by Sara Desai
“I see you haven’t changed.” Layla’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Once an ass. Always an ass.”
“That’s what I thought when I read the house special for this week,” Liam said. “It doesn’t matter if you house-ferment, dehydrate, and then pulverize your eel. Sprinkle it on your pigeon roulade and it’s still going to be eel.”
“I’m going to check the racks near the front.” Layla narrowed her gaze at Liam. “Try and be nice. I know it’s an effort, but if you hurt her—”
“Are you threatening me?” Liam’s lips quivered at the corners. “You’re only half my size.”
“There are many ways to hurt a man,” Layla said quietly. “And our choir does need a new soprano . . .”
“She’s changed,” Liam said, after she’d gone. “She used to be so . . .” He shrugged. “Actually, she hasn’t changed at all.”
“You could have just sent me a message to let me know you wanted to change some things around.” Daisy moved to look at the beautiful lehenga, glistening with beads and jewels.
“I thought it would be better to say ‘no fucking way’ as soon as possible.” He leaned against a pillar, his biceps bulging in a most distracting way beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt.
“Do you swear to shock me, or are those words part of your normal vocabulary?” She couldn’t let him know his physical presence was doing strange things to her stomach, so she feigned an intense study of the beading on the nearest salwar suit.
“I swear when I get a list of dates that includes things I would never do at places I would never go.” He leaned in, so close she could smell the leather of his jacket and the rich scent of his cologne. “For example, Date #4 is a movie. Two hours of sitting in the dark not getting to know each other. What about a bar or club? Somewhere fun.”
Heat flooded her face. “It’s not just any old movie. If you’d looked at column J, you’d see I’d planned for us to see Pufferfish, an acclaimed Belgian absurdist dystopian black comedy that challenges us to be bored while refusing to be boring.”
“Yawn.” Liam tapped his hand over his mouth. “I’m bored already. No need to be challenged.”
“Clearly I expected too much.”
Far from being insulted, Liam just laughed. “The only reason men agree to movie dates is so they have a chance at getting to second base in the dark. So unless you want a little loving between the seats—”
“I’ll cross the movie off the list,” she said quickly, although her mouth had gone dry and all she could think about was Liam in the dark with his hands under her clothes.
“Appreciated.”
“What about Date #5: coffee?” She pulled out her phone to make the necessary adjustments.
“People don’t get to know each other over coffee,” Liam said. “It’s like trying to get to know someone while they’re brushing their teeth. It’s a non-activity. You walk into the café. You order your venti seven-pump vanilla soy twelve-scoop matcha 180-degree no-foam green-tea latte. I order a simple filter coffee with cream and sugar and send the world of overpriced designer drinks into a tailspin. We make awkward, banal conversation with the fifty other people who are waiting for the newbie barista to figure out how to steam the milk while her colleagues gossip over at the panini press. By the time we get our drinks, there is nowhere to sit. So we say goodbye and drink our now cold coffees alone. Fun.”
“When did you become so hard and bitter?”
“When I realized I didn’t fit in. So, around three years old.”
He wasn’t joking, she realized, but his absent expression made her wonder if he even knew what he’d said. She decided against sharing that she also knew what it felt like to be an outsider, and brought him back to the plan instead. “Fine. No coffee. What would you like to do instead?”
“Oh. I get a choice?” He feigned shock, thudding his hand against his chest. “In that case, let’s have a sports night, and don’t even think about shaking your head because I know for a fact that you like sports.”
“I like to watch sports, not play them. If you remember, I’m lacking in body awareness.”
Liam’s voice dropped to a sensual purr. “I’m very aware of your sexy body, so that’s not a problem.”
He thinks I’m sexy. She shoved that delicious little nugget away to savor later. “Fine, you can have your sports. What about Date #6? You can’t possibly have any objection to a walk.”
“We’re walking now. What amusing anecdotes will this delightful date provide?”
