The Abandoned Groom Married his Ex's Enemy!

Giovanni Mercer had traveled internationally enough that airports rarely impressed him.

He knew lounges.

Transfers.

Immigration lines.

Hotels designed to look identical, no matter the country.

Business travel had reduced most destinations to conference rooms with different views outside the windows.

Japan was supposed to be different.

For the first few days, it wasn’t.

Meetings.

Logistics discussions.

A site visit.

Dinner with partners.

Another meeting.

Giovanni woke in Tokyo one morning and realized he’d spent three days in a country he’d wanted to visit for years without seeing anything except a hotel, office towers, restaurants chosen by other people, and the inside of a car.

Then the business portion ended.

His final colleague shook his hand.

”Enjoy your holiday.”

Giovanni looked at his suddenly empty calendar.

No meetings.

No obligations.

No one waiting for him.

Two full weeks.

It felt deeply unnatural.

His first instinct was to check Mercer Group email.

He stopped himself.

His second was to message Alexander.

That one he allowed.

Officially unemployed for two weeks.

Alex replied half an hour later.

Mercer Group will collapse by Friday.

Probably.

Should I buy it?

You can’t afford me.

Arrogant.

Accurate.

Giovanni smiled at the phone.

Then went outside.

He stayed in Tokyo only long enough to do the things he’d never managed during business trips.

He wandered without an assistant.

Ate at tiny counters where nobody knew who he was.

He spent an afternoon in a bookstore, even though he understood only part of what surrounded him.

Then he went to Kyoto.

That’s where the trip began to feel like something Alexander would appreciate.

Traditional wooden buildings.

Old temples.

Gardens built with such care that even the space felt intentional.

Craft shops.

Joinery.

Restored townhouses.

Giovanni began taking photographs.

At first, for himself.

A carved doorway.

An old wooden beam preserved during renovation.

A workshop window.

Then he found himself thinking:

Alex would like this.

So he took another photograph.

And another.

He didn’t send everything.

That would’ve been ridiculous.

Instead, he selected three that evening.

For your Chair Hospital research.

The response took twenty minutes.

I hate you.

Then:

Send the full photo of the doorway.

Giovanni smiled.

He sent it.

Alexander’s life continued while Giovanni was away.

That shouldn’t have been surprising.

It was, however, increasingly inconvenient.

The class had begun posting group photographs after presentations and weekend work sessions.

Alexander appeared in several.

Usually with the same people.

Nathaniel.

Bianca.

Marcus.

And one man Giovanni began recognizing despite never having met him.

Julian Park.

At least, that was the name tagged beneath the photographs.

Julian worked in architecture and was part of Alexander’s capstone group.

He also seemed to possess an irritating ability to stand beside Alex in nearly every photograph.

Giovanni noticed this on the fourth picture.

Then the fifth.

By the sixth, he opened Julian’s profile.

Not because he cared.

Purely context.

Architect.

Thirty-something.

Single, according to nothing Giovanni had any right to be investigating.

Giovanni closed the page.

Then opened it again.

Ridiculous.

He put the phone down.

Ten minutes later, Alexander sent him a private photograph.

Not the group.

Just himself sitting at a desk surrounded by papers.

Saturday night. Thrilling life.

Giovanni replied:

Where’s your architect?

He stared at what he’d typed.

Deleted it.

Instead:

You look exhausted. Eat.

Alex replied:

Already did.

Then a photograph of a sandwich.

Giovanni studied it.

That’s dinner?

Yes, Mother Mercer.

He laughed.

The irritation disappeared.

Mostly.

Alex followed Giovanni’s trip too.

The public photographs appeared less often.

A street in Kyoto.

A garden.

Food.

One photograph of Giovanni beside a wooden structure, taken by someone else.

Alex saved that one.

Accidentally.

Or at least without deciding not to.

The private photographs were different.

Giovanni sent him things nobody else would care about.

A badly translated café sign.

