by Alisha Rai
The cold ball of anger and panic that shot into her belly was welcome. It was a sharp distraction from the crack of her heart. After he’d written her long blocks of texts about how much he liked and admired her? He was going to do this? She took a step closer, and then another one, until they were only a few inches apart. She’d ignore his tall body and how much bigger he was to focus on this hurdle. “Where’s your phone?”
His thick eyebrows rocked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Give me your phone.”
“I think you have me mistaken for someone else, Ms. . . . ?”
Her hands curled into fists. If her mom or sisters had been here, they would have seen the warning signs of her surge of emotions and immediately removed her from the situation, lest her impulsiveness take over her common sense. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered and was horrified at the pinprick of tears at the corners of her eyes.
Not as horrified as he was, though. He swayed forward, brow creased. “Are you okay?”
No, she was not. The kind, occasionally cheesy man who had talked to her during a lonely and vulnerable time in her life was now telling her he had no idea who she was.
“I’m fine.” She had to leave. She pivoted on her heel—why had she wasted heels on this man!—but he stopped her.
“Wait, Miss—” He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she was too upset to appreciate this featherlight touch from one of the most famous faces on a subcontinent. She shrugged it off with a sharp jerk and was hauled to a stop by a ripping sound and a tug on her neck.
“Hang on,” he said sharply. “I’m stuck on you.”
She turned around, her face burning as he raised his arm, his smart watch band caught on the gauzy fabric of her shawl. She instantly took a step back as he took a step closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to . . . It’ll rip. Let me . . .” He took another step, and she inhaled.
That was a mistake. He smelled exactly how she’d thought he might, clean and fresh. His head lowered as he focused. He had incredibly long lashes. “Almost got it.”
“Rip it.” Before I start counting your lashes. Or ripping them out.
She was feeling a lot of feelings right now, darn it.
“It’s a beautiful fabric. I’d rather not.”
It was a beautiful piece, one her grandma had brought her from Pakistan, but she didn’t care. Humiliation and rejection burned her face. She couldn’t resist her heartbreak coming out in her next words, though she hated herself for it. “You told me you’d searched the universe for a woman like me,” she said, her voice breaking. “Why are you pretending you don’t know me?”
Dev stiffened, but the pocket of silence around them snapped Jia from her turmoil faster than a siren could. She glanced around and found that the people at the bar were watching them, eyebrows raised. A circle of people observe the heroine’s embarrassment while the band plays on.
The audience included the redheaded reporter—and the phone the woman held in her hands. Oh no. Jia shook her head, the sting of tears frightening her. She hadn’t cried in years, and she definitely didn’t cry in public. It would ruin her makeup and was extremely off-brand. “Are you done yet?”
He raised his wrist, free of her. “Yes.”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait—”
She spun around, her wide skirt flaring around her ankles as she half jogged away. She only paused at the table at the exit. “Where’s the gift bag?”
She was going to have something to show for this night, damn it, even if it wasn’t love.
Jia grabbed the fabric bag the bored employee held out and continued her dash.
The tears started falling by the time she got to the elevator. She jabbed the lobby button and collapsed against the back wall.
Jia, you are being extremely melodramatic right now.
She clutched the goody bag to her chest and let out a small sob. Yeah she was. She was the little piggy who was going to be melodramatic all the way home, too melodramatic to even care that strangers may have observed her embarrassment.
By the time she got to the lobby, she’d at least controlled the more vocal sobs, though the valet still looked at her askance when she handed him her ticket. She pulled out her phone while she waited for her car and scrolled through her voice notes. Why hadn’t she thought to record an affirmation for herself in case this didn’t work out? Silly optimistic Past Jia.
Either the person she’d been talking to all this time wasn’t the man she’d met upstairs, or he was a cold-blooded internet seducer. Which reality was more palatable? Was she a naïve fool or was she a naïve fool?
Or, third option, you’re too difficult to be lovable, and he realized that once he saw you.
Jia shook the insecurity out of her head, but it was deep-rooted, waiting for any hint of weakness.
She navigated to her messaging app and clicked on Dev’s name. She’d put a heart next to it, during a mushy moment. She scrolled through the last few messages she’d sent, then typed into the message box. Who the fuck are you???
Three dots immediately popped up, and she waited with bated breath, but the dots went away, and there was nothing.
“Ma’am?”
She swiped her tears and took her keys from the valet, putting a crumpled mound of cash in his hand for a tip. Judging by his effusive thanks, she assumed it was enough.
Her car was as silent as her phone. She cranked the volume of her radio up, until the bass vibrated, and then peeled away from the curb. There were so many thoughts flying around in her head, but right now, the only thing she could stomach deciding was whether she should pick up two or three pints of ice cream on her way home.
Chapter Two
DEV HAD only visited America three times. Once for a wedding, once for a graduation, once for an awards show. He liked the country, but found it a strange place, what with its citizens openly carrying large guns and holding events like pie-eating contests. He hadn’t seen them do both those things together yet, though he supposed such a joint event would not be absurd here.
