Busted in Bollywood Page 24

  Not that he’d said the L-word or anything remotely like it, but we’d been spending all our free time together and I’d never felt so comfortable with a guy.

  I loved him. Wish I knew if he returned the sentiment. Not that it should matter. He’d be jetting back to Mumbai tomorrow. End of story.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He quirked a brow at my snarky tone. “Exactly that. Some relationships start out grand love affairs and end up a war zone.”

  “Personal experience?”

  He shrugged, the action annoying me as much as his studied nonchalance. “More an observation.”

  “So now you’re an anthropologist?” I abhorred the latent insecurity making me do this. “As well as jet-setting tycoon, moviemaker, IT specialist, and the rest.”

  “What’s with the attitude?” He frowned and laid a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Is this about me leaving tomorrow?”

  He’d honed in on the motivation behind my unexpected irritability, and that riled me further. He knew me so well in such a short space of time, we connected on so many levels, and even when I was behaving like a moody cow he stood there, cool and unflappable.

  It made me want to slug him. For the simple fact that the best thing to ever happen to me would be walking out of my life and there wasn’t one damn thing I could do about it.

  “Not everything’s about you, hotshot.” I hated doing this, my fear of losing him bubbling to the surface at the worst possible time.

  “Let’s take this outside.” His fingers dug into my shoulder.

  “Just because we’ve slept together a few dozen times doesn’t give you the right to boss me around.”

  He recoiled and a part of me broke. I knew what I was doing. Deliberately sabotaging us, giving him an excuse to walk away before I begged him to stay. Or stupidly tossed in my dream job to be with him.

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing!”

  Where there’d been chatter and laughter and music a second ago, the room quieted into an eerie silence and my back prickled with the daggers of many stares.

  Shoving his hand off, I bolted.

  Ashamed I’d made a scene at my best friend’s wedding, I didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone, so I stared at the floor as I moved toward the door. I’d almost made it when a phalanx of spangly, bejeweled feet blocked my exit.

  A large, bloated pair in lurid gold sandals, the straps biting into swollen flesh.

  A slim pair in gaudy sequined wedge flip-flops, passable in a red light district.

  A chubby pair squashed into garish red court shoes, which went out with the Ark.

  A small pair in dainty, spangled, open-toe espadrilles, gold toe rings adorning each pinkie.

  I knew who the musketeers were before I reluctantly raised my eyes: Mama Rama, Diva, Pooh, and Shrew, their appalling taste in footwear the least of my problems.

  “How dare you make a scene at my son’s wedding?” Flecks of spit flew from Mama Rama’s mouth as she wobbled with rage and I inched back, eager to put as much distance between her hand and my face as possible. “You’ve brought nothing but disgrace on my family since the moment you set foot in our house. Shame on you.”

  “Why don’t we calm—”

  “Stay out of this, Mr. Drew.” Mama’s venomous glare swung his way. “This is between the ladies.”

  I didn’t see any ladies present.

  “Sorry.” I injected subservience into my tone when I wanted to place my thumb on my nose and wiggle my fingers.

  Poor Rita. She had to cop what this harridan dished out when she lived in Mumbai for six months every year. Damn, how had my sassy, street-smart friend agreed to that? Sure, Rakesh seemed like a modern guy but he was Indian and Rita had told me when this fiasco started about their mommy’s boy tendencies. Lord help Rita.

  “She’s not sorry, Ma. Look at her eyes. Evil.”

  I turned my evil eye on Diva, she of the hooker flip-flops, and struggled to keep a straight face. She wasn’t even looking at me when she spoke, her adoring goo-eyes on Drew. Ah… so that’s how it was.

  “You shouldn’t have made a scene,” Pooh chimed in, her chastisement losing sting with pastry crumbs from a samosa glued around her lipstick-smeared mouth.

  “I agree with my sisters and mother.” Shrew’s narrowed eyes swung between her mom and siblings, watching, assessing.

  “Leave.” Mama Rama pointed at the door, her black brows drawn together so closely they formed a unibrow. “Now.”

  She took a menacing step toward me and I swear I saw her hand clench into a fist. Before I could react Drew edged between us, living up to his dashing hero status and making me feel like a bitch for overreacting a few minutes ago.

  Wasn’t his fault I was head over heels and not handling it well.

  “Look, I’ve already apologized. Maybe it’s best for the bridal couple if we forget this and enjoy the festivities?” I tried my best suck-up smile.

  It didn’t work. Mama Rama’s frown deepened, if anything.

  “The mother of the groom must have more important things to worry about than a little altercation between friends.” Drew’s modulated, acquiescent tone would’ve melted a saint. It did little for me, considering he didn’t even stumble over the word ‘friends.’

  “Let’s move on, please?” I hated to beg but I did it for Rita. Least I could do after all she’d done for me.

  Firing a malevolent glare in my direction, Mama Rama straightened. “Very well. Mr. Drew’s a good friend to Rakesh and for my son’s sake I’ll overlook your behavior. Girls, come.”

