Fucking fuck.
He’sinthe wedding.
Of coursehe is.
And that’s when it hits me.
This was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.
Because now—if I stay—for the next two weeks...
I have to watch the woman I love smile like that—for someone else.
THIRTY-TWO
Aarohi
“He’s here! Thedevilis fuckinghere!” Kash screams as she barrels into the room assigned to the both of us.
It’s nearly midnight. Everyone’s settling in, and I wasn’t sure if Kashvi would even make it tonight after visiting her family for the day. Butthank godshe did. Because I cannot be trusted with these... feelings that are suddenly sprouting like weeds in my gut. I need backup. I need ahater. A professional-gradeanti-Lucianhype woman.
I step out of the bathroom in my maroon salwar suit, the one with the black stonework and embroidery so intricate it practically weighs me down—fitting, given the emotional load I’m hauling tonight.
Kash is in jeans and a tank top, looking like she just rage-walked across the lawn. Probably did.
“You need to get ready. Dinner and drinks have already started,” I mumble, tugging at my earrings.
“You good?” she asks, instantly deflating. “Why is he here?Howis he here?”
I shrug like I haven’t been internally screaming for hours. “Mrs. Keerti Talwar is to blame. She’s been demoted frommummato... a distant relative.”
Kash snorts. “Kiki Aunty issavage. I can’t believe she invited the man who broke your—uh—vagina?”
“My vagina is fine!” I snap. “It’s theother stupid organthat’s fucked up.”
She nods gravely. “Right, right. The... theovaries.”
I throw a cushion at her. “Theheart, Kash. Theheart.”
“Same difference,” she chirps, now casually stripping to her bra and panties. “My ovaries-slash-heart are also broken. We’re good. We’refucking perfect.”
I button up her kurta like it’s a wartime ritual. She adjusts her jhumkas. I slip on my bangles.
“It’s not like I can tell my momwhywe’re not together anymore,” I grumble. “How do you tell your mother that her precious daughter isn’t avirgin? Hasn’t been foryears!”
“Hah, you can’t!” She laughs and then checks herself out in the mirror. “Oooh! I look gorgeous.”
Both of us look like functioning awesome women from the outside.
But on the inside? Cracked glass and leaking glue.
Once we’re fully ready, we head to the central hall—a neutral zone nestled between the two mansions. Think Switzerland, but with uncle-aunties and alcohol-induced banter.
The hall is enormous, lined with buffet tables along every wall. Chafing dishes are steaming. Plates clatter. Laughter echoes. A band of small children is already chasing each other between tables.
There are at least two dozen round tables placed in no discernible order. Chaos reigns. My entire family is here, as is Vikram’s.
I scan the room for Ishika.
