Kash, meanwhile, zeroes in on a particular table—one already populated by Advik and crew.
“Oh, I see them,” she mutters. “Go grab a glass of wine for me so I don’t end up stabbinghimwith a wine opener.”
I square my shoulders and beeline to the makeshift bar—a sad-looking table loaded with enough alcohol to open a small nightclub. This is a Punjabi wedding, after all. A dry one would beblasphemy.
I pour a generous glass of red for Kash and start fixing myself a whiskey and tonic, trying to ignore everything around me. But then I register the movement next to me—someone else making drinks.
LucianfuckingVale.
I freeze. My hand stills mid-pour. And then—what the fuck is he wearing?
It takes me a second, but the realization crashes like a shot of tequila to the gut. That oversized, beige, bland-as-hell kurta... it’sPapa’s. He’s actually wearing my father’s kurta. Why?How?!
The fit is nothing to write home about, yet—damn it—he still looks stupidly attractive. The sleeves are rolled up just so, it’s buttoned all the way to the top, and with his frame and that goddamn face, he could walk aSabyasachirunway and no one would question it.
And the bracelet? Still on his wrist.
He clears his throat. “Aarohi, you look... stunning.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. I finally meet his eyes. He looks nervous, but oddly... at peace. Like he’s made a truce with himself, even if I haven’t.
“Thanks,” I reply coolly, nodding toward the two glasses of whiskey in his hands. “Be careful with that. You don’t exactly have a good track record with alcohol.”
His face goes pink, his ears following quickly behind. “Uh—these are for Raj uncle and Romi uncle. I don’t drink... anymore.”
I snort. “Right.”
“No, really. I’ve been sober for two months. Haven’t touched a drop since—” He hesitates. “Since that night.”
I narrow my eyes but say nothing. I nod once. “Good for you. Now go do your thing,waiter boy.”
I grab both glasses—mine and Kashvi’s—and stalk back to our table, refusing to look back even though I can feel his gaze searing into me.
Kash, Ishika, Vikram, Vikram’s cousin Navya, and of course, Advik are all seated. I plop into my seat gracelessly.
“What’s wrong?” Advik asks, casually draping his arm over the back of my chair.
“What?Nothing,” I lie without conviction.
Ishika snorts into her drink.
Kashvi growls under her breath like a feral cat gearing up for blood.
Advik leans in, voice low near my ear. “Why is thatLuciferguy here?”
I stiffen. “He’s... a guest. Kind of. Mom sort of invited him.”
He leans back slowly, eyes scanning the room with forced nonchalance. But I know he’s watching Lucian like a hawk circling roadkill.
“Who’s the foreigner?” Navya pipes up, blinking all wide-eyed innocence. She’s twenty-one but the way she’s looking at Lucian? There’s nothinginnocentabout it.
I grit my teeth. “He’s m—” I catch myself. “—my friend.”
Shit.Mine?Is that what I was about to say?Really, Rohi?
My betrayal must show on my face because Kashvi chokes on her drink, Ishi’s cackling like a witch, and Advik just raises an eyebrow like he’s already planned my wedding toast.
“Shut it!” I hiss at him.
