Page 96 of Cross the Line
He cocks a brow in challenge. ‘I seem to remember telling you to sit there and look pretty. You’re the one who went wild.’
‘All because you made me,’ I whisper back.
‘Careful, Willow.’ He brushes his nose against mine, his lips inches away from my own. ‘Keep this up and we won’t be going anywhere tonight.’
I’m tempted to take him up on that offer. I could have this blouse off in a heartbeat, drop my panties to the floor, and be on my back on the mattress in seconds. We could make it quick. We could—
I clear my throat and step back, but my heart pounds from the effort it takes to resist. ‘You have to go dance,’ I remind him, sounding entirely too breathless. ‘And I have to record it for the whole world to see.’
Dev hesitates, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, but, finally, he steps back. ‘Can’t wait to make a fool of myself again on the internet,’ he says. Then he crouches and holds open the skirt for me to step into. ‘You gonna cheer me on, jaanu?’
‘I have to stay quiet for the video.’ I grin, relieved by how easily we can set the tension aside and get back to our easy conversation. ‘But I’ll be cheering you on in my head. You’re going to do great.’
He snorts as he lifts the skirt. He settles it around my waist and does the side tie like a professional – not too tight, not too loose. ‘Yeah, just gonna channel my inner Shah Rukh Khan.’ His eyes flick to mine, the corner of his mouth pulling up in one of those beautifully personal smiles. ‘I would dance on top of a train for you.’
That declaration is nearly better than a love confession. I can already hear ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ playing in my head. ‘I’d love to see that.’
With both hands on my waist, he holds me in place and angles in to press a tender kiss to my cheek. ‘You better not change your mind once you see me dance tonight.’
Nothing could change my mind about him. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
——
I can easily say this is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Sure, travelling around the world and watching fast cars zoom about is great, but dancing and cheering and eating what has to be about ten thousand jalebi? It can’t be topped.
Dev, Oakley, Chava and a few male cousins from the bride’s side are set to perform soon. Which is perfect, because my feet are already aching in my heels, and if I don’t want to puke up all the sweets I’ve eaten so far, I need to sit down and rest. I’ll kill two birds with one stone – gear up for the next round of dancing and film Dev making a fool out of himself. Win-win.
Just as I settle into my seat toward the edge of the low stage in the backyard, Dev appears. He should be off preparing for his grand entrance, but instead, he’s crouching in front of me, holding out his phone.
‘Hold on to this for me, please?’ he asks, big brown eyes with those thick lashes I’m incredibly jealous of fixed on me. ‘I don’t want it bouncing around in my pocket while I’m up there.’
I nod and take it from him, our fingers brushing. The touch sends a zap of electricity up my arm, and I’m once again desperate to steal time alone with him. Desperate to get our secret out in the open.
‘I’ve got it.’ I set it on my lap, the screen reflecting the red and gold lights strung up around us. ‘Good luck up there. Don’t fall flat on your face.’
He rolls his eyes as he straightens, hands on his hips like a Bollywood hero. ‘Never. I’m a professional.’
‘Uh-huh. Sure. Right.’
With a wink, he strolls off to find the rest of the guys. I snap a few pictures of the crowd and the decor, having already gotten permission from both Dev and Alisha to post about the wedding. For the sake of safety, I won’t put anything up until we all leave on Monday, even though my contract with Dev will technically be over by then. Doesn’t matter, though. As long as he doesn’t kick me out of his accounts, I want to keep helping.
My attention snaps back to the stage when the volume of the music pouring from the speakers increases. The lights dim until the stage is dark, and then the spotlight flares and the song’s beat kicks in. It’s not a song I recognize, but the Desi portion of the audience certainly does, and I make quick work of shifting from still photos to video.
My brother appears first, looking surprisingly dapper in his bright-pink kurta. Chava is the next to swan into place, and one by one, four of Dev’s cousins appear. Then there he is, Dev in all his glory, arms spread wide as he saunters to the centre of the stage. In any other scenario, this entire routine would absolutely give me the ick, but it’s a big, fat Indian wedding. This is exactly how it’s supposed to go.
I trade off between watching Dev lip sync and dance in real life and on my phone’s screen, already imagining how I’ll edit this. I swear he’s singing straight to me, and even if I have no idea what the lyrics mean, it’s still classic Bollywood – there’s no way it isn’t wildly romantic.
I nearly laugh when Oakley and Chava almost run into each other during a transition, but I’m distracted when Dev’s phone buzzes in my lap. Holding my own phone steady, I glance down.
Howard’s name is flashing across the screen.
My heart surges into my throat. I dart a look at my phone, still recording, then at Dev’s again.Shit. Howard wouldn’t call unless he had news, but Dev’s only halfway through the routine. It’s late, and it’s the weekend, so if I let this go to voicemail, Howard may not answer when Dev calls back. That would leave Dev waiting in agony for who knows how long, especially with the wedding festivities tomorrow. He’ll have little opportunity to take calls. Which means I have to make a choice. Right now.
Biting my lip, I tap the screen of my phone to stop recording. I dump it into my lap and scoop Dev’s up instead. Then, after a deep breath, I answer.
‘Hi, Howard, this is Willow,’ I greet, hoping he can hear me over the booming music.
The pause that follows lasts so long I pull the phone back to make sure the call is connected.