He never thought he’d end up leaving his home in Mumbai to come work in this country, but here he was. He also never thought he’d become utterly preoccupied with a strange woman within the space of time it took for her to walk up to him, but there she’d been.
You told me you’d searched the universe for a woman like me.
Dev quietly closed the door of his flat. He threw his keys in the dish on the foyer table, and winced as the metal met glass. He fished them out immediately and placed the keys on the table runner. The place had come furnished, the owners vacationing somewhere in Barbados. Given his tight finances and his teenage niece, he’d wanted to opt for a less expensive flat without thousand-dollar glass dishes, but his agent had pointed out that a decent address would be beneficial. His main attraction to these Hollywood hotshots was his famous family. He needed to keep the illusion of wealth intact until he was established here. Luckily, they’d gotten the home for a steal.
The muted sounds of the television led him to the living room. Loud snores from the man on the couch punctuated the forgotten Hindi movie on the screen. Dev picked up the remote and clicked it off.
His uncle sat straight up, coming from sleep to waking in a second. Dev didn’t jump. The man had been a cab driver in New York for over thirty years, and was quick to wake up from his snoozes.
“Dev?”
“Yes. Sorry Uncle, did I wake you?”
“Not at all.” Adil scrubbed his hands over his face. His uncle had just started to get a stoop to his shoulders and silver in his thinning hair. “I was waiting up for you.”
Dev perched on the arm of the chair next to the couch. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
It had taken some time for Dev to get used to having such a carelessly affectionate paternal figure in his life after so long. His uncle had been so busy scraping together here in America, Dev had only met Adil Khan a handful o
f times. Retired and newly widowed, his late mother’s brother had traveled back to India last year to live with him when Rohan had died and had quickly become an invaluable part of his small household.
“How was the party?”
“Tiring.” He’d never been the life of the party, even when he was young. His desire to make small talk and court the other guests was declining in inverse proportion to his age. The rest of his family loved socializing. Rohan had lived for parties.
As usual, he shoved his brother’s name out of his head as quickly as it had popped in.
Adil settled into the couch. “Any pretty girls your age?”
“No.” He could tell by Adil’s eyebrow that he’d answered a little too quickly.
It wasn’t a total lie. The girl had been a woman, and she’d been gorgeous, not merely pretty.
He’d noticed her immediately when she’d walked into the room. There weren’t many South Asians in the Hollywood crowd, but that wasn’t the reason she’d stood out. Though she was petite, she’d carried her shoulders with a bold confidence he’d wished to absorb. From her cheekbones to her dress to her hair covering to her shoes, she’d glinted and glowed like the gold foil that was sprinkled on his favorite desserts.
Another man might have immediately approached her, but he’d never been good at that. He’d averted his eyes, hoping his courage would build if he didn’t look at her.
In the end, she’d approached him. A million things had raced through his head, but he’d only been able to fall deep into her warm light brown eyes and stutter out a hello.
Then her warmth had transformed into inexplicable wounded anger. What on earth had he done to inspire a reaction like that? He’d gone over his words a hundred times since she’d stalked away from him, and he couldn’t find a single explanation.
You told me you’d searched the universe for a woman like me.
Dev rubbed his thumb against his palm, where her soft dress had imprinted on him as he’d untangled himself from her.
“Dev?”
He clenched his hand. “Yes?”
Adil gave him an assessing look. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” Dev cleared his throat. “I’m going to head to bed.”
“There’s a plate in the fridge for you.”
He was tempted, but then he remembered the wardrobe fitting he had this week. “I ate at the party.” It had only been a few carrot sticks. His stomach was still pretty empty, but Adil’s food was delicious and high calorie.
Dev might have been the romantic lead on his show back home, but he hadn’t had to stay in tip-top shape. Things were different here, where the pressure to conform to certain beauty standards was more intense.
Adil tsked, like he knew exactly how much food Dev had consumed. “I placed one of those garbage granola bars at your bedside.”
Dev smiled, touched. He wouldn’t eat the bar, but it was a nice thought. “Thank you. Is Luna . . . ?”
“Asleep? Yes. Or at least, she’s in her room.”
That twist to Adil’s mouth didn’t bode well. The last year had been a long settlement period for all of them. “What happened?”
“I cooked a good healthy dinner for her, and she insisted on Bagel Bites.”
Dev had only the vaguest idea of what those were, but he could guess they weren’t fresh vegetables and protein cooked by his uncle’s loving hands.
“Only, I don’t buy such things, so she ordered someone to go to the grocery store and have them delivered. Did you know you can do that from your phone?”
“Yes. Though she shouldn’t be doing it.”
Adil grunted. “In any case, she made her disgusting food and took it to eat in her room even though I told her we’d eat at the table.”
Dev frowned. Luna’s most negative moods were characterized by depression or withdrawal, rarely open defiance. She’d been sweet lately, too, growing more comfortable expressing herself with both of her elders.
“She stomped away from me.” Adil clicked his tongue. “If I had done the same to my uncle, I would have been thrashed.”
