by Sara Desai
Slightly mollified, Mehar Auntie sighed. “Take some sweets then. Maybe they will like them; maybe not. Who knows? We know nothing about this family. Not even their name.”
Layla arrived while Mehar Auntie was packing up the sweets. She shooed them into the living room with steaming cups of chai while she cleaned up, and they settled on the couch with Max curled up between them. Mehar Auntie’s taste veered toward the traditional, with dark wood furniture and brightly colored fabrics.
“How are things with the fake fiancée?” Layla asked.
“I kissed him.”
Layla froze, her cup halfway to her mouth. “Are you serious?”
“It was just for show.” She gave an absent shrug. “Tyler told my friends at the office that we were engaged. Mia and Zoe were happy for me, but Josh couldn’t believe someone like Liam would want to marry someone like me. I got a bit irritated, and then when Rochelle brought him in and was clearly just waiting to make a move, something snapped inside me.”
Layla sighed. “Stories like this never end well.”
“So I kissed him,” Daisy continued. “But he took it a step further and bent me right over backward like they do in the movies . . .”
“Oh no.” Layla put down her cup. “Do not fall for that. You saw what he was like in high school. You know that move. Remember Becky Evans? And Maria Lopez? He dipped them, slept with them, and dropped them. Even after he broke it off, they hung around his locker like lovesick sheep.”
Daisy stroked Max’s fluffy head. “I’m not a lovesick sheep. It was just . . . He understood that I needed to make a point and I didn’t have to explain.”
“All he understands is how to get a woman into bed. If he has to bend you over in the middle of your office, then that’s what he’s going to do.”
“We have rules,” Daisy said. “No sex.”
“Be careful with him,” Layla warned. “That’s all I’m saying. He broke your heart once. Don’t let him to do it again.”
• 15 •
LIAM slowed his motorcycle outside his grandfather’s ranch-style house in Richmond, pulling up to the curb where Daisy was waiting beside a bright red Mini.
She tapped her watch as he pulled off his helmet. “You’re two minutes and thirty-seven seconds late.”
“I wanted to make an entrance.”
Daisy laughed. “If you want to make an entrance when we meet my family, you’ll need to do better than that. Two minutes would be considered ill-mannered and early. An hour late is right on time.”
In her family, people didn’t just get together for weddings and funerals. They were involved in each other’s lives. They would know if someone was being abused and would step in to help, unlike his father’s side of the family, who had never once reached out to his mom. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t made an effort to reconnect with them after his dad passed away. Forgiveness wasn’t easy when he couldn’t forget.
“I brought Indian sweets.” She held up a pink cardboard box. “Mehar Auntie made them this afternoon. I was tempted to eat them all myself, but Layla convinced me to share.”
“How is Layla?” He secured his helmet to the back of his bike.
“Very skeptical of you and your motives.”
He bit back a chuckle. “I would expect nothing less. She always had your back.”
“So this is your motorcycle.” Daisy walked a full circle around his bike.
“That’s my baby.” He patted the dark brown seat. “It’s a Ducati XDiavel S in liquid concrete gray with black mechanics.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” The words dropped from his lips before he could stop them. She was wearing a cherry red dress with white polka dots that hugged all her curves and dipped low at the top, giving him a delicious glimpse of the soft swell of her breasts.
“Thank you.” Her gaze dropped and she pulled her phone out of a small red purse that matched her shoes.
Liam had never thought much about a woman’s shoes before, but Daisy’s shoes demanded to be noticed. Curvy and round with bows on top and a high, graceful heel that made his mouth water, they were sweet and sexy all at once—the kind of shoes a man could admire when his lover was bent over his table in her fancy dress, skirt flipped up, and . . . fuck, why had he locked his helmet to his bike?
Shrugging off his leather jacket, he held it discretely in front him and forced his mind back to the conversation because, holy hell, when had he ever let his Daisy fantasies get this out of control?
“Not bad reviews for the XDiavel.” She read off her screen. “‘Brave, irreverent, and unconventional.’ ‘So good to be bad.’ ‘Powerful.’ ‘Muscular.’ ‘Imposing front.’ ‘Strong and restless.’” She snorted a laugh. “Did you match the motorcycle to your personality or was it the other way around?”
Liam’s chest puffed with pride. “It called to me in the showroom.”
Daisy laughed. “Imagine that.”
It was the laugh he remembered, the deep, throaty chuckle that warmed him inside. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine her on his bike, arms locked around his waist, chest pressed up against his back, her thighs curved against his hips. He imagined riding with her until they ran out of road, leaving the past behind them.
Maybe Rainey was right. Maybe he had fallen for his fake fiancée. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it except keep playing the game.
“Who are we meeting today?” Daisy asked. “I like to be prepared.”
“A mix of great-aunts and great-uncles who came from Ireland for the funeral, and relatives who live nearby.” He rattled off a list of names. “You’ll know my aunts Roisin and Fiona right away because they’re always fighting, and usually they’ll drag my uncle Fitz into it. Great-Uncle Seamus is a bit of character. He was only here a few days and managed to stir up trouble flirting with the neighbor’s wife. Brendan will be there with his wife, Lauren, and his son, Jaxon, and there might be a few others . . .”
