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Laurent has never wanted to plan a wedding. Even thinking about the fact that he may one day have one makes him break out in hives. But of course Auguste did. Want to plan a wedding, that is. And want Laurent’s help to plan said wedding. “It wouldn’t be the same without you, Laurent,” he’d cajoled. “And there’s no one else I’d want to be my best man.”
Well. Laurent isn’t a pushover for anyone except his big brother, so of course he’d said yes. How could he not, on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of Auguste’s life?
Right then, however, he would like to murder his brother. A slow, painful death because anything else would be too nice, he thinks, glaring at the wall as he waits on hold once again for the bakery who is making the cake and catering the dessert because once again Auguste has changed his mind about something and the wedding planner is out of the country.
Laurent isn’t even the one using the wedding planner, and he’s going to write a scathing one star review.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” a low baritone voice says, his voice cheerful. “What can I help you with?”
Laurent breathes harshly through his nose. This asshole again, he thinks. “Yes, this is Laurent DeVere. I’m calling about a wedding…”
He hears The Sigh. The one he got the last time he called, and at the other places he’s had to call to update Auguste’s numbers and make sure everything was fine with the additional twenty people. He deserves a fucking party himself after this is over. “Look, Laurent was it? For the DeVere wedding? I don’t have you down as the wedding planner or approved staff, so I can’t help you.”
Laurent’s blood, already hot, starts to boil. He clenches his jaw against a scream. “I know I’m not the fucking wedding planner,” he grits out.
“Sorry sir,” Damianos—because that’s who this is, Damianos fucking Akielos, who supposedly owns one of the best bakeries in the country, but Laurent isn’t holding his breath—says, and he sounds downright gleeful, “but I won’t work with you if you continue using that kind of language.”
“You aren’t working with me now,” Laurent snaps. “Also, if you recall, you’re the one who swore at me first. Last phone call, before hanging up.”
“Because you aren’t the wedding planner,” Damianos says, as if that’s in any way relevant.
“I’m the groom’s brother and best man,” Laurent says. “I haven’t had this problem literally anywhere else I’ve called…”
“But you’re not the fucking wedding planner,” Damianos answers, and now he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. Laurent hates that he sounds so good doing it. He’s probably ugly, Laurent tells himself, to compensate for the alluring voice. “I don’t know who else you’ve had to call, but they’re not me. Have Auguste call me and tell me to add you onto the list, and I’d be more than happy to listen to your concerns.”
“He has!” Laurent can feel a scream welling in his throat. “He told me he called yesterday after I told him you were being unreasonable about all of this. I just need to tell you that he’s adding twenty people and he’ll be more than happy to pay extra and wants to know if that’s manageable. If not, I’ll figure something else out. That’s all.”
“Twenty?” Damianos whistles. “That’s a big jump a week out from a wedding. Wonder how that happened.”
“Because my brother is a pushover and can’t say no to anyone,” Laurent mutters, because as mad as he is at Damianos the obstinate, play-by-the-rules baker, he’s more upset at Auguste and the fact that he thought Laurent would just be able to call and get all this changed, no worries, while the person he’s paying thousands of dollars to who’s supposed to be doing this is off on a vacation and won’t be back until the day before Auguste’s wedding.
Along with the one star review, Laurent thinks he’s going to demand Auguste get a partial refund from the wedding planner and then give him the money he gets back.
Damianos laughs, a low intimate laugh that sounds hotter than it should. Laurent’s scowl turns fiercer. “Okay, Laurent. I’ll make a note. Does he want changes to the cake?”
“Oh, so you’re helping me now?” Laurent drawls.
“I found a note on my desk,” Damianos says.
“Of course you did.” Laurent rolls his eyes. “No, the cake is fine.”
“Okay, I have it down. Do I send the invoice to you or…”
By this point Laurent knows Damianos is fucking with him, so instead of answering he hangs up. Damianos must suspect that’s what he’s going to do, because the last thing he hears is laughter. “Imbecile,” Laurent says, because it makes him feel better, then he texts Auguste to tell him that the dessert is taken care of.
You’re a lifesaver! I owe you big time!
“Oh, I know,” Laurent mutters, then decides maybe he should take a walk to work off some of his leftover irritation. For whatever reason, he can’t get that stupid laugh of Damianos’s out of his head.
He has to call the bakery with two more updates. Two. It seems they’ve been given strict instructions to pass every call from Laurent (or for the DeVere wedding, but Laurent doesn’t think that’s the case) to Damianos, so Laurent has the distinct displeasure of working with him again.
