. Every single one of you is here because you’ve all had a special part of their lives, and they’ve asked you not only to bear witness to their union, but to help create beautiful memories of this special day.”
Bastian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t think he’d been asked to come to help create beautiful memories. He’d been asked because despite everyone’s beliefs and against all the odds, he and Kian had created a lasting relationship together.
He knew how long Xander and Wyatt and to a lesser extent, Miles, had fought against Kian having feelings for him. Just because they’d finally accepted that Kian wasn’t leaving Bastian anytime soon didn’t mean they suddenly approved of whom he’d picked to be his partner.
And there was nothing like a wedding to drill that point home.
He wouldn’t be particularly surprised if that was another reason why the woman next to him had chosen this particular seat.
Kian, standing in the front next to Xander and Wyatt, smiled at him, and even though he wasn’t enjoying himself, Bastian couldn’t help but smile back.
“First,” Reed continued, “is there anybody who has an objection to this couple joining their lives together?”
It was difficult to imagine standing up where Evan and Miles were in a few years, but Bastian still made a mental note to make sure that particular sentence was erased from the ceremony, as he could imagine more than one person deciding that they definitely had an objection. Or ten.
Bastian couldn’t imagine anyone objecting to Miles and Evan. So he was shocked, along with the rest of the audience, when Wyatt stepped forward, his blond hair shaggy and longer than it had ever been when he’d worked at Terroir.
“I do,” Wyatt said, clearly and loudly, with a voice that carried. Several rows away, Bastian heard his boyfriend, Ryan, laugh out loud.
What was going on?
Reed must have anticipated this because he just smiled, and said, “What is your objection?”
“I object,” Wyatt said, clearly trying for a serious tone, but failing because he kept smiling so brightly, “because you should be ridiculously in love to get married.”
Miles laughed then, Evan’s warm gaze never leaving his future husband’s. As if there was any doubt they were ridiculously in love.
“If I am, how do you suggest I prove it?” Miles asked, his voice amused and curious.
“Maybe spirit him away to a tropical island and spoil him horribly?” Wyatt suggested. “Oh wait, you already did that. I guess,” he said with a shrug, “it’s inevitable, you should marry him.”
“Thanks,” Miles said dryly.
“Any other objections?” Reed asked, but Bastian had figured out there were going to be at least two others, the exact number of remaining attendants who had yet to speak.
“I have one,” Xander said next.
“Of course you do,” Evan said, loud enough for the audience to hear and chuckle along with the wedding party.
“I’m somewhat infamous for my objections,” Xander continued, “so don’t think I present this lightly. But I think two people who are getting married should spend more time together than you do. Be partners, in the truest sense of the word.”
This time it was Evan who responded. “You mean, more than live together and work together? What sort of partnership would you suggest, Bridges?”
Xander’s gaze was steady, and clearly not on the couple standing in front of Reed, but his fiancé, one row up from Bastian. “True partnership means you support each other through thick and thin, even when it’s hard, and especially when it feels impossible. You need to have each other’s backs, every single time, no matter the obstacle.”
Miles’ voice wasn’t quite steady as he answered Xander. “I think we can do that, don’t you?” he asked his husband-to-be in a hushed voice.
“I think with you next to me, we can do anything,” Evan said.
“Then I withdraw my objection,” Xander said, and the look he directed towards Damon was practically a caress.
“Let me guess,” Reed said, “there’s one more objection.”
“Yeah, I’ve definitely got one,” Kian said, and even though Bastian had been anticipating this, his heart started beating harder. A hand reached for his and gave it a little squeeze. It must have been Tabitha. Maybe she’d even been put next to him so he wouldn’t do anything crazy like leap up in the middle of Evan and Miles’ wedding and do something insane that would make everyone hate him even more, like proposing to Kian.
He wasn’t sure anymore it was the proposing part everyone would hate him for. But interrupting Evan and Miles’ wedding and making it all about him? That was a fairly good reason.
“What’s your objection?” Reed asked.
Kian gazed right at him, and maybe Michel was right, Bastian thought in a haze, maybe they had always been terrible at hiding their feelings. “From my own relationship, I know just how important loyalty is. Without it, you might as well give up now, because you’re never going to be able to stay together. True loyalty is protecting the person you love with every fiber of your being, but also knowing when to let them go and set them free. Supporting them, even if their choices aren’t your own.”
Miles’ look at Evan was both dry and a little watery. “I can’t imagine knowing anything about that.”
“We’ve made it work, we’ll make it work every day,” Evan promised. “Because I love you.”
“I guess,” Kian said, his own glance an invisible caress against Bastian’s cheek, “I don’t have an objection after all.”
The assembled guests all chuckled, and Reed said, “Then it’s time for your vows.”
Bastian reached over and gripped Tabitha’s hand. “Thank you,” he murmured to her.
Her smile back was brilliant. “Anytime.”
And from the way Kian was looking at him, Bastian suddenly knew that it would only be a matter of time before they did this too. Maybe not with the string trio and the bow ties, but definitely surrounded by the people they cared about, who cared about them.