  She clapped her hands like a queen calling her subjects to heel and the girls followed, Diva casting a final longing look in Drew’s direction, Pooh’s attention already snagged by the buffet, and Shrew shrugging in resignation as she made up the procession’s tail.

  “Thanks. Better get back to the party—”

  “Not so fast.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door as I frantically searched my brain for some excuse for my behavior back there, one that didn’t involve telling him the truth.

  We maneuvered into a small space between the elevators and a huge potted palm, leaving me little room to move. Releasing my hand, he placed his arms on either side of me, boxing me in, blocking my escape. “Start talking.”

  “Nice weather we’re having.”

  He didn’t smile. “What happened back there? One minute we’re joking around, the next you’re a banshee.”

  “Would you believe PMS?”

  “No.”

  “Worth a shot.” I sagged against the wall, grateful for the support as weariness seeped through me. I was tired of putting on a front, tired of pretending, tired of being the one left holding the bouquet—figuratively.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow,” I blurted, making it sound like he had an STD.

  “Thought that might be it.” He traced my cheek with a fingertip, a slow, tender gesture that almost undid me completely. “This doesn’t have to end.”

  My heart leaped before logic slapped it down. I didn’t want to be some guy’s standby anymore. I wanted to be prime and center in his life, wanted a guy like Drew to come home to, to snuggle with, to wake up to every morning.

  It’d taken me a while to realize I deserved someone special. Sadly, I was looking straight at him, and he lived on another continent.

  Emotionally, ending this relationship sucked. Logically, I had few other options. “I found a job.”

  If my slight deviation in topic surprised him he didn’t let on. “That’s great. Doing what?”

  “Writing articles for a new travel/foodie magazine.”

  “Impressive.” He touched my arm. “Maybe you should do some firsthand research in Mumbai?” />
  I wished. “Don’t think the mag’s entertainment AMEX extends to overseas jaunts.”

  “Too bad.” The warmth in his eyes faded, replaced by caution. A smart guy like him would’ve picked up on my reluctance to joke about this. I couldn’t, not with my heart aching from what I was about to do.

  His hand slid up and down my arm, every stroke reinforcing how much I’d miss this contact, how much I’d miss him, when he left. “There are ways for us to be together.”

  “You want a relationship?” I dared to hope despite the obstacles between us.

  Something indefinable flickered in his eyes. Regret? Relief? Damned if I knew.

  He nodded. “I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”

  I should’ve run up and down the corridor doing backflips that an amazing guy like Drew wanted to do more than bonk me. Instead, I couldn’t get past the stumbling blocks: the distance, the differences between us, the insecurities I buried deep, the main one being what a guy like him saw in a girl like me.

  I might’ve wised up since Tate but I had a way to go before my self-confidence was fully restored. My new job would help, followed by a place of my own. Maybe then I’d feel like I could enter this relationship as semi-equals.

  “Long distance sucks.”

  He laughed but I saw the tightness around his mouth, the slightly clenched jaw. “You’ve tried it?”

  “No, but—”

  “I travel a lot. We could spend time together whenever I’m in New York.”

  No freaking way.

  I’d been at the Toad’s beck and call, waiting for him whenever he had a free afternoon or evening or weekend, taking whatever scraps of time he could give me. I’d sworn I’d never do that again.

  Drew was nothing like the Toad but I couldn’t be the part-time girlfriend he wanted. I wouldn’t. I wanted more. I wanted it all.

  Commitment, marriage, the works.

  But the timing was off.

  I’d just landed a fab job, was working toward living in a place of my own rather than a borrowed apartment, and had a vague idea of what I wanted to do with my life. Something a together-guy like him would never understand.

  I laid my hand against his cheek, loving the slight rasp of stubble under my palm even though he’d shaved a few hours ago, knowing I’d miss everything about him. “I care about you. A lot. But I’m not ready to jump into a long-distance relationship. I need more than that.”

  “Like what?” He reached for me but I held up my hands to ward him off and he flinched at my rejection. “Tell me what you need.”

  His deep voice held a hint of desperation and I had a sudden flash of insight of how great it would be to have this guy love me, want me, need me forever.

  “I need you to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Me.” I stood on tiptoes and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his mouth, resisting the urge to prolong the sweet contact for as long as possible.

  “You’re asking the impossible,” he said, his breath fanning my cheek as he hugged me tight, holding on like he never wanted to let go. “You’re the most complex, intriguing, infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

  I eased out of his arms but he wouldn’t release me, his hands anchored on my waist. “We can make this work, Shari, I know we can.”

  My heart ached with the inevitability of our breakup. My head insisted I was doing the right thing. What did I have to offer? How long would he be content with long distance? Who’d have to compromise if the relationship turned serious? Considering my job didn’t pay nearly as well as Drew’s, I’d have to capitulate and move to be with him, and I’d be right back where I started, making compromises for the guy I loved, losing my self-respect in the process.

  “I’m not leaving ’til you tell me the truth.” His fingers dug into my hips and hauled me closer. “Tell me why you won’t give us a chance.”

  Trapped in the desperation of his stare, I had to give him something, anything, so he’d release me and let me go before I blubbered all over his tux. “I don’t have anything to give.”