“Daisy, who is this?” Deepa Rao, Layla’s cousin on her mother’s side, and second-in-command at the store, intercepted them between the salwar suits and the sherwanis.
“This is Liam.” She didn’t give his last name in case his identity got through to her father in Belize before she could share the big news that she was engaged to the man who had broken her heart. The Patel gossip mill worked faster than the Internet. “My . . .” She stumbled over the word. “Fiancé.”
Liam reached out to shake Deepa’s hand after Daisy introduced them, turning up his megawatt smile. Daisy bit back a laugh when his charm offensive didn’t produce the usual results. Deepa was resistant to anything except the sound of money.
“This must be the boy Salena told me about.” Deepa’s eyes glittered. “I was wondering when you’d be coming in to buy your wedding outfits.” She pulled out her tape measure and wrapped it around Liam’s chest.
Daisy felt a sudden irrational stab of jealousy as Deepa’s hands slid over Liam’s pecs. Why did Deepa get to touch him, and not her? “Actually, Deepa, he just needs a tux. He’s not—”
“I have the perfect outfit for you,” Deepa said, cutting Daisy off. “Quiet and understated, yet powerful and strong. It’s Burma ivory with Banarasi silk, yarn-dyed and hand-spun to create a soft and luxurious quilt. The Bengal-tiger buttons are circled with Japanese cultured pearls. Perfect for a man of your size and stature. It’s got a magnificent shawl made of the highest quality chikankari with a zardosi border. And, of course, you’ll want a sword.”
“Sword?” Liam brightened.
Deepa’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll go get a sample. I know the perfect one.”
“The sword won’t go down so well at city hall,” Daisy muttered under her breath. “They don’t think too highly of concealed weapons. You’ll probably get arrested. Although, I have to admit it sounds kind of exciting being married to a criminal.”
A maelstrom of emotions flickered across his face, and then they were gone. Moments later he was back to his teasing self. “I have a concealed weapon in my pocket I could show you,” he whispered.
“Don’t you dare . . .” She trailed off when he pulled a small penknife out of his pocket. Small and sleek, it had a wood inlay that had been worn smooth in the middle.
“My grandfather gave it to me when I was a boy.” His face softened and his eyes misted the tiniest bit. “I always keep it with me.”
She was touched by his fondness for his grandfather and the rare glimpse into his more serious side. “It’s a lovely memento.”
Deepa returned a few moments later holding up an exquisite sherwani, the material of the long, coatlike garment so soft and fine it glittered in the overhead light.
“It’s beautiful,” Liam said. “I’ll try it on.”
“I’ll get a pajama pant and shoes,” Deepa said.
“I didn’t bring you here to buy an expensive sherwani for a ten-minute civil ceremony,” Daisy said as they walked over to the changing room. “It was more for Layla and her relatives to see you so they could spread gossip about our engagement. You can just rent a tux.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. “It’s my fake wedding. I want to dress how I want to dress.”
Five minutes later, Liam was out and preening in front of the mirror. “How do I look? Amazing, right? Why do men always wear tuxes when they could w
ear something like this?” He waved Layla over. “Take a picture of us. Let’s see how we look together. We can use it for our fake dating portfolio.”
Daisy stood stiffly beside Liam for the picture, trying to resist the urge to run a hand over the hard biceps bulging beneath soft embroidered silk. With an exasperated grumble, Liam wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side. He was warm and solid, his arm firm around her waist. Something inside her loosened and sighed.
“Don’t you look like the perfect fake couple.” Layla took the phone Liam offered. “I’ll try to take a picture before Liam runs away.” She managed to snap a few shots and glare at the same time.
“Don’t forget your sword.” Deepa returned with a curved thirty-five-inch sword in a decorated gold and red velvet scabbard, the handle of which depicted a golden leopard mid-roar. “This sword signifies the true glory of a king of the jungle who is brave, courageous, fearless, and protective of his family.”
Liam grinned. “It’s perfect.”
“She’s laying it on pretty thick,” Daisy whispered to Layla.