“After the ceremony, I also want to introduce you to my husband,” she said quietly.
“You said he hadn’t come?” Bastian questioned.
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Like I would ever let him out of a wedding.”
Watching Evan and Miles exchange rings, Bastian realized that Kian had known how uncomfortable he’d feel during the ceremony, having to sit alone, and that he wouldn’t ever seek out Damon or Ryan. So he’d asked Tabitha, whom he probably knew through Ryan and Miles and Evan, to sit with him. To make sure that he felt relaxed and comfortable.
Love swirled all around him and all through him, lighting him up inside, and Bastian knew he could never go back to the lonely workaholic he’d been before Kian. Kian had changed his life, had opened him up to life—and love, and a thousand other things that he’d been missing before.
“And I want you to meet Kian,” Bastian said, because he could no longer help playing along. “He’s the love of my life.”
The Wedding
An Indulge Me Short
The man in front of Bastian Aquino cowered, shoulders sinking inward, eyes falling downward, fingers trembling as he extended the check toward the world-famous chef.
Anyone witnessing the scene might have expected that the man had done something truly horrific—robbed someone, or even committed a murder. Perhaps participated in a severe maiming. Nothing else could possibly explain the way he hesitantly glanced up at Chef Aquino, somehow certain that he would be struck down, or at least verbally annihilated, for the crime he’d committed.
In Bastian Aquino’s world, what the man had done might not be on par with a class one felony, but it was stil
l catastrophically severe. One week before one of the most anticipated weddings the Napa Valley had ever seen—Bastian’s own wedding to rising star chef Kian Reynolds—and the caterer that Bastian hired to cook for the reception had just quit.
“What do you mean, quit?” Bastian asked through clenched teeth. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Once he and Kian had become engaged, it was a common prediction that he’d develop some kind of insane bridezilla tendencies, considering his regular behavior in the kitchens of Terroir. Except that everyone could concede that ever since Kian had come onto the scene, now Bastian’s bark was nearly always sharper than his bite. Still, his reputation preceded him, because before Kian, that had definitely not been true.
Bastian knew what everyone thought of him; in fact, he’d done his own share of exaggerating his reputation because it suited him for new employees to be a little terrified of him. It meant much less yelling if they began their careers at Terroir properly scared of what sort of punishment Bastian could exact. But while he demanded complete commitment as well as absolute perfection, he knew he’d mellowed. Whether that was encroaching middle age, or his soon-to-be husband, Bastian wasn’t sure he wanted to know which was truly to blame.
Still, he knew money had been passed back and forth, betting on how insanely controlling he’d be about the wedding. And sue him, he wanted a damn nice wedding. He had lots of . . . Bastian guessed you could call them friends . . . in the culinary industry in Napa and out of it. There was nothing wrong with wanting a beautiful event that not only celebrated the love he shared with Kian, but also cemented them as the first couple of Napa. That didn’t seem like much to ask. And in the end, money smoothed the way like it usually did, and the planner they’d hired had taken care of almost all the headaches.
However, Bastian had insisted on hiring the caterer himself, after Kian had refused to let him cater their own wedding. “You’d be busy the whole event,” Kian had objected the first time Bastian had suggested it. “Isn’t the point of a wedding that the grooms are supposed at least see each other?”
“Fine,” Bastian had grumbled, a little aware but not at all unhappy about the fact that he’d learned to give so much, especially when Kian asked. It felt like a perfectly reasonable tradeoff when in return he was lucky enough to receive Kian’s love, unyielding support, eternal devotion—and his rather delicious body. Bastian was a smart man, and even a stupider man would never turn that away, though he had done his level best before they’d figured their shit out.
So, Bastian catering the wedding had been out, and he’d been forced to find a caterer that fit two particular criteria—one, they could produce food of extraordinary quality rivaling Bastian’s own, and two, they were not one of Bastian’s personal friends, because that was yet another promise that Kian had extracted from him. Their friends would be allowed to enjoy the wedding too, no exceptions.
But now this caterer—no, Bastian couldn’t even consider him a caterer; he was a spineless worm—was cancelling on him only a week before the wedding.
Everything was a disaster.
Bastian stared at the worm in front of him and tried to think of an insult grandiose enough that it could express how unbelievably angry he was in this moment, but inspiration did not come.
“Get out,” Bastian spit at him, and the man fled, no doubt anticipating dishes thrown at his head and worse. The check fluttered down to the ground and Bastian huffed in frustration.
With only seven days, how was he supposed to find a caterer who could meet both criteria? Obviously, Bastian realized, it would be impossible, no matter how much money he threw at the situation, and it would be a monumental waste of time to even try.
Incredibly annoyed that he had been reduced to begging for help from an ex-employee (and a friend, Kian would have added with a sly look on his face), Bastian leaned down, picked up the check and then stalked out to his car.
It was a short ride to the Barrel House, which was his old sous’ new restaurant. “You can’t keep calling it new when it’s three years old,” Kian would have inserted, but Kian wasn’t here—Dieu merci, he had gone down to LA to spend some time with Wyatt and Miles before the wedding. He never would have gone if he’d known the catering would blow up; the truth was, it had been hard enough to persuade Kian to leave Napa with only seven days until the wedding.
