Kane ignores them like he does not even see them, or hear them. As we are finishing our meal, he looks at me—his eyes hold a question. “You gonna call ‘em?”
“Who?”
He laughs. “Your folks.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“You ran off, disappeared into the desert alone, left the vehicle you stole, and now you been gone, what, three days? Four? Much as they’re likely pissed off at you for runnin’ from the wedding, they’re also probably pretty fuckin’ worried.”
I feel guilt stab through me. “I have been so focused on you, and this adventure that I have not stopped to think of that.”
“Why I asked.” He tosses some money on the table, stands, and I let him lead me from the restaurant to his motorcycle. Instead of getting on, however, he digs into one of the saddlebags and produces his cellular phone, hands it to me. “Call ‘em. At least tell ‘em you’re alive and well.”
I stare at the phone in my hand, coming to an embarrassing realization. “I…do not know Pappa’s phone number.”
He laughs, takes the phone, does some typing and scrolling. Finally, he hands it back to me. “That’s the number for the information desk of the tower in Vegas where he owns property. Tell ‘em you’re Anjalee Sharma and want to talk to your father. Guarantee they’ll get you connected.”
I suck in a breath. Nod. Let it out, and then set the phone to dialing the number. It rings three times.
“Sharma Industries, how may I direct your call?” It is a pleasant female voice with no discernible accent or feature.
“Yes, hello, I am Anjalee Sharma. Please, I would like to speak to my father, Rohit.”
“Anjalee…?” The voice loses its professional neutrality, going shocked. “Hold, please.”
There is a long pause, with classical music. Finally, the music cuts out and I hear Pappa’s voice. “Anjalee? Is it really you?” The worry in his voice cuts me.
“Yes, Pappa, it is me.”
I hear him speaking away from the phone. “It is Anja!” he calls. “Come, come!” To me, then. “Where are you, child? I will send someone for you.”
“No, Pappa.” I let out a breath, endeavor to sound strong. “I am only calling to say that I am safe, and I am well, so you will not worry.”
“I will not worry when you are home where you belong,” he snaps in Hindi. “Now, tell me where you are.” This part is in English.
“I am not going to come home. Not yet.”
“What do you mean? Of course you are coming home.” Impatient, dismissive.
“No, I am not.”
“Anjalee. Child—”
“I amnota child!” I yell. “I am a woman! I am going to live my own life now, Pappa!”
Stunned silence. “You have embarrassed me. You shame our family, you shame our name.”
“I am sorry, Pappa, but I do not care. If honoring our family and our name means marrying Jiwan, then I will live with this dishonor.”
“Jiwan is very angry.”
“I do not care.”
“Are you with that man? From Los Angeles?”
“Pappa, it is not your concern.”
“Of course it is. You are my daughter. You will do as I say. Youwillcome home, and youwillmarry Jiwan.” His voice is furious.
