“I’m sure he’s a nice boy, but marriage is about family,” Mrs. Bedi said. “Without family he’s not—”
“Of course. I understand.” Zara stood quickly, trying to fight yet another inexplicable surge of relief. Three attempts. Three failures. Her matchmaking mojo was off. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, something had changed after their kiss, and it was making it almost impossible for her to hold up her end of the deal.
She walked away, her legs stiff beneath her soft net ivory lehenga. She’d decided to go full scandal by wearing a long, white, layered chiffon skirt and a sleeveless red embroidered choli with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, baring an auntie-gasping expanse of middle. An arm full of bangles, giant silver and red earrings, and a thick matching choker completed the look along with a sparkly pair of red stilettos.
“Beta!” Her father stopped her on her way to the bar. Parvati had just texted to say she was waiting with two mojitos and some gossip she was desperate to share. “You haven’t come to visit since the show. I was getting worried.” He gave her a warm hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Just busy with work.” She swallowed her guilt. How was she supposed to visit him after seeing that display? She needed more time to process it. Maybe in another few weeks she’d be able to get over her fear of what he planned to paint next.
“My show was a tremendous success.” He beamed. “I sold most of the paintings and I have commissions to do ten more. And Indra said when your friend Jay stopped by the gallery this week—”
“Wait. What?” Her heart leaped in her throat. “Jay went to see Indra?”
“Yes. She said they had a nice dinner and talked about art long into the evening.”
His words hit her like a blow to the chest. Jay and Indra. She hadn’t seen that one coming. But what did she expect? She’d made it clear when she left the hospital that their kiss was just a kiss. Was it really so surprising that he’d be interested in someone Zara had chosen? She was an excellent matchmaker and it looked like her 100 percent success rate was going to remain untarnished this year.
Her father’s brow creased in a frown. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She tried to shake off the strange feeling in her stomach. She’d made her decision, so why did she feel a flare of panic at the thought of Jay and Indra together? “I’m happy for you.”
“You look sad, beta. Do you want to come and sit with your old dad and your uncles?”
“Uh-uh. Nope.” She held up a hand. “I’m good with the singles table.”
“Do you know who else will be at the singles table?” He made a waving gesture and a short, round man with a goatee stepped out of the shadows. With his dark hair, thick black beard, and chestnut sherwani he had been almost completely hidden.
“This is Rohit Sharma.” Her father patted Rohit on the back. “He’s the son of a friend from my university days. He is a nice boy. Two degrees in computers and math. He builds model cars and he likes cats. What do you think? Do you want this one? Should I ask when this venue is free?”
Zara groaned inwardly and shot an apologetic look at poor Rohit, who looked as horrified and embarrassed as she felt. “I thought you said it would be subtle,” she muttered under her breath to her father.
“It was. You didn’t see him hiding until I told him to come out.”
“It was lovely to meet you, Rohit.” She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m actually just on my way to meet my friend. She’s a bridesmaid and only has a few minutes to chat. I’m sure I’ll see you again at the table.” She turned to her dad, dropping her voice so only he could hear. “I’ll see you on the dance floor and we’re going to have words.”
Twenty minutes, two mojitos, and some not-very-interesting gossip from Parvati later, she told her about Indra and Jay.
“Big deal,” Parvati said. “I thought that was the point of matching them up.” She fiddled with the folds in her skirt. The bride, Rucha, had bought pale pink saris for the bridesmaids to wear and Parvati couldn’t get hers to fit properly. She’d never been a sari girl.
“It is. It was. It’s . . .” Words failed her.
“What’s the problem?”
“The kiss.” Zara dropped her head to her hands. “It messed everything up. All I can think about is that kiss and how I want more kisses.”
Parvati tipped her head back and groaned. “I am so done with hearing about that kiss, and not just from you. The entire department has been talking about it all week. If Jay ever winds up in the ER again, he’ll be treated like a king.”