“I can call the restaurant any damn thing I please,” Bastian muttered as his Audi swung into the paved driveway of the Barrel House.
It was mid-afternoon and therefore the restaurant was closed, but Bastian banged on the door anyway. It took a moment, during which Bastian, who normally would never admit to fear, actually worried that Xander wouldn’t answer the door, but finally a large man unlocked and opened it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Damon asked, noticeably not opening the door any wider so that Bastian could actually come inside. They might be the partners of best friends, but it was not surprising that Bastian and Damon had never warmed to each other. After all, Damon had poached Xander for his restaurant, and that was not the sort of thing that Bastian forgave.
Still, it had been over three years. And Bastian was desperate. Maybe he could find it in himself to let go of that particular transgression.
“I’m . . .in a bit of a bind,” Bastian confessed, trying out a humble smile that didn’t do much to warm the cold expression on Damon’s face. “More of a total disaster than a bind, actually. The caterer for the wedding just quit and . . .”
“And you thought you could just waltz over here and demand that Xander cater his best friend’s wedding?” Damon did not sound amused.
Bastian put away any poor facsimile of meekness; if Damon thought he could out-bad ass Bastian Aquino, then he was more delusional than Bastian had believed.
“I thought I could come over and ask,” Bastian insisted. “After all, like you said, I am marrying Xander’s best friend.”
“Despite all of Xander’s best efforts to talk him out of it,” Damon pointed out.
“Oui,” Bastian growled.
“Wait,” Damon suddenly backtracked, “the best caterer in the entire valley—he quit your wedding? Does he have a death wish?”
“Apparently,” Bastian said through clenched teeth. “Now is Xander here or not?”
Reluctantly, Damon opened the door a crack wider. “He’s in the kitchen.”
“Excellent,” Bastian said, and smacked the door, pushing it back until it hit Damon square in the chest. Damon was not a small man, he clearly spent a good portion of his time in the gym, and Bastian knew he spent the rest still personally tending to the enormous fields of vegetables that they served at the Barrel House. Bastian pushed again, and Damon still didn’t move.
“And,” Damon added, “if Xander says no, you can’t throw a ridiculous amount of money at him, or threaten to destroy his reputation or this restaurant. You say okay and walk away.”
Bastian glared. Was he really so unreasonable? He didn’t think so. Besides, he rather liked the Barrel House—Kian liked to go on dates here and make faces at Xander through the enormous panels of glass that surrounded the kitchen—though he rather would have swallowed fiery hot coals before admitting to it.
“Of course,” Bastian said. “If he says no, I’ll just find someone else willing to cater the biggest, most important event Napa has ever seen.”
Damon rolled his eyes, but he opened the door just wide enough to let Bastian through.
* * *
After Damon’s rather uncomfortable greeting, Bastian, who’d believed thinking of Xander, with his entire kitchen staff to help, had been rather genius, was suddenly afraid he might say no.
But Xander didn’t say no.
After Bastian finished telling him about the catastrophic development and making the proposal that Xander and his kitchen staff supplement Bastian’s own army of Terroir employees for a joint catering effort, Xander said nothing, merely wiped his hands on a towel and sighed.
B
astian held his breath.
“Are you going to tell me next how every celebrity chef in California and beyond will be there?”
Bastian considered this. “Would it help convince you?”
Xander just sighed again and finally looked up at him. “Probably not.”
“That’s why I haven’t said it,” Bastian said, though honestly, he hadn’t mentioned it because he hadn’t thought of it—but Xander seemed to be genuinely considering the idea and he wasn’t going to ruin it by admitting the truth.
“Do you care what the menu is?” Xander asked, and then before Bastian could say, yes, of course he cared what the menu was, seemed to reconsider. “That’s an incredibly dumb question. Sorry, I’m tired. This is an insane idea, but yes, I’ll do it.”
“Really?” Bastian couldn’t quite believe it.
“I get to dictate the menu, and you just smile and nod, okay?”
Bastian resigned himself to eating rustic Italian—Xander’s particular culinary forte—at his wedding. It definitely wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he wasn’t sure there were any choices, not anymore. Not if he and Kian didn’t want to starve at their own wedding.
* * *
“Hey babe,” Kian’s bright voice chirped out over the phone. Bastian was sitting on the back terrace they’d added to the house they’d shared last year, sipping a nice merlot to celebrate fixing the catering disaster before it could even become a disaster. At first Bastian had thought the new terrace might keep Kian from visiting his maman less frequently and cooking up plans with her that made Bastian’s life more difficult, but it turned out that though his maman’s terrace was a draw, it was Celeste herself that was the main attraction for Kian.
Still, they both really enjoyed sitting on their own terrace after a long, busy, exhausting evening in the Terroir kitchens. Bastian leaned back and stretched. “Hey to you too. How is LA?” he asked his fiancé, hoping to keep the news of their new caterer under wraps as long as possible.