“Holy shit,” Bobbi said with a whisper. “That man came to slay you, Kareena. With that fitted black kurta? He’s playing dirty.”
“And damn, does it look good on him,” Veera added.
They weren’t lying. The kurta opened at Prem’s throat and cut at midthigh. It fit snug across his wide chest and accented his muscled arms. He passed over the bottle he was holding to the man on his right, and slowly folded up his sleeves.
Bobbi gasped and Veera muffled a squeal behind her hand.
“The audacity,” Bobbi said with a whisper. “He wants to kiss you again. Guaranteed.”
Damn if Kareena didn’t want that, too, especially when he was looking like such a snack. “I should’ve never told you what happened.”
“Honey, everyone knew what happened after that Instagram post,” Veera said.
Prem’s friends looked amused when Dr. Dil himself pointed an index and middle finger at his eyes then at her.
I’m watching you. I want you. I’m going to win.
She wasn’t sure if that was exactly what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter. The bastard was not going to have the upper hand here. Not in her home. Kareena pulled away from the window and straightened her lehenga. “I have absolutely no idea why his friends are with him.”
“Probably because you told the aunties you were inviting us as decoys so that the attention wasn’t going to be on you,” Bobbi said.
“And what, they told Prem to bring his friends? To distract you both?”
“It could work, too,” Veera mumbled.
“Hey!”
“I’m just saying!” She shrugged. “By the way, you look great.”
“At least that’s something,” Kareena said, smoothing a hand over her long skirt. “It’s the first time I’m going to see the aunties after they found that picture of Prem and me kissing. I need to have my armor shiny and secure. And with Prem here, the pressure is going to be even worse.”
Bobbi was still glued to the window. She flipped her long parandi over one shoulder. The end of her braid had a shiny jeweled tie. “The taller dude looks superfamiliar.”
“That might be his friend Benjamin Padda.”
Bobbi turned slowly until she looked coolly at Kareena. “The Benjamin Padda? Chef and owner of Phataka Grill? The guy I’ve been trying to get in touch with for months?”
Kareena nodded. “I told you they were close. Hell, we made out in the guy’s office.”
“This dinner party just got a lot more entertaining,” Bobbi said. She strode across the room, pausing only for a second at the door to say, “I don’t know what game you both are playing, babe, but I would unbutton the top button of your blouse. If he’s trying to seduce you into whatever plan he has, you should seduce him right back.”
Kareena waited until her friends left before she looked at the row of tiny metal clasps down the center of her blouse. “No, that’s . . . you know what? Fuck it.” She unhooked the top one and hoped that Dadi or her father wouldn’t say anything in public to embarrass her.
She tossed a chunni over her shoulder and waited for the long stretch of sheer fabric to settle across her back before she raced out of her room, her voluminous lehenga skirt billowing around her. Kareena reached the bottom step in time to hear Benjamin Padda and Bobbi confront each other.
“I have left numerous messages with your office.”
“I have a serious disdain for catering, so I ignored your messages.”
“Disdain? Who even uses that word anymore? And ignoring messages is unprofessional.”
Benjamin looked like a large, overwhelmingly handsome Punjabi model with sharp features, impeccable grooming, and a silver kada around one thick wrist. He shoved the bouquet of flowers at Bobbi. “I hope the food is better than the conversation.”
“Probably better than anything you could come up with,” Bobbi snapped and followed on Benjamin’s heels as he strode out of the room.
There was a beat of silence before Veera adjusted her own chunni drape across her ample chest. “Hi,” she said and held her hand out to Prem’s friend to shake. “Veera. Friend of the family.”
“Deepak,” the man said, shaking Veera’s hand. “Friend of Prem.”
“Beer or whiskey?”
Deepak looked at the red wine in his hand, then back at Veera. “Whiskey if you have it.”
“It is a Punjabi party. If I know Kareena’s father like I do, there is Johnnie Black Label, Chivas, Jameson, Glenlivet, Crown Royal, Jim Beam, Jack Daniel’s, and Laphroaig for those under the age of fifty. Pick your poison.”
“Laphroaig,” he said, and followed Veera out of the foyer.
Kareena and Prem stood two feet apart in silence. Prem still had that all-knowing smirk on his face.
“You look stunning, Rina.”
“Thanks. I have pockets,” she said and shoved her hands into the discreet pocket inserts in her skirt where she’d hidden her phone.
Prem grinned.
“Why are you here, Dr. Dil?”
He motioned to her house. “I was invited. I was also asked to bring along Deepak and Bunty, since apparently, your aunties wanted to make sure there were enough single men for the single marriageable ladies around.”
Kareena didn’t laugh. Prem may have found this whole situation hysterical, but she doubted that he dealt with the backlash like she’d had to. And yet, he still caused a flutter of butterflies in her stomach in his presence. “You didn’t have to come. You know this is not going to make me change my mind about our little deal.”
His expression grew pensive. “Rina, I know I can’t be the guy that you want. But I can help you buy time. After we get the money, I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”
“And the kissing?” she blurted out, desperate to know the answer. It had been plaguing her. “Why did you kiss me again? Why did you kiss me like that?”
“To make all this believable,” he said with such precision, as if he’d prepared his statement.
His words cut her deeply, slicing the small part of her that had found his touch, his kiss, utterly romantic. The flame of hope that burned deep in the shadows of her heart since their very first conversation snuffed out.
In the short amount of time that they’d texted and talked and spent time together, she’d thought that Prem was braver than that.
Kareena backed away from him with her chin tilted up and her shoulders back. “For a moment you had me second-guessing myself, Dr. Prem Verma, but I was right all along. You are a liar.”
She whirled, ignoring his shocked expression as she marched down the short hallway into the open kitchen and living room. The aunties and uncles were already there, having arrived while she finished getting dressed. Her father was pouring drinks, and her grandmother was ordering her friends around in the kitchen.
The most out of place things in her house were the clusters of balloons in each corner featuring a famous Bollywood actor. As Kareena scanned the two rooms, she realized that Shah Rukh Khan’s face was not only on the balloons, but he also graced the table napkins and the cardboard cutouts angled in each corner.
People could get anything Bollywood related in Edison, New Jersey, these days.
As she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Shah Rukh Khan from his earlier movies and from later movies where he sported a full beard. When the balloons swayed from people walking past them, or from the ceiling fan, it was as if the movie star was judging her with a shake of his head.
“Screw you, Shah Rukh,” she muttered. “You had a script.”
Kareena spotted Dinesh Uncle right away. His brightly bald, shining head was a beacon to anyone searching for him.
She squeezed through the small group of people until she reached his side. “Happy birthday, Uncle,” she said, and gave him a quick hug.
He patted her shoulder. “Thank you, beta. Thank you, thank you. How are you doing?”
“Living the life,” she said with a grin.
“Ahh yes, we heard.” An echo of laughter surrounded her. She glanced at her father who was pouring a drink at the bar cart, and his expression was mutinous. Damn it, as progressive as some Indian families had become, there were certain moments that reminded Kareena why there was truth to stereotypes.