Dev’s lips twitched, despite the seriousness of the situation. Adil’s blustering was just that, blustering. The man had fallen in love with his grandniece at first sight. The only person less likely to raise their hand to Luna was Dev.
He checked his watch. He’d gotten home later than he’d hoped. In Mumbai, he had the clout to leave a party whenever he wanted, but he couldn’t insult the executives here. “I’ll check in on her. You get some rest.”
Adil gestured to the television. “I have to finish my show first, but good night.”
His uncle would be asleep three minutes after Dev left. “Yes, good night.”
He paused outside his niece’s room, but all he could hear was the humidifier running. He cracked the door. The light glowing under the blanket winked out. He opened the door wider. There was plenty of light in the room from the moon streaming in and the nightlight he’d installed near the door for him to see.
“Luna,” he whispered. “I see you’re awake. Can I please speak with you?”
The cover shifted, and out popped a curly dark head. Luna’s hair had been much longer, but right before they’d moved, he’d come home to find her standing in the bathroom, black strands all around her feet, scissors in her hand, and a blank expression on her small face. He’d hidden his concern by helping her clean up the bathroom and trim parts of the back she hadn’t been able to reach. Once he’d been alone, he’d reached for one of the many books he’d bought on children and grief to assure himself that he hadn’t somehow screwed something up.
Luna plopped her phone on the bed and leaned against the headboard. She looked much younger than thirteen, with her tiny heart-shaped face and short bob. She muttered something in Spanish. One thing his brother had done was engage good tutors for Luna. She spoke five languages fairly fluently and could slip in and out of them with ease.
She chose Spanish and French when she wanted to keep something from him. Joke was on her, however. He’d downloaded an app for that.
Knock was the only word he could make out, but that was enough. He took a step in. “I should have knocked. I’m sorry.”
Even after a year, she still looked bemused when he agreed with her or treated her as an adult, which made him wonder exactly how his brother had treated his daughter. Probably with the same casual distracted affection Rohan had given to most things that weren’t acting or women or drugs.
Perhaps if Dev had been around more, had paid attention to her before his brother had died a year ago, he would know more about how Luna’d been raised. A stab of guilt ran through him, a feeling he was so familiar with, it was almost second nature now.
She switched to English. “Thank you.” Her manner was stiff and formal.
Internally, he heaved a tired sigh. He hadn’t thought getting sudden guardianship of his niece after her father’s death left her an orphan would be easy, but he’d been lulled into a false sense of calm over the last month or so.
“You know the rules, though. No phone this late.” Monitoring and enforcing cell phone usage was something he did reluctantly. He hated playing the disciplinarian, but he also didn’t want his ward to have unlimited screen time. All the experts seemed to agree that wasn’t good for developing brains.
“Sorry. The book got good.”
He tossed the screen time rule out the window. He couldn’t see how limiting reading could ever be good. “What are you reading?”
“Stephen King.”
“At night?” He wouldn’t police age appropriateness in reading either, though he did wonder if scary tales at night were good for her.
“It’s the best time to read it. Did you just get home?”
“Yes.” He came to sit on the edge of the bed. “What did you do tonight?” He kept his tone mild and not accusatory.
A muscle ticked in her jaw. That tick had made Vivek Dixit famous back in the golden screen days. “Uncle�
�s mad at me, I guess.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because we had a fight about dinner.”
Dev nodded. “I understand you had a disagreement over something called a Bagel Bites.”
“It’s pizza on a bagel.”
“That does sound . . .” American. “Intriguing. But perhaps not as healthy as a home-cooked meal.”
“I’m tired of Indian food all the time. Junk food’s the best part about coming to America.”
He adjusted the teddy bear next to her. In many ways, Luna was becoming a young woman, but she still slept with this ratty blue bear. “That’s the only reason you grew upset? You were fed up with the same style of food every night?”
She looked away. “Yeah.”
“It wasn’t kind of you to snap at Adil Uncle. He loves you very much and he deserves your respect.”
Her eyes grew wet, but the tears didn’t overflow. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’ll have to tell him that tomorrow.” His uncle had the same soft heart as Dev’s mother. The man would immediately forgive Luna.
Her throat moved. “I will.”
Dev hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller. The last thing he wanted to do was make his niece feel cowed or scared. “Where did you get the money for ordering the food you wanted?”
“Aji gave me a credit card to use for emergencies.”
Now it was time for him to control the tic in his cheek. His grandmother. “I don’t want you using that card for anything but emergencies,” he said quietly. “Real emergencies.”
“Okay.”
“Perhaps we could go out to dinner, the three of us, when I get home tomorrow. Try some American cuisine. Get out a little and give your uncle a break from cooking. We can do so weekly.”
Luna shifted. “That might be nice.”
She didn’t look especially enthused, which told him the issue wasn’t really about the food. Or at least, not entirely about the food. “Sometimes when I’m acting and I have to act sad or angry, I have to think about something that made me sad or angry, and transfer my emotions from there to the scene.”