“It’s because she knew she had a sale the minute she said ‘sword.’” Layla shook her head in exasperation. “The same thing happened when I came here with Sam to try on shoes. He already had a wedding outfit, and yet the moment she said ‘sword,’ another five hundred dollars was gone. What is it with men and weapons?”
“The scabbard is ornamentally decorated to demonstrate masculine vigor.” Deepa pulled the sword from the sheath. “As you can see, the blade is beautifully etched with intricate designs.”
Liam took the blade, hefting it as if he were an expert swordsman. “It’s lighter than it looks.”
A sly smile spread across Deepa’s face. Daisy could almost hear the cash register ring. “If you want something larger and more substantial, I have just the thing.”
Liam’s breath hitched. “You have a bigger sword?”
Before Daisy could protest, Deepa was heading to the storeroom, leaving Liam armed and dangerous.
“En garde!” He took up a fencing position, knees bent, legs apart, sword tip resting at the nearest mannequin’s throat.
“Oh my God.” Daisy covered her burning face with her hand. “Kill me now.”
Layla shook her head. “It’s not you he’s planning to kill.”
Daisy looked up in time to see Liam attack the mannequin, slashing at its clothes with the edge of his blade. He danced around, thrusting and slicing from all sides, muttering to himself as if the mannequin were alive.
“You dare to look at my lady? Cower before me, you dog, before I slit your throat.”
“What’s going on here?” Layla’s fiancé, Sam, joined them in the aisle. Tall, dark, and deadly handsome, he and Daisy had butted heads when they’d first met, but he’d won her over with his love for Layla and the respect he’d shown their family.
“That’s Daisy’s—”
“On the left!” Sam shouted. “He’s got a knife.”
“Don’t encourage him.” Daisy glared at Sam. “Liam. Stop. What are you doing?”
“He insulted your honor.” Liam lifted the sword high and sliced down in a long arc. The mannequin crashed to the ground, its head rolling across the floor and under a rack of clothes.
“Yes!” Sam held up his hand and Liam gave him a high five with a loud slap.
Laughter bubbled up in Daisy’s throat. She’d never seen this side of Liam. Although part of her was cringing, another part was drawn to his delight.
“Sam, this is Daisy’s fake fiancé, Liam Murphy.” Clearly unimpressed, Layla scowled. “Liam, this miscreant is my real fiancé, Sam Mehta.”
“You won’t be fake for long.” Sam shook Liam’s hand. “Once you’re part of the Patel family, they don’t let you go, and I mean that in the best possible way.”
“Liam was my brother’s best friend. He’s got some idea about the Patel charm.” Daisy tugged Liam away when she saw Deepa coming, but she was too late. Liam had seen her, too.
“Now that’s a sword!”
“The larger one is more effective against unarmed foes.” Ever the consummate salesperson, Deepa neatly stepped over the fallen mannequin and handed Liam the sword.
Liam drew the blade from its pearl-encrusted sheath and inspected the design. “I’ll take it.”
“It’s almost as long as my sword.” Sam said smugly.
“Seriously? Now you’re comparing sword lengths.” Layla grabbed Sam’s arm. “You do not need a new sword-wielding best friend. Come and try on your shoes.”
Daisy followed Liam to the cash register. “This is crazy. First of all, you didn’t follow the plan. Second, you don’t just walk into a store and buy a sherwani. You need to research them first. You have no idea what it’s worth or how much it might cost at another store, and you didn’t ask the price. That’s like shouting from the rooftops that you have money to burn, and I can guarantee Deepa will be more than happy to accommodate you.”
“If you were really getting married,” Liam said, “is it something you would want your groom to wear?”
She didn’t have to look at the sherwani. When she’d imagined her wedding, it had always included the beautiful and elaborate Indian wedding outfits she’d admired as a girl. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll wear it.”
She felt a curious, melty sensation inside but quickly pushed it away. Time to change the subject because she definitely didn’t want to remember that Liam—the Liam from before who’d been kind and thoughtful and caring. “Whatever.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s your fake wedding.”