“Don’t look so concerned.” Daisy tapped her head. “I’ve got this. Every name is in the mental vault, and I’ve got our talking points on my phone in case you didn’t read them.”
Puzzled, he frowned. “What talking points?”
“They’re going to ask us questions about our relationship,” Daisy said. “I was caught off guard at work when Tyler blurted out the news of our engagement, and I don’t want it to happen again. I wrote out the story of how we met in an e-mail, as well as the answers to other questions they might ask, and sent it to you. As I suspected, you didn’t read it.”
Liam grimaced. “I get a lot of e-mails . . .”
Her free hand found her hip. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“Yes?” Despite Daisy’s obvious annoyance, he felt a curious sense of peace wash over him. He’d been worried about this get-together, but Daisy clearly had everything under control. Just as she had done in the past, she took all the chaos and made it calm.
“It better be or you’re suddenly going to find yourself without a fiancée.” She pressed her lips together and glared. “You should read it before we go in so you know how we met.”
“I thought we met at a tech conference a few weeks ago after you bumped into me with an armload of stolen pads,” he teased.
“I didn’t steal them,” Daisy gritted out. “And we can’t say that because we’re supposed to have met months ago. I came up with a story about how we met at a bus stop during a rainstorm. Kissing in the rain is the ultimate cinematic symbol of uncontrollable passion. It’s the moment when the audience willingly accepts that the characters’ love is so intense that they don’t even notice they are getting wet.”
“Someone has been reading too many art house film reviews.” With one hand on her lower back, Liam walked her to the front door. “Just so I understand, we met again after ten years, an
d instead of the usual catch-up, we threw ourselves at each other in a passionate kiss, so instantly and intensely in love we didn’t even notice the rain?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“No kiss. I’ll make it clear in the story.” She handed him the box of sweets to type on her phone.
Liam leaned over to look at her screen. “Also make it clear that I don’t take the bus, so I would never be at a bus stop.”
“You were sheltering there.”
Liam frowned. “Why would I run to a bus stop instead of going into a building?”
“Because there were no buildings.” She tipped her head back in exasperation. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Where is this bus stop in the middle of nowhere?” Liam continued, enjoying the chance to ruffle her feathers. “Why would I be somewhere that only has a bus stop and no buildings? And why am I out in the rain?”
“I don’t know.” Daisy’s voice rose in pitch. “You’re supposed to be the one with the imagination. Not me. I can’t make things up on the spot. That story took me hours to create.”
“Why don’t we tell people the truth?” he suggested. “After losing touch for ten years, we met at a work conference—they don’t need to know which one. You realized who I was and—”
“I ran away.” Her lips curved in a smile as they reached the door.
“Then I chased you,” Liam said. “I caught you because I am bigger and faster . . .”
“And I called for the security guard and had you arrested.” She tucked her phone away, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “They took you to the police station and charged you with threatening behavior and assault. They stripped you down, gave you an orange jumpsuit and put you in a holding cell with a bunch of thugs. Things didn’t go well for you because the thugs took issue with your handsome face. Vengeance was served. The end.”
Liam stared at her, aghast. “For someone with no imagination, that’s a pretty detailed story.”
“Actually, it’s not mine. It’s a scene from the Bollywood film Jail. I put you in the role of Parag Dixit, who gets jailed for false possession of narcotics and evidence tampering. He is mentally and physically tortured for the entire movie. It’s one of my dad’s favorites.”
Liam’s smile faded. “Does it have a happy ending?”
“No.” She was laughing now, her eyes sparkling, so beautiful he couldn’t resist the urge to touch her.
Gently, he brushed her hair back, his fingers skimming over the soft skin of her shoulder. “Maybe we should practice . . .”
Her lips quivered at the corners, and she closed the distance between them, her voice husky and low. “For authenticity?”
“Exactly.”
She slid her free hand over his shoulder, soft breasts crushing against his chest. All his blood rushed down to his groin, taking with it the last vestiges of his rational thought. He locked his arms around her, pulling her so close he could feel each gentle breath as an exquisite stroke on his cock. Raw desire coursed through his veins as his hands skimmed over the sweet softness of her curves.
“Someone is watching us through the window,” she murmured, her breath warm on his cheek.
“All the more reason to put on a good show.” With one hand on her nape, he tipped back her head and covered her mouth with his own.
A moan escaped her lips, filling his head with thoughts of tangled sheets, banging headboards, sweat-slicked skin, and the realization of a fantasy that had consumed him night after sleepless night since she’d turned sixteen and he’d realized she wasn’t a little girl anymore.
He parted her lips with the gentle slide of his tongue, touching, tasting, savoring, pausing between heady sips to let her essence dance over his taste buds. With every breath he inhaled the fresh scent of wildflowers in a rain-soaked meadow, the grassy lawn where they’d played catch in the summer sun. He’d known she was smart and fun and beautiful. But this kiss. These feelings. The throbbing heat of desire. It was all completely new.