Not that it’s as bad as the first time. In fact, it’s almost unnerving how easy it is, how professional this previously obstinate man is being now. “And that’s all?” Laurent asks slowly after the last change has been approved in less than five minutes, when last time he’d been on the phone for almost an hour. They’re two days away from the wedding, and Laurent finds himself way more stressed than he ever thought he would be over a wedding that wasn’t his own. He thinks he’s probably more stressed than Auguste’s lovely bride, in fact. “It’s quite last minute.”
“Yeah, that’s it, unless you had something else?” Damianos answers, sounding distracted. Laurent hears an influx of racket in the background, and immediately decides he doesn’t want to know.
“No, that’s everything. The wedding planner will be there to meet you, but if anything comes up, please call me…”
He hears a light chuckle and suddenly the attention is turned back to him full force. “You’re saying you don’t think the wedding planner has it handled?”
“Clearly, he does not,” Laurent says with a scoff, “or else he would be the one talking to you right now, wouldn’t he?”
“You’re not wrong,” Damianos says, the laughter still in his voice. Laurent knows he should say goodbye, that both he and Damianos are busy, but he doesn’t want to. The thought is absurd—he doesn’t know what this man looks like, doesn’t even particularly like him. But he’s curious, and that’s alarming. If he doesn’t hang up soon, he’s going to start asking him inane questions about his day. How embarrassing.
“See you Saturday,” Damianos finally says. “I’m sure you’ll stop by to tell me how to do my job. You seem like the type of person.”
“Fuck off,” Laurent says, but his lips twitch up into a smile, as much as he tries not to let them. He hangs up before he can overthink, before he can say goodbye, before he’s caught by Damianos’s contagious laugh. And then he very viciously shoves the lingering thought that Damianos’s voice is charming and that he would like to listen to it for longer into the farthest corner of his mind and gets back to work.
The wedding is wonderful. Laurent takes considerable pride in it, since he’d been the one in the trenches during the eleventh hour, and even watching the wedding planner flit around taking credit for all the last minute changes wasn’t enough to drop Laurent’s mood.
His eyes snag on the tall, well-built, bronze-skinned man with curly brown hair and a killer smile who is currently making sure the dessert table is stocked to his liking. He’s definitely Damianos—Laurent would have known without hearing his voice first. It’s the way he moves, the way he takes control so effortlessly and handles every situation with ease. And then he spoke and Laurent was loath to realize that his voice sounds even better in person. How does one person get blessed with both?
They do the normal reception things—cringey speeches, cutting the cake, the first dance—and when the dance floor opens, Laurent finally finds an opening to grab a drink and make himself scarce by the wall, where he prefers to be during parties like this. He watches everyone have fun, and smiles smally to himself.
“Are you even allowed to be drinking?”
Laurent stiffens. He tries to scowl his deepest, meanest scowl at Damianos, whose smug grin just gets smugger. “I’m twenty-four,” he says. “And had to deal with you all last week, so I think I deserve this.”
Damianos chuckles. He takes a drink from his own glass, his eyes never leaving Laurent. Laurent adjusts his sleeves, drains the rest of his glass, and sets it on a passing tray. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Laurent, who is scoping out the closest waiter to get another glass of champagne, turns his attention back to Damianos. His surprise must show on his face, because Damianos’s open expression falls, his brow furrowing in confusion. Laurent is about to say something, but before he can figure out what to even ask Auguste comes up to them, his smile big. He looks exhausted in a happy, sated way.
“Ah, hello Laurent, Damen. Fancy seeing you two together.”
Wait. Laurent turns to Auguste, narrowing his eyes as the pieces of the puzzle start snapping into place. Damianos—Damen—grins and holds out a hand toward Auguste. “Congrats, dude. The wedding was great.”
Then, to Laurent’s horror, Damianos and Auguste do one of those bro hugs that can only mean that they know each other. “What. The fuck.”
Both of them turn to Laurent, who’s trying really hard not to fly off the handle. He’s hungry and tired and that’s never a good combination for anyone who has to be around him, especially when he’s had to deal with people all day. Damianos—Damen—seems to understand what’s happening immediately, if his shit-eating grin is any indication.
“I’ve introduced you to Damen,” Auguste says in that older brother way he has that makes Laurent second guess himself every time, even if he knows Auguste is completely wrong. “He was my roommate in college. We wrestled together.”
Damen. Yes, Laurent knows that name. Auguste had talked about Damen so often Laurent had joked that they should just get married, to which Auguste had replied that Damen would be much more interested in Laurent’s looks than his. Laurent had gotten sick of all the stories Auguste recounted with Damen. Laurent hadn’t ever thought himself the jealous type until confronted with the absolute bromance these two shared.