A pastry shaped like something neither could identify.

A tiny hotel room chair with a caption:

Restoration business opportunity.

Alex replied:

Burn it.

Another showed a beautifully repaired wooden chest.

This one?

Buy it.

Too late.

Then why ask?

Wanted your opinion.

That answer sat with Alex longer than expected.

Their Thursday dinners stopped entirely.

Not because either chose to stop.

There simply wasn’t time.

Between Alex’s classes and Giovanni’s travel, the weekly rhythm disappeared.

Rosalie noticed first.

During one call, she asked casually, ”Have you seen Giovanni lately?”

”He’s in Japan.”

”Oh.”

Then, several seconds later:

”Before that?”

Alex narrowed his eyes, even though he was speaking by phone.

”Mother.”

”What?”

”Nothing.”

Alejandro apparently heard enough to interfere in the background.

”Ask if they’re fighting.”

Rosalie lowered her voice poorly.

”Your father wants to know if you’re fighting.”

”We’re not fighting.”

”Good.”

”Why would you think that?”

”You used to come together.”

”We’re busy.”

”Of course.”

That, of course, sounded suspiciously unconvinced.

Alex sighed.

”We talk.”

”How often?”

”Mother.”

”Fine.”

She changed the subject.

For approximately thirty seconds.

Then:

”Giovanni sent me a photograph of bread.”

Alex blinked.

”He what?”

”Some bakery in Japan.”

Alex stared.

”Why?”

”Because I asked him to.”

That irritated him for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Apparently, Rosalie now had her own private correspondence with Giovanni.

Wonderful.

By the end of the second week, Giovanni had visited Kyoto, Kanazawa, and several smaller towns without once conducting a formal business meeting.

He ate well.

Walked constantly.

Bought very little.

One carved wooden box for Rosalie.

Tea for Alejandro.

A small tool catalog for himself even though he couldn’t read all of it.

And something for Alexander.

He told himself it wasn’t a gift.

It was reference material.

A compact book filled with photographs of restored Japanese wooden objects and traditional repair techniques, with enough English notes to make it useful.

He placed it in his luggage.

Then looked at it.

Definitely not a gift.

Research.

The night before his flight home, Alex called.

Not texted.

Called.

Giovanni answered immediately.

”Everything okay?”

”Yes.”

”Then why are you calling?”

Alex went silent.

Giovanni smiled.

”Terrible opening.”

”I was checking whether you’re packed.”

”Mostly.”

”Flight tomorrow?”

”Yes.”

”Good.”

A pause.

Then Giovanni heard papers moving.

”School?”

”Capstone.”

”Chair Hospital?”

”If you call it that again, I’m naming your next restaurant Moldy Bread.”

”Strong branding.”

Alex laughed.

The sound traveled thousands of miles surprisingly well.

They talked for almost forty minutes.

Nothing important.

Class.

Japan.

Rosalie’s opening plans.

The ancestral home renovations.

Giovanni didn’t ask about Julian Park.

That would’ve been wild.

Instead, Alex mentioned him.

”Julian’s helping with the space plan.”

Giovanni stared out the hotel window.

”Architect.”

”Yes. He thinks the restoration studio should have a public workshop area.”

”Hmm.”

”Hmm, what?”

”Nothing.”

”You sounded judgmental.”

”I’ve never met him.”

”Exactly.”

Giovanni changed the subject.

Quickly.

Later, after the call ended, he looked at the city beyond the glass.

Apparently, travel had taught him several useful things.

He could take time away from work without Mercer Group collapsing.

He enjoyed places where nobody expected anything from him.

He liked sending photographs to Alexander.

And, for reasons he wasn’t prepared to examine yet, he disliked architects named Julian standing too close to him.

Fortunately, he would be home tomorrow.

Even more fortunately, Rosalie’s opening was coming soon.

For the first time in weeks, Giovanni and Alexander would be in the same place.

He was looking forward to that far more than seemed strictly necessary.