“Maybe with my leaving you can convert my room into an office like you’ve always wanted? With the floating bookshelves for your romance novels. I don’t know how long it’ll take for Dad to sell, and—”
“Stop,” Kareena interjected. “Don’t worry about me. You need to stay calm; otherwise, you’ll break out.”
Bindu sniffed. “No way am I getting acne,” she said. “My photos have to look perfect.”
“And they will,” Kareena said.
Bindu, in her concept sari halfway off one shoulder, pressed her sniffling snot against Kareena’s sweater vest.
“Love you, didi.”
“Love you, too, Bindu.”
Chapter Twelve
Prem
Mom: Your father is being a pain in my ass again.
Prem: This is why you can’t trust emotions to make decisions about marriage. I can send you the study from France about midbrain activity if you want.
Mom: I was a doctor before I retired, my baby baboon. I know those studies better than you. Don’t try me.
Prem: Wow, baby baboon? My phone translates terribly from Hindi to English. What is it, Mom?
Mom: I want you to come visit. So we can talk about your future in person. I saw your show, and how you’re now friends with this woman who embarrassed you. What is going on?
Prem: I’ll tell you when I figure it out.
Prem: Hey, bring sensible walking shoes for our date tomorrow.
Rina: Can you stop calling it that? We’re just getting to know each other in case we have to mobilize your RIDICULOUS plan.
Prem: Just bring the shoes, Rina. And don’t be late.
Rina: ?? ? ??
Prem: You know what? I can’t even be mad at that. That’s clever.
Prem had not been able to stop fantasizing about Kareena Mann. He’d reached for his phone more times than he cared to admit, hoping for a text, or even a simple emoji. He knew that the only reason why he was so preoccupied was because so much of his future was dependent on her. His fractured focus had nothing to do with her wit, or her silky-smooth voice, or the memory of her thick hair running through his fingers.
He thought he’d be prepared when he saw her again. All those sexy thoughts were locked up tight in the back of his mind. But then he noticed those three-inch heels and all those thoughts came rushing back. Even though the lobby of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was full of noise and laughing families, Prem felt like he could distinctly make out the echo of those shoes hitting the tiled floor.
He admired the rest of her fantastic package as she cut through families and groups of people. Despite the summer June heat, Rina wore black pants, a cap sleeve button-down, and a thin black sweater vest over it. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she had small gold hoops in her ears.
“What are we doing at the Met?” she said in greeting.
“Hi, Rina, great to see you again. You look . . . wow.”
She rolled her eyes. “Prem, I wear the same thing all the time, so people take me more seriously.”
“I’m taking you seriously,” he said. “But even though I love the outfit, you didn’t pay attention to the homework. I told you to bring walking shoes.”
“These are my walking shoes.” She blinked wide-eyed behind her frames and Prem realized that she wasn’t joking.
“I hope you mean that,” he said. He plucked her bag off her shoulder. It had quite a bit of weight to it. “You’re going to have to ditch this. I don’t want you to slow me down.”
She snatched her bag back. “Slow you down?”
He checked the time on his phone. “Damn, it looks like you’re going to have to carry this for the next couple hours. I have a feeling we’re going to lose.”
“What are you even talking about?”
Without preamble, he linked her hand with his, and despite the small jolt that radiated from their palm-to-palm touch, he didn’t pull away. Prem led Kareena through the lobby, where he handed over the two special admission tickets he’d purchased before her arrival, and turned left through the Greek statue hall.
“Prem, where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
At the end of the hall was a large open space with bench seats. A woman stood in front of a sketch of the original Met Museum and held up a clipboard, calling everyone to attention. Her hair was fire-engine red, and she was wearing coveralls that reminded him of the Ghostbusters jumpsuits with large black combat boots and hot pink laces.
“There has been a murder in the museum!” she shouted in a Broadway voice.