“Actually, we hadn’t had the pleasure until a few days ago,” Laurent says through gritted teeth. “Good thing you failed to mention your best friend was the baker, so many of these issues could have been resolved sooner. By you, in fact. I’m sure a text or something could have cleared literally everything up.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Laurent,” Auguste says. “We promised it would stay professional! Damen’s busy, after all. He didn’t need me nagging him about my orders every other day.”
“No, instead, as the best man, that responsibility fell to me.” There’s not much heat behind Laurent’s words, and Auguste’s grin reassures him that he knows Laurent isn’t truly mad.
“And you did such a great job,” Auguste says, and Laurent is sure he’s about to continue his teasing but is saved by Auguste’s name being called from a few tables away. They all turn their attention that way to see the bride’s mother gesturing to him.
“Gotta go,” Auguste says. “Thanks so much for being here. And thank you Laurent for making sure everything worked out, really.”
With that Auguste throws an arm over Laurent’s shoulders and gives him an obnoxious kiss on the cheek, then fist bumps Damen and leaves the two of them by themselves again. A waiter comes by with more alcohol, and Laurent scoops up a glass, immediately taking a large gulp.
Damen clears his throat, looking a little sheepish. “Well, this sure makes a little more sense than before.”
“True. One would think one’s brother would mention his previous boyfriend was the one making his wedding cake.”
Damen grins, those dimples back full force. Because of course he has a hot smile to go with his hot voice and his hot body. “I’m pretty sure we both know I am not Auguste’s type.”
And because Laurent has had a little more alcohol on an empty stomach than he should have, he says, “I’ve heard I might be yours, though.”
A flash of surprise crosses Damen’s face, followed by a welcome warmth that curls in Laurent's stomach. “Wonder where you heard that from.”
“If you and Auguste are so close,” Laurent says, keeping his voice light as he ignores the question and drains the glass, feeling it go to his head almost immediately, “why weren’t you in the wedding party? You could have been the best man even. I would have gladly given the role away.”
Damen takes the diverted flirting in stride. He drains his own glass before he says, “I told him that I could make his cake for free and provide dessert at a super discounted rate if he wanted because I work with this venue all the time, or I could be part of the wedding and get him some boring old wedding present. Just between us, I was hoping he’d take the cake. He can be such a diva sometimes.”
Laurent chokes, covering it up with a cough. Damen pats his back, and Laurent is sure he’s not imagining the way his hand lingers, especially when it slides down to cup his elbow with the pretense of steadying him, he’s sure would be the excuse if he asked.
“You said you work with the venue often,” Laurent says. “Does that mean you’re local?”
“About a half hour north,” Damen says.
Laurent hums. “I’m ten minutes east.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just looks up into Damen’s warm brown eyes. God, he’s gorgeous, Laurent can’t help but think. He doesn’t know when they drifted closer together, but now there’s mere inches between them and Laurent wonders how it would feel to just lean his weight against Damen’s large, sturdy torso.
“Sounds like that’s close enough to meet up again,” Damen says, his voice low and intimate and Laurent feels like he’s falling into that gaze, that charming dimpled smile…
Maybe he could play this off as a revenge thing instead of the embarrassing truth, which was that Laurent had never felt an attraction this strongly to anyone in his life, and they had barely had one proper conversation.
“You have my number,” Laurent says, breaking away from Damen as the DJ’s voice came over the speakers saying they were getting ready to send off the bride and groom. “Maybe we can find a place that works.”
Laurent brushes his arm against Damen’s when he walks past. It’s the last time he lets himself think about Damen for longer than a passing thought, making sure the rest of the night goes smoothly, that everything is cleaned and taken care of once Auguste and his bride leave. It’s well past midnight by the time he stands on the curb in the dark, waiting for his Lyft.
A car pulls up and when the window rolls down he sees Damen. “Need a ride?” he asks.
Laurent raises an eyebrow. “Were you just hanging out in the parking lot waiting for me to leave? Do I have a stalker now?”
“No!” Damen says, eyes wide. Laurent has to bite back as laugh at his mortified expression. “I was just leaving and saw you standing…”
“It’s okay,” Laurent said, pulling the passenger door open. Reserved, cautious Laurent getting into a stranger’s car? Auguste would be beside himself if he knew. “We can figure out where we want to get dinner on Friday.”
“If you really want…” Damen starts.
Laurent does not let him finish. “And spend $80 when I have a perfectly good driver right here? No thanks. Besides, if you’re going to pick me up for dinner, you’ll have to know where to go. And if you make a good impression, who’s to say you can’t come up and have a drink or something. If you’re not busy.”
Sure, it’s a little rushed. And maybe ill-advised. But Laurent thinks he deserves a reward for a job well done.
“I can assure you I am not busy,” Damen says. “Where to?”
And Laurent tells him.