Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Sun Tower #3)

42. Zinneerah

42

Zinneerah

T he retirement party is at one of those restaurants where the appetizers alone could bankrupt me if I so much as looked at the menu too long.

Raees holds the door open for me, looking every bit dashing. He’s in a black suit that fits him too well, with his hair slicked back, though a few rogue strands have rebelliously fallen onto his forehead. Took me twenty minutes of pleading and a little bribery cupcake to get him to wear his glasses tonight. It’s the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.

As for me? I’m in a black dress with a corset bodice. The sleeves cinch around my wrists, and I even dug out my heels so I don’t look like a child trailing after him. (Still barely make it past his shoulder, but it’s the effort that counts.)

Raees intertwines our fingers, and I glue myself to his arm as we follow the hostess through a labyrinth of perfectly polished round tables. The air hums with soft jazz from a live band tucked into a corner, mingling with the quiet chatter and the clinking of wine glasses. There’s a bar off to the side where couples and friends are seated.

“Who picked this place?” I ask.

“Professor Holmes,” he says. “She’s friends with the owner.”

“Woman of taste.”

We’re finally led into a private seating area tucked against the wall, and the second we step in, the room goes quiet.

All fifteen pairs of eyes swivel toward us like they’re synchronized swimmers. The chatter dies instantly, replaced by a chorus of greetings aimed at Raees.

Well, almost everyone. At the far end of the table, Saira is texting furiously on her phone, clearly unbothered by our entrance.

I glance up at Raees to gauge his reaction, but he’s already chewing the inside of his cheek. Mild discomfort. He spent the car ride here practicing social cues after the absolute disaster of the hockey game weeks back.

“Good evening,” he says, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Uh, I’d like to introduce you all to my wife, Zinneerah. She’ll be performing at the summer festival next week.”

Every single time he introduces me with pride in his voice it feels like my heart is about to sprout wings.

A chorus of “Nice to meet yous” echoes around the table as we make our way toward our seats. Hands are shaken, smiles are exchanged. The women compliment my dress, my hair, my very existence. One of them even asks where I got my earrings, and I lie shamelessly, saying they’re vintage when I absolutely bought them off a clearance rack in my freshman year of university.

“All right, settle in already. Tonight’s about Wei,” Professor Holmes announces. She waves a hand toward the man of the hour; a short East Asian man with a jolly smile.

Raees pulls back my seat with a small nod, while I notice a few of the plus-one wives at the table giving him side-eyes with a little too much enthusiasm.

Ogle away, ladies. This one is forever mine.

Raees leans in. “I’m going to speak with Professor Wei for a bit. Are you all right by yourself?”

I nod. “I’ll survive.”

He kisses the top of my head, and strolls off toward the man of the hour.

I smile politely at anyone who accidentally makes eye contact with me.

The woman sitting next to me turns and sticks out her hand. “I’m Jenna, or better known as Professor Oldsen. Raees and I co-taught a lab together last year.”

I shake her hand. “Zinneerah.”

She gestures to the man next to her. “This is my husband, George.”

George barely glances up, too deep into a thrilling conversation about bait with another man at the table.

Jenna curves towards me “You know, we were beginning to believe you didn’t exist.”

I blink. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because Raees never talks about you,” pipes up an agitating voice from across the table. Saira. Of course. I forgot she was here for a second. “We thought he wore the ring as an accessory,” she adds with a shrug that makes me want to reach across the table and adjust her attitude.

“In his defense,” Jenna interjects quickly, “he is a very private person. Almost like a hermit in his shell. You’d expect someone like him to be a social butterfly, but nope. Too bad, eh?” She nudges me with her elbow, and my gaze drops there before lifting up.

I stare at her. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

Jenna freezes mid-smile, like I just slapped the coffee cup out of her hand.

“Honest question,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you’re misunderstanding what she means,” Saira cuts in, ever the self-appointed spokesperson. She puts her phone on the table, screen up, and—oh, look, her lock screen is a mirror selfie. I rest my case. “We’re only looking out for him.”

I laugh, tonguing the inside of my cheek. “Right. If you hadn’t cornered my husband at that game with your nonsense, or ignored him the rest of the night, maybe you’d know him better by now.” I tilt my head and give Saira a pointed look. “He shouldn’t have to carry the whole burden of socializing when you already know he struggles in a crowd. That’s not his fault. And I’m certainly not going to let him apologize for it.” I pause, reach for my water, and take a long, slow gulp. Then I set the glass down and finish sweetly, “Oh, and I suggest you look out for yourself, Saira.”

Jenna flushes a lovely shade of pink, flicking her eyes nervously toward Saira, whose expression could rival a department store mannequin.

Finally, Jenna clears her throat and says, “We’re sorry for what happened at the game. It was stupid of us to cheer him on. I swear I deleted the video as soon as he left.”

Ah, yes. Because deleting a video is the universal symbol of remorse. Not like anyone bothered to stop and actually check on him afterward.

“The past is past,” I state.

Jenna nods, eager to escape this conversation. The table falls silent, save for other people’s chatter.

