“I’ve lost my appetite.”
She looked at him. Hesitated. She’d spent her whole life caring what everyone here thought. But taking in his full mouth and his warm gaze, she felt a rush of boldness.
“Think you can be discreet?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “What do you have in mind?”
“Want to check out my suite firsthand?” She reached into her purse, and pulled out her keycard. “Fourth floor. Private entrance. Finish your meal and join me?”
“Ah.” A grin tugged at his mouth, as he took it from her. “I would love that.”
She walked over to Lulu. Let her sister know she was exhausted—and she was. It took a lot of energy to pretend that the eyes shooting daggers her way didn’t actually feel like they were piercing her.
Her eyes met Reza’s, and he gave a subtle nod. She turned the corner and headed down the hallway to the elevators.
One day down. Seven more to go.
Munazza,Aunt of the Groom
You want to know about Nasir? Where do I begin? That boy was not just the joy of his family, he was the pride of his community. From the moment he took his first steps to the time he graduated summa cum laude from Princeton University and became a top investment banker at Perth International, he’d had the world at his fingertips. And I’m only being honest here: He could have had his pick of any woman he wanted for his wife.
When he told us he planned to marry the Mirza girl, his mother fainted then and there.
We warned him. He was such a good boy. Kind and thoughtful. Tall, dark, and handsome like his father. We reminded him what everyone here knows—that the Mirza women’s reputations precede them. Look at their dear father, who mysteriously vanished. It wasn’t a boating accident. Come, now. We saw them around town after he’d gone missing—they carried on like it was business as usual. Hena was seventeen, and she didn’t even cry. Not once.
We told Nasir all of this. Begged him to reconsider. He was immune to our pleas. She was the love of hislife and that was that. Nothing can stop true love, right? The poor dear. One evening he’s dancing at his mehndi, and then—poof—gone. She claimed she didn’t know what happened to him, but one look at her and you knew she was lying. And can you believe they actually tried painting Hena as the victim, what with all that drama at the boathouse the next evening? Such a commotion. What was it meant to prove? It was just a distraction and it didn’t work. We all know she fled town because she couldn’t face what she’d done.
Because let’s be honest: When it comes to the Mirza family, nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
4
•
It turned out Reza did, in fact, just want to check out Hena’s room.
Resting her head against the car window, she fought back a yawn the next morning. While the rest of the wedding guests were grabbing breakfast and preparing to head to South Beach for an art deco architecture tour, she sat in the passenger seat of Khala Simki’s Toyota Camry, being ferried to Luxe Boutique for her mandatory shopping spree. Her mother sat in the back with her home health aide, Gita, and the car was blessedly silent. Watching the scenery flit past, Hena’s thoughts drifted back to last night.
She had never hooked up with a stranger before, but there was a first time for everything. And Reza, with his perfect bone structure and crooked grin, was an ideal candidate. When he knocked on her door and she let him into the foyer, it took everything she had to not draw him to her then and there. She’d restrained herself. Opted to give him the promised tour first. They’d end up where they needed to be.
Vista Del Sol’s VIP suite was opulent enough to rival any Hena had ever stayed at. The arabesque touches were everpresent here, from the brass fixtures and polished maroon walls to the latticework tracing the ceiling and plush rugs with dizzying geometric patterns. A trio of gold-framed abstract paintings hung above the sofa, their spiraled tilework of red, silver, and gold seeming to shift and swirl of its own accord.
Reza trailed behind her as they walked through the space. He took special note of the chandeliers (tasteful) and the grain of the hardwood floors (high-end). He even knelt and ran a hand along the baseboards, then tapped a knuckle against the wall. “Solid,” he said, nodding with approval.
They swung past the kitchen, which would never be used but nevertheless featured stainless steel appliances and marble countertops, before sneaking a peek at the bathroom with its heated floors and rainfall shower. At last, they ended up in the bedroom.
“So this is what luxury looks like.” He set her keycard on the nightstand.
Luxurywas an understatement. The custom California king was enclosed beneath a thick velvet canopy, its curtains drawn back and tied to each post with tasseled cords. The scent of jasmine clung to the air. Hena traced a hand along the linen embroidery stitched with intricate looping designs.
“Frette,” she said with surprise. “My favorite brand.”
Could Lulu possibly have remembered?
“You have a favorite brand of bedsheets?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Reza took a step toward her, his eyes crinkled. “I think I speak from a place of authority that most people definitely do not.”