  He let rip an expletive. “What the—”

  “When I asked you to understand me, this is what I meant.” I grabbed his lapels, wishing I could shake sense into him. “You’re so together, probably the most successful person I know, and I’m… a work in progress.”

  He opened his mouth to protest and I rushed on. “I live in a temporary low-rent apartment, I have a job that pays as much in a year as you make in a day, and my assets fit into twenty shoe boxes. That’s it. That’s me. And until I’m back on my feet and feeling good about myself again, I have nothing to offer you.”

  “Fuck.” He rested his forehead against mine and I hoped half of what I was thinking would magically transfer by osmosis. “You really feel like that?”

  I sighed, wanting to kiss him so badly it hurt.

  Easing away, I nodded. “Our time together has been incredible. But until I have my shit together, I can’t be with you.”

  Light from a wall sconce cast shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones, accentuating his strong jaw, emphasizing his compassion as he struggled to understand. “You need time.”

  The ever-expanding lump in my throat grew and I swallowed twice before I could speak. “I don’t know how long—”

  He tipped up my chin, studying my face as if memorizing it. “When you’re ready to revisit this, we’ll talk.”

  “I can’t make any promises—”

  “I’m not asking for any.” He kissed me, a frantic clash of lips as we surged together, desperate to prolong the contact and banish the prospect of good-bye.

  The elevator pinged, discharging waiters pushing food carts, and we tore apart, chests heaving, breaths ragged. He waited until the last waiter had stopped ogling and entered the reception hall before cupping my face and looking me in the eye. “Just so you know, I’m willing to wait, but I can’t wait forever.”

  A lone tear seeped out of the corner of my eye and trickled down my cheek. He kissed it away and I placed my hands on his chest to stop this from going further.

  Drew giving me time to sort myself out had only complicated matters. Knowing he was patiently waiting on the other side of the world, even if it was only for another few months, was a powerful incentive for me to head back. Maybe explore what we’d started here? Fall deeper? But then what? Go through the heartache of parting all over again? Him staying in India, me based in NYC?

  A clean break would’ve been better. No loose ends. No false hope. No wishing for the impossible.

  Giving my shattered heart time to heal.

  …

  Some girls cry at weddings, others do the best man, and most get rip-roaring drunk to drown their sorrows at being one of the few remaining desperadoes left to catch the bouquet.

  Me? I went one better.

  I broke up with my boyfriend.

  Mama Rama and her crones ignored me for the rest of the reception. Drew never left my side. We slow danced to corny Shania Twain ballads and boogied to an ancient Elvis medley. We ate more julabis and barfi and kulfi than humanly possible, then worked it off later with frantic sex for twelve hours straight while we did our best to ignore his impending departure. I might have broken up with him in my head at the wedding, but my heart and body needed a proper good-bye, something our decadent day in bed provided.

  He flew out the night after the wedding, leaving me lonelier than I’d ever been in my entire life.

  After work the following Monday I spent the evening doing stupid things like wandering into Starbucks and having four cups of chai, remembering the way we’d bolted from there back to my apartment. Walking through Central Park, reminiscing about my Bollywood debut, and the way it all happened. I even took a stroll past The Plaza, whe
re Phil the doorman pretended not to know me now that Drew had checked out. Pathetic, I know, but I needed closure and by taking a sprint down memory lane I hoped to put the whole rip-roaring adventure behind me.

  Adventure? Who was I trying to kid? Being with Drew had been an exhilarating thrill and I’d never forget the rush of feeling freaking wonderful.

  Anjali left for Mumbai the day after Drew, but not before extracting a promise from me to come and visit. I wished. Rita and Rakesh were due to leave on a three-month honeymoon to Europe tonight, but not before we shared a final mojito.

  “You’re still moping.”

  My finger stilled where I’d been tracing circles in the condensation on my glass. “Guess the manic pace at work is getting me down.”

  Rita snorted. “Yeah, like a steep learning curve has you losing five pounds in a few days.”

  An incriminating blush crept into my cheeks.

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “He’s called.” I glanced at my cell phone. I’d sat on my sofa for an hour this afternoon, replaying Drew’s messages, wishing things could be different.

  “And?”

  “I’ve been busy—”

  “Bullshit. You’re screening and you’re scared.”

  I gulped the rest of my mojito rather than answer.

  “What are you so frightened of? Being happy? Being with a guy who adores you?”

  I’d never seen her so fierce and my protestations of ‘butt out’ died on my lips.

  “He lives on the other side of the world—”

  “Then go be with him.” She made it sound so easy and for a moment I imagined packing, booking a ticket, and jumping on the next plane out to surprise him.

  Before reality set in.

  Kapil had been dead accurate. The rich man had brought me joy. But the pain of not having him around the last few days, I could do without.

  You decide. Easy for Kapil to soothsay. He wasn’t the one feeling lost and confused and craving a guy with the potential to break my heart.

  “What are you waiting for?” Rita glowered, her drink forgotten, and I knew I’d have to give her something for her to let this go.