39. REEMA

"It's been fifteen minutes, Patel. They forgot about us."

"Maybe. But you can't leave in case she still comes."

He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "How much time do we have until the Jago party starts?"

"Three-ish hours. And it will run until at least midnight.

"Well, today's schedule is brutal."

"Indian weddings are a marathon. When you think it's almost over, another ceremony pops up. Then another. And another."

Since I'm hovering by the door, he stares at me from across the room. "Is this what you've got to look forward to?"

He doesn't know I've done this already. That it was nice back then, but if I ever had to get married again, an all-out extravaganza isn't my idea of fun. In my personal experience, the size of the wedding doesn't correlate to the success of a marriage. If anything, there's some sort of opposite pattern at work. Not that I think my sister's future is doomed. All signs point to how much Gurinder adores her.

Another argument against a big affair is the sheer cost. Having experienced financial desperation these last two years, the thought of sinking multiple zeroes into anything makes me feel sick.

"No," I say resolutely. "I don't want this for myself."

"What do you want?"

"Something more selfish."

"Tell me what that means."

We're killing time, and I don't mind distracting him from the fact that I've taken him hostage. "I wouldn't want to plan anything. The celebrating with people you love part I appreciate, but organizing is exhausting, especially on this scale. My sister spent the better part of the last ten months trying to pull off this week."

"So you want to be a lazy bride?"

"The laziest."

"But you've been known to work hard before." He shrugs. "Once or twice."

I roll my eyes. "Doing it for my job is different." And because of bad circumstances.

"Do you even know how to be hands-off?"

"Not that it should matter to you, but I'd work hard at being completely useless. Since I've planned none of it, I wouldn't know what was going right and what was going wrong. I could just enjoy it all."

I wait for Coleman to say I've set the bar too high for the male species. That no one would plan an entire wedding for their partner like that.

Instead, I find he's watching me… like I'm a spreadsheet. Like he's adding up information to problem-solve. My cheek flushes harder. What? Why is he doing that? He needs to stop looking as if he's trying to figure me out.

"Would you invite everyone you met today?" he asks.

"Fuck no."

My answer seems to satisfy him.

The clock ticks loudly between us. I've no idea when Manu is coming, and my feet are getting tired. And if I don't rest now, there will be no time for it later. Like Coleman said, with the Jago lasting late tonight, the schedule is brutal.

Leaving my spot by the door, I take off my shoes and lie down on the bed. Just for a few minutes, then I'll get up again.

When I feel the spot by my feet dip, I hiss. "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable in my prison."

His shoes are toed off, and then he stretches himself out beside me. It's a queen bed so we don't touch anywhere, but he takes up so much damn space. I feel the heat of him radiating against my skin. That's why it pebbles.

"Lie on the ground," I order.

"You lie on the ground."

"Chivalry has been murdered."

"Have you seen the state of your room? You little pigsty, who knows what I'll find on the floor."

"Says the serial killer who definitely folds his underwear."

Our faces have turned, so we're looking at each other. "What underwear?" he drawls.

"You don't wear underwear?!"

His mouth curves very smugly. "It sounds like you want to check."

"Urgh." I give up and stare at the ceiling. Some beastly part inside me is chanting, This man wears double XL condoms! I'm also hating how my heart is starting to race, and how I also want to sneak a peek at the front of his trousers for verification purposes. Not that I don't remember the excessive bulge from our Lingerie Fitting Room Incident That Shouldn't Be Remembered.

"That's what you're wearing tonight?"

He's pointing to the lengha I've got hung up. It's retrofitted, the separates pulled from pieces I've thrifted, layered with a top from my own wedding week. If the Jago event wasn't known to be an explosion of patterns and creativity, it would have stood out in a bad way, but I'm hoping the bright decor and lights tonight help make the outfit feel purposeful, not scrapped together.

"Yeah, that's what I'm wearing. Why?"

"It's nice. Colorful."