With a force of will he didn’t even knew he had, he pulled away, focused on the twitter of birds, the soft hum of an electric car, the faint laughter from inside the house—real sounds, safe sounds, grounding him in the moment instead of the past.
“I think we’ve got it down.” He gave a half laugh, trying to process what had happened. He’d kissed dozens of women over the years. Why was he so shaken?
For a long moment, Daisy didn’t move, face soft, plump lips swollen from his kiss. She swallowed hard and her gaze dropped below his belt where the evidence of his desire was barely hidden beneath his jeans. He draped his motorcycle jacket over his arm, creating a discrete shield and a barrier between them.
“Do you have something to hide, Liam?” All cool and calm like she hadn’t just blown his mind with her kiss, she gave him a teasing smile.
Yeah, he had something to hide . . . the truth. “Don’t want to scare the ladies.”
“This lady isn’t scared.”
He heard a cough and saw Aunt Fiona watching them through the glass door.
“Let’s go with the bus stop in the rain story,” he said, reaching for the door. “Does it have a happy ending?”
“We’ll have to wait and see.”
• 16 •
DAISY made a last check in the hallway mirror for anything that would reveal her inner geekiness. She’d decided to play it safe with a fifties-style dress and matching shoes. Although she’d hated to do it, she’d washed out her pink streaks and let her thick, dark hair fall loose and full around her shoulders. Still, an undercurrent of tension knotted her stomach. Working in Silicon Valley and being part of a large, vibrant desi community, she didn’t often find herself in places where she was the odd one out, and she didn’t do well in groups of strangers.
“You look perfect.” Liam caught her gaze in the mirror. As usual he looked mouthwateringly hot in his leather jacket, a blue sweater that matched his eyes, and a pair of jeans that was tight in all the right places.
“I didn’t want to give your family a reason to doubt our relationship was real. You’re not the kind of guy who would date someone who dresses the way I usually do.”
“I like how you dress,” he said softly.
Music and laughter echoed down the hallway. She could isolate at least a dozen voices. Her pulse kicked up a notch and she stared unseeing at the painting in front of her. Why had she agreed to this? Without even a pair of patterned tights, colored sunglasses, or a quirky hat, she felt utterly exposed. Panic slid icy fingers up her spine and she tightened her grip on the box of sweets Mehar Auntie had given her.
“Uncle Liam!” A little boy with a shock of blond hair ran down the hallway toward them. “I got a new plane!”
Liam knelt down and swept the boy up in his arms. “This is my nephew, Jaxon. He just turned five. And this beautiful lady is my friend Daisy.”
“She has a flower name,” Jaxon said.
Liam glanced over and smiled. “It’s pretty. Just like her.”
“Do you want to see my plane?” Jaxon wiggled down. “It’s in the living room.”
“Of course we do.”
“Smile,” Liam whispered as they followed Jaxon into the living room. “Pretend you’re on stage doing the dance that won you first prize in the high school talent contest.”
“You saw that?”
“After watching you and Layla practicing for months, I felt obligated to provide moral support for the performance.”
Before she could process that statement, they were in a large, bright living room, decorated in pink and green and furnished with what had to be antiques.
“Liam, I was wondering when you two were going to come in.” A woman with curly brown hair and hazel eyes greeted them with a smile.
“Aunt Fiona, this is Daisy Patel.” He glanced around and raised his vo
ice. “My fiancée.”
Daisy held out Mehar Auntie’s box, a sinking feeling in her stomach when Liam’s declaration got no response. Maybe they’d miscalculated. After all, she was the only person of color in the room. “I brought sweets.”
“How lovely.” Fiona moved forward to take the box. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.
“Liam! You didn’t even mention you had a girlfriend the last time I saw you.” A tall woman wearing a colorful woven dress walked toward them, her long auburn hair braided down her back. “Or maybe you did and I don’t remember.” She gave Daisy an apologetic smile. “I’ve been at an ayahuasca retreat in Costa Rica. I needed to get the hell out of my head.”
“That’s Aunt Roisin,” Liam murmured.
“And, boy, did your retreat deliver,” Fiona muttered, putting the box on the coffee table. “You’re still not all back.”
“Don’t be unkind,” Roisin said. “Just because you’re unable to let go of your fixed self doesn’t mean you should put down those of us who were able to achieve enlightenment.”
“You spent a month taking psychedelic drugs and living in a hut in the jungle,” Fiona said. “You missed Da’s funeral. I had to hire a security company to hunt you down and drag you out. How enlightened is that?”
“The drugs were a shortcut to glimpsing a higher truth,” Roisin retorted. “It was like a decade of therapy packed into a night. And this isn’t about me. It’s about Liam and his new fiancée.”
“I don’t think anyone believed you when you said you were engaged,” Fiona said to Liam. “It was such a surprise.”
“It all happened very quickly.” Liam clasped Daisy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Daisy is the sister of one of my old high school friends. We reconnected recently, but with Grandpa sick, I didn’t think it was the right time to introduce her.”
“I thought he was like you, Uncle Seamus.” Fiona nudged the old man beside her. He had the same round face and hazel eyes, but his hair was gray, and he was tall and lean where Fiona was short and round. “Sowing his wild oats until it was too late.”