The Abandoned Groom Married his Ex's Enemy!

Giovanni Mercer discovered on Wednesday evening that telling someone to dress up was considerably easier than finding somewhere worthy of the instruction.

He’d been confident when he’d said it.

Far too confident, apparently.

Thursday.

Dinner.

I’ll pick you up.

Dress accordingly.

Alexander had naturally asked what that meant, and Giovanni had told him something along the lines of not a suit, but don’t come looking like you’re inspecting a bridge.

By then, he’d already been thinking about where to take him.

Or so he’d believed.

Now Giovanni sat at his dining table with his laptop open and realized he’d actually been thinking about where not to take him.

Ysabella’s was out.

They’d been there before.

Matteo’s was also out.

They’d been there even more often, and while Giovanni liked both restaurants, taking Alex to another establishment he owned seemed suspiciously like making no effort at all.

He searched for fine-dining restaurants.

There were dozens.

One had an excellent reputation, an impressive menu, and photographs of food arranged so elaborately that Giovanni wasn’t entirely certain anyone was meant to eat it.

He closed the page.

Another offered a twelve-course tasting menu.

Giovanni examined it.

Peanut crumble.

No.

The next restaurant seemed promising until he reached the dessert menu.

Rum-and-raisin semifreddo.

He stared at the screen.

Technically, Alex wasn’t allergic to raisins.

He simply believed they were an unnecessary betrayal committed against otherwise acceptable food.

Still.

Giovanni closed that page too.

He searched again.

Rooftop dining.

Too obvious.

Private dining room.

Too formal.

River cruise dinner.

Absolutely not.

Giovanni leaned back.

What exactly was he trying to accomplish?

Dinner should not require this much thought.

They had eaten together dozens of times as children and several times since reconnecting. They’d eaten at restaurants, project sites, cafes, the ancestral home, and once beside a river with their shoes off while sharing bread Rosalie had packed.

Why was this different?

Because he’d told Alexander it wasn’t business.

That distinction had apparently ruined everything.

A business dinner had requirements.

Location.

Privacy.

Food.

Convenience.

A personal dinner introduced the deeply irritating question of what the other person might actually enjoy.

Giovanni opened another search.

Concerts.

No.

Theater.

Possible, but they wouldn’t be able to talk.

Charity gala.

Definitely not. They’d spend the evening shaking hands with people who wanted something from them.

Museum.

Closed too early.

He tried Thursday cultural events instead.

That produced more promising results.

A chamber orchestra.

A photography exhibit.

A wine appreciation evening, which was particularly useless considering he had promised to drive.

Then he saw it.

FORM AND MEMORY: WORKS BY LEANDRO SERRANO

Giovanni stopped scrolling.

The exhibition was opening Thursday evening at the Bellavista Gallery.

Leandro Serrano was a sculptor whose name Giovanni recognized despite knowing relatively little about contemporary sculpture. That alone said something about the man’s reputation.

He opened the event page.

The exhibition focused on memory, restoration, and transformation through wood, stone, bronze, and reclaimed architectural materials.

Giovanni sat forward.

Wood.

He remembered the river.

The conversation with Alexander.

A restoration studio.

Maybe.

Small.

Personal.

Something outside Vance Holdings.

He read further.

One of Serrano’s featured pieces, Second Spring, had been carved from timber salvaged from a century-old house destroyed by a storm. The artist had retained several cracks and imperfections rather than smoothing them away.

Another, Inheritance, combined an old carved staircase post with bronze, preserving part of the original craftsmanship while transforming the object into something completely different.

A third, The Empty Chair, was simpler: a seated figure suggested through negative space rather than carved directly into the wood surrounding it.

Giovanni looked at that one longer.

Alexander would have opinions.

That was enough.

He checked availability.

Opening reception at six-thirty.

Exhibit viewing afterward.

Then a limited plated dinner in the adjoining conservatory for guests who reserved in advance.

Two seats remained at one of the smaller tables.

Giovanni clicked immediately.

Then came the dinner selections.

Finally.

Something he understood.

Beef tenderloin with roasted potatoes and vegetables.

Good.

Herb-crusted sea bass.

Possible.

Chicken roulade.

No reason to complicate matters.

He selected beef for both.

Medium for Alexander.

Medium-rare for himself.

Then he stopped.

Was Alex still medium?

Giovanni frowned.

He knew the man took his coffee black.

He knew peanuts were dangerous.

He knew raisins were an offense against civilization according to Alexander Vance.

Surely he knew the steak.

He searched their recent messages as though evidence of doneness preference might somehow be hidden between conversations about construction schedules and bakery mixers.

Nothing.

Giovanni picked up his phone.

How do you take your steak?

The response came two minutes later.

Why?

Giovanni stared.

Answer the question.

Medium.

Good.

Then:

Should I be concerned?

No.

That answer made it worse.

Giovanni smiled.

Thursday. Dress appropriately.

Three dots appeared.

You already said that. Appropriately for what?

Giovanni considered telling him.

Then decided against it.

You’ll find out.

Alexander’s response took longer.

This had better not involve public speaking.

It doesn’t.

Dancing?

Giovanni remembered carrying him during the reunion paper dance.

Not intentionally.

That is not reassuring.

Giovanni put the phone down before Alex could extract anything else.

He completed the reservation.

Then he noticed a field marked dietary restrictions.

He entered Alexander’s peanut allergy.

After a moment, he added:

Please avoid raisins in either guest’s dishes.

Giovanni stared at what he’d written.

That was ridiculous.

He left it anyway.

The following morning, his assistant found him looking through the Bellavista Gallery’s event details again.

”Should I move your last Thursday meeting?”

Giovanni glanced at the schedule.

”Yes. Nothing after four-thirty.”

”Dinner meeting?”

”No.”

The answer came quickly.

His assistant paused.

Giovanni noticed.

”What?”

”Nothing, sir.”

”That wasn’t nothing.”

”I was determining which calendar category to use.”

”Personal.”

Another pause.

”Personal?”

”Yes.”

”All right.”

Why did everyone suddenly find that word so interesting?

His assistant changed the calendar entry and wisely left.

Giovanni returned to the event page.

This wasn’t a date.

That much seemed obvious.

Alexander had only recently ended an engagement that had collapsed spectacularly enough to become public entertainment. Giovanni wasn’t going to take advantage of his vulnerability simply because they’d grown closer.

Besides, Alex had been his best friend first.

That mattered more.

Thursday was simply two old friends having dinner somewhere neither of them owned, not involving a construction site, and maybe reminding one of them that he’d once loved making things with his own hands.

That was all.

Giovanni closed the laptop.

Then opened it again five minutes later to check parking.

Just in case.