I cover my face with my hands. "This isn't good. We're starting to talk to each other like normal people!"

He scowls. "I don't like it either."

All that repressing of our kiss from this morning? Infinitely harder when you are lying in the same bed as the person who made your head spin. Whose hands felt delightfully demanding as they cupped your neck and tilted your mouth for more access. Whose tongue was rather presumptuous.

With a sigh, I drop my hands because keeping my eyes closed isn't the way to go. It makes it much worse because then all I feel is the buzzing hum of my body reacting to his.

"Well, you've met the hooligans on my side today," I say, hunting for a topic change.

"They… have a lot of opinions."

Actually, I don't want to talk about them. If we do, he'll ask questions. My divorce might come up. "What's your family like?"

When he doesn't immediately answer, I risk a quick elbow poke. "I told you about my ideal, hypothetical, not-happening wedding. My sharing turn is over."

"I didn't realize it was a competition or I wouldn't have asked, Patel."

"Everything between us is a battle. And do you have anything better to do?" Okay, wrong direction to take. Many better things are possible when you are sharing a bed. The lusty trio of bed, naked, and sex cycle through my head. "Did you want to talk about the weather?"

He brings his arms up, almost lazily, and folds his hands behind his head. The change in position makes his biceps more obviously articulated. Not that he notices, cares, or is doing it on purpose. A frown ghosts his lips.

"My family are hooligans in their own right. I'm the oldest, but I have four brothers after me."

"Five boys? Were your parents trying for a girl?"

"Allegedly no. According to my mother, the plan was to populate our own sports team."

"You do sports?"

"Football—well, we used to. It was more of a tradition a few years but then…"

He doesn't finish his sentence, but I can guess. Was that when his dad passed?

"You don't have to answer, but how did your dad pass?"

"Cancer."

I wince. "I'm sorry." I want to reach out and hold him, but his expression has gone guarded. My hands get pushed under the pillow, so they behave. "Were you close?"

"We were. Before the cancer."

Before?"The cancer affected your relationship?"

"It wasn't the cancer itself, but how he handled it."

"How do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I think my sharing turn is over. You go now."

It's obvious there is pain behind his words, even if his tone is carefully neutral, so I don't argue.

"Okay. The weather is good today."

"Nice try." He shifts to look at me. "Why don't you tell your relatives who you really are?"

A weight rolls in my belly. "And exactly who am I?"

"I don't know. Successful. One of the top recruitment agents in our office, beating everyone but me by a huge margin. Your personality isn't terrible either. Clients obsess over you, you somehow got Moby Dick to sign on, and Leo loves you. Mr.Davies also admires and hugely respects you." He waves his hand. "I'd go on, but this is making me nauseous. You get the point."

Absurd glee grows at hearing his words.

I imagine myself telling everyone in the wedding exactly that. Maybe if I wasn't hiding so many mistakes, I could. But Coleman doesn't know the reason I work so hard is atonement and fixing what I've already messed up. I'm forced to be the person he's describing because of my past.

He asks again why I'm not sharing my accomplishments. He—with exasperation—brings up the forty-five million client portfolio. Asking why I haven't told anyone here, from what he can tell.

"That's not the whole story of me," I finally say.

"What am I missing? Your commission is going to shatter the company record this year if you win."

"Yes. But I've also had a few financial hiccups."

"Hiccups? How bad?"

"I—" What am I saying? It's not like I want to tell anyone, least of all him, the truth! "Nothing major. Let's move on. We should get some rest." I turn away from him, giving him my back.

He scoffs. "Like I could sleep beside you."

"Don't stress, I forgot to pack my knives," I mumble. "You're safe for the moment."

His answer sounded a lot like, If only that was my problem.

Whatever the case, it's the last thing I hear. My body is losing the will to stay awake. It's because this whole morning has exhausted me. I haven't been so tense and worried about socializing in forever, and last night I barely got any rest. So now, I'm being pulled under by the soft comforter underneath me.

My eyes close.