Just in time, Raees returns and sits at the far end of the table. He looked relieved when one of the professors pointed out where our seats were, and so am I.

I take his hand. “So, how’d it go?”

“I’ve never seen a man so happy to retire,” Raees says, shaking his head. “Apparently, he’s planning a backpacking trip across Europe with his wife and son. It was almost inspiring enough to make me want to retire, too.”

I arch a brow. “You’re closer to that age.”

“You and your ageist remarks never fail to amuse me,” he shoots back, grinning. “I should dye my gray hair—”

“Do that and you’re sleeping on the couch until the color fades.”

His laugh bursts out, loud enough to turn a few heads, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he looks even happier, completely oblivious to the curious glances that flicker our way. Raees gets so caught up in whatever moment he’s in that the rest of the world ceases to exist. Right now, that “moment” happens to be me, and I’m not complaining.

When the menus arrive, I take one look at the prices and nearly choke on my own spit. Forty dollars for truffle fries? Are they cooked in melted gold or something?

Raees, meanwhile, flips through his menu like it’s a bedtime story. His hand finds the back of my neck, his thumb brushing slow circles over my nape. It’s sweet, sure, but it’s also distracting as hell. I can’t even concentrate long enough to find something that doesn’t cost my entire savings.

I tap his leg under the table. “What are you getting?”

He shrugs. “The salmon sounds good. I’ve had it here before. It’s nice.”

The salmon he’s talking about costs a hundred and ten dollars. I blink at him like he’s just announced he’s buying a yacht. “It is a little pricey, Raees.”

He looks up again, this time with a brow raised. “Is it?”

I lean in. “The cheapest thing on this menu is truffle fries. Forty-dollar fries, Raees. I don’t think you understand the level of food inflation we’re dealing with here.”

He stares at me for a second, then raises an eyebrow so high it might detach from his face. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking,” I say, deadpan, pointing at the fries on the menu. “I’ll just get these.”

His face twists into something between offended and horrified. “My love, under what possible circumstances have you convinced yourself that you’re paying for your own food?”

“I don’t want to spend your money.”

Raees exhales, placing his menu down. “Zinneerah, how many times have I told you: my money is your money. If you want, I will happily buy this entire restaurant just to make my point. It would be a fantastic investment.”

I snort. “ You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he says. “My mother is one of the most successful realtors in this city. You don’t think I dabbled in purchasing properties in my twenties?”

“Properties?” I repeat, my brows shooting up. “Plural?”

“Yes. Plural. I own an entire residential complex.”

My jaw hits the table. “ Own ? Like, you own it outright?”

“Yes.” He looks so proud of revealing he’s a secret landlord. “I needed a hobby, so I studied for a real estate license and shadowed Ammi-ji at her firm. I started selling and purchasing properties with her when I was 22. It kept me occupied.”

I stare at him. “You just casually own a complex. That is a hobby for you?”

“Was, darling.”

It’s at this moment that I realize I know a lot about Raees, but I also know absolutely nothing about Raees. I guess this is what they mean when they say arranged marriages are a slow process. You don’t know everything right away; you learn it piece by piece. I always hated that idea because of my parents’ disaster of a marriage, but Raees somehow changes my mind about it every single day.

“What else do you own?” I ask, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes.

“Hmm.” He reaches for the water pitcher at the same time Saira does, their hands bumping awkwardly.

“Oh, go ahead,” she says.

“It’s fine.” He’s already starting to stand. “I’ll get another.”

“Sit down, sweetheart.” I grab his arm and pull him back into his seat. I yank the water pitcher toward us, pouring two glasses before pushing it back into the middle of the table. Then I lean back, crossing my arms as I turn to him. “What were you saying about properties?”

Saira’s line of sight is conveniently blocked now.

Raees grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re very possessive,” he says, amused.

“And you’re still dodging the question.”

Raees watches me, that smirk of his pulling at one corner of his mouth.

“What?” I question.

“You know what.”

“I don’t.” I do.

He takes a sip, and sets it down. “I own a complex building, a vacation house that’s rented out, and a detached home that’s also being rented by a family.”

I blink. “Well, okay then.”

“You didn’t think I was dirt poor, did you? We live in a detached home in the most expensive neighborhood, with a home theater and five bedrooms.”

I shrug, because what am I supposed to say to that? “Your money wasn’t important to me when I married you. It was important to my mom, sure. But I’d love you even if we had to live in someone’s shed.”

“A shed?” He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll build us one. A treehouse, maybe?”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted one. Maybe a treehouse for our future kids?”

His eyes twinkle, and then he’s rambling. “I can picture it already. You and I bicker over nails and wood panels while the kids “help” by spilling paint everywhere.”

“Useless little gremlins.”

Raees laughs, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he leans in and presses a quick kiss just above my brow. “Pick whatever you want to eat,” he says. “Make it the most expensive thing on this table.”

“If you insist.”

I order the vegetarian ravioli, truffle fries, and a side of Caesar salad. Raees goes with salmon, garlic rice, and some fancy mango sparkler that I’m immediately planning to steal sips from.