Liam’s face shuttered, and in a second he wore his bad-boy persona again. “It comes with a sword, I’ll be happy to pay whatever she asks.”
“Don’t say that so loudly,” she warned.
“Why? Nothing is too good for my fake bride.”
• 12 •
Wednesday, 6:49 P.M.
DAISY: Confirming Rescheduled Date #2. Wed. 7:00 p.m. The Dosa Palace restaurant. El Camino Real. Objective: finish discussing dating plan, meet my cousin Amina.
LIAM: Why are you texting a confirmation when I’m standing beside you in line?
DAISY: I’m annoyed. We were supposed to finalize the plan in the clothing store.
LIAM: I can’t help that I got hungry and Sam mentioned there was a great restaurant right across the street. I call that killing two birds with one stone.
DAISY: I’d like to kill something right now and it’s not a bird.
LIAM: I like this new dark and violent side of you. What would you do if I marked up your spreadsheet?
DAISY: You wouldn’t dare.
Liam looked up from his phone. They were standing in line inside the restaurant and Daisy hadn’t spoken to him since she’d agreed to have their Date #2 dinner right after Date #1.
Run-down on the outside, with the ambiance of a noisy cafeteria inside, the Dosa Palace had no ostentatious decorations, and no fake statutes or paintings on the wall. Sam had said the restaurant was all about the food, and since Liam was all about eating, it was a perfect place for a starving man.
“Did you seriously just say that to me?” he teased.
Daisy had dared him to do lots of things over the years, from jumping off the roof to hiding under Sanjay’s bed, and he’d never failed to do them.
“I didn’t say it,” she snapped. “I texted it.”
“Since you’re so quick with the texts, you could have provided me with a little help when I was negotiating the price of my sherwani. I can’t believe how badly Deepa tried to rip me off.”
“Are you sulking?” She stared at him, incredulous. “The big venture capitalist who just closed the company’s fourth fund at $350 million is sulking because he was bested at negotiating the purchase of a traditional Indian wedding outfit for a fake
wedding that will last ten minutes by a frail sixty-year-old woman for whom English is a second language?”
“She wasn’t frail.” Liam hadn’t given much thought to what he would wear for their quick civil ceremony. Good Irish boys wore a three-piece suit or a tux to their wedding with a green cravat or tie and maybe the addition of gold harp cuff links. But he’d never been a good Irish boy—at least not according to his father—and although the marriage was a sham, he liked the idea of honoring Daisy’s culture. The sword was just a bonus.
“What are you going to have?” Daisy asked as they approached the cashier. “I recommend the dosas and uthapams. The upma is a little bland, but the idli, vada, sambar, and chutneys are all good. The kesari is quite good, too, if you want sweet instead of spicy.”
“I’ll have the pork vindaloo. Extra hot.” He puffed out his chest. He’d acquired a taste for Indian food after the years he’d spent sharing meals at the Patel home, although he hadn’t had food as good in many years.
“It’s too hot for me the way they make it,” Daisy said. “I wouldn’t even consider asking them to raise the heat.”
“I ate at your house every night and your dad made his curry extra hot. I miss that burn.”
Daisy’s lips quirked at the corners. “He said it was extra hot so he didn’t crush your ego, but in fact he kept the heat down when you were around. What he called ‘extra hot’ is actually a restaurant mild. His real extra hot would blow your mind.”
“You don’t scare me,” Liam said. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“Stubborn and ungrateful.” Daisy smirked. “I’m going to enjoy listening to your screams of pain.”
“Is that your idea of a good date? Screams of pain?”
She smiled, amused. “I don’t date often. I usually just hook up with someone for the night. Orson was an unfortunate aberration that happened when I was feeling emotionally fragile after Layla and Sam got engaged.”
They reached the cash desk and Daisy placed her order with the cashier, a young woman of around eighteen with long, straight dark hair.