As we wait for our food, the conversations around the table shift to Professor Wei, who’s the star of a talk show. Jenna tries to throw Raees a bone, directing the spotlight his way. But my socially awkward husband clams up, responding with sentences that are maybe five words long, tops: “I love my students.” “It’s been a good year.” “Yeah, they’re kind.”

The table seems satisfied enough with his monosyllables, especially since he’s smiling. I’m just sitting there grinning so hard my cheeks hurt, because every time he opens up even a little, it feels like watching someone coax a kitten out of hiding with pieces of tuna.

He’s getting there, though. Slowly. The longer the night goes, the more comfortable he looks.

When the food arrives, I point my fork at his plate. “Can I try some of the rice?”

“You don’t have to ask, my love,” he says, already scooping up a spoonful, and bringing it to my lips.

I take a bite, and it’s like angels are singing on my taste buds. “Oh, wow .”

“Good?”

“Incredible. I get it now. Worth the price of a lung.”

Raees chuckles and says, “I’ll try making it at home for you,” before offering me another bite.

I happily take it. Then I stab a piece of ravioli, hold it up for him, and watch as he leans in to take the bite. There’s a bit of cream sauce left on the corner of his mouth, and without thinking, I swipe it away with my thumb and lick it clean.

“Surprised I’m actually enjoying tonight?” he asks after swallowing.

“Pleasantly,” I chirp, nudging his shoulder with mine.

He grins shyly, lowering his gaze. “I thought everyone would avoid me, you know. I’ve been avoiding them ever since the game. That’s why I’m glad you’re here. If I was alone, I don’t think I’d have said a single word tonight.”

I slide my hand across the back of his chair and hold out another bite of ravioli for him. He doesn’t hesitate, leaning forward to take it, his eyes meeting mine like it’s just us at this table and not an entire room of people.

“You’re doing so well,” I say, pinching his cheek lightly because he’s too adorable not to tease. “Seriously. Everyone’s instantly charmed when you smile. You should try it more often.”

He presses his lips together in this shy, sheepish way that only makes me want to pinch his cheek again. “I’ll think about it,” he says, feeding me another bite of rice.

“Those two look like they’re in their own world,” Professor Carlson comments, his voice cutting through the chatter from three seats down.

“It’s the newlywed bliss,” Professor Kole chimes in, raising his glass. “Now that the spring term is winding down, are you two planning a honeymoon, Raees?”

Raees nods politely. “We haven’t decided on a location yet. For now, we’re happy just enjoying our home. No need for a hotel.”

“Hotels are the fun part,” George winks as he lifts his wine glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Jenna adds, clinking her glass with her husband’s.

“Jesus, you two.” Professor Holmes groans, shaking her head. “Let’s keep it G-rated, yeah?”

Wei chuckles, raising his glass toward us, and then turns to me with that warm, professor-y look that makes you feel like a student even when you’re not. “I have to admit, Zinneerah, I haven’t seen Raees this happy since he was my student years ago.”

I glance at Raees, whose cheeks turn the same shade of pink as the rosé slush Jenna’s been chugging all night.

“I agree, Professor,” says Saira. Out of nowhere. She’s sitting there with her fifth little cocktail glass, obviously tipsy, glaring at me. “Nothing says ‘happiness’ like rewriting history.”

I glare back at her. “Guess it just takes the right person.”

Raees chokes on his water.

What? I’m not going to be subtle about it, either.

Holmes, bless her oblivious heart, doesn’t catch the tension. “Raees has always been a little grouch like me. Well, no, I’m the bigger grouch. We can all agree on that, can’t we?”

The table laughs, and Holmes keeps going, now waving her fork like a magic wand. “But, Zinneerah, let me tell you—there’s a light in his eyes now. A skip in his step. Honestly, he was practically shitting rainbows and sunshine every time he talked about you for the past six years.”

Saira’s head snaps so fast in our direction. “Six years?”

Raees looks like he wants to disappear into the tablecloth. He’s so uncomfortable it’s almost painful to watch, and the only reason he doesn’t immediately nod and confirm it is because she’s sitting there, suddenly sobered up.

“Now that’s love,” Professor Benedict says.

And that’s Saira’s cue. She throws back the rest of her cocktail, slams the glass on the table like she’s declaring war, and mutters something about excusing herself before storming off.

“What’s her deal?” Jenna leans over and whispers to me.

I give her my best polite smile, and shove an entire ravioli into my mouth before I say something I can’t take back. Luckily, the table’s attention shifts to Wei talking about his first date with his wife, and I don’t have to fake any more interest in Saira’s dramatic exit.

Raees isn’t as lucky. He hasn’t touched his salmon in a while, and now he’s just staring at it, prodding at the rice.

Finally, he sets his fork down, exhales, and turns to me, smiling. “Do you want to stay here? Or go home?”

My brows furrow, head tilting as I brush a strand of his hair from his forehead. “You sure?”

“It’s over, Zinneerah. I’ve gotten my closure,” he whispers. “I don’t owe her one.”

A smirk begins at my lips. “Damn right.” I pick up a truffle fry and feed it to him. “Time to go home. Watch movies, or documentaries. Whatever you want.”