Can’t Help Faking in Love

Chapter One

Chapter

One

“Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re gonna love it!”

—Monica Geller, Friends

Harsha Godbole had never been dumped like this before.

She sat across from her now ex-boyfriend during their lunch date, a forkful of spaghetti midway to her mouth, as he explained that he was ending their three-month relationship to marry a complete stranger.

“I really like you, I do,” Shashank insisted, sipping his iced americano. “But I was just introduced to a prospective match, and with all of my parents’ life experience, they probably know enough to make the right choice for me, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh.” Harsha set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin, her lips pressed together. The men she’d dated in the past had given her far simpler reasons— There’s no spark; I’m not ready for a serious relationship; Your family is too much to handle —but to be rejected by a thirty-year-old man because he was letting his parents choose his bride? What decade was he stuck in, the 1980s? And now that she thought about it, why was he meeting prospective brides while still dating her?

Shashank looked at his wristwatch and did a double take. “Shit, I have a meeting in ten. I hope we’re good? No hard feelings?”

It would have been funny if it weren’t for the dread slowly sinking into the pit of her stomach.

Harsha forced herself to smile. “Of course. Thanks for lunch.” She grabbed her purse and laptop bag and strode out of the Italian restaurant, refusing to turn around and check if he was looking her way. She didn’t need any more disappointment.

She tugged on a stray coil of her curly black hair as she walked through the traffic-filled streets of Bangalore while cars honked and auto rickshaw drivers cursed at each other. If only the noise would drown out the fearful thoughts crowding her mind. Maybe moving here had been a mistake. Sure, it was cheaper than living in California, and there was no way she would move back home to Mumbai, but now she was not only friendless in this strange new city but also single. Alone. And—to top it all off—unemployed.

Her best friend from college, Sasha, would say she was being hard on herself. After all, Harsha was getting through life as a struggling freelance photographer, armed with just her camera, a steady hand, and an eye for beauty. Her double degree in sociology and photography from Berkeley had proved useless in getting a job in Bangalore, the city of software engineers, so she was relying on her camera to make her some money until she could figure something out. Research online promised her that Bangalore’s urban, cosmopolitan vibes would feel familiar to her Mumbai roots, but with better weather and cheaper rent. Though the cool breeze was a constant, freelance jobs were few and far between. She had landed her last gig at a college graduation only because her aunt knew a professor there. That was two weeks ago, and her bank account was depleting by the minute. Her coffee addiction didn’t help.

Sighing, Harsha pushed open the glass door to Sunstag Café, the only place that felt anywhere close to safe right now. She ignored the tinkling of the wind chimes and the “Welcome to Sunstag!” greetings of the baristas she saw every day and stormed upstairs to her usual spot by the wall.

“Well, you don’t look happy. All good?” Veer, her favorite barista, said, quirking an eyebrow as he passed by her table with an empty tray.

“Yeah, I just—” Harsha’s shoulders slumped, but she stopped herself from saying more. He was a barista, not a bartender. He wasn’t going to listen to her sob story and offer sage words of advice. “Never mind.”

Besides, the only thing he knew about her was her coffee order, although he teased her every day, acting like he didn’t.

Veer shrugged, brown eyes bright and that goofy smile on his face like always. Maybe he was in a happy relationship, unlike Harsha. Maybe he didn’t just get dumped by a man worthy of being the Indian Bachelor. Not everyone can be so lucky, Harsha mused.

“The usual?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” She lowered her eyes and handed him her Sunstag loyalty card. The tears were going to come any minute now, and she didn’t want his sympathy.

“Blended mocha with whole milk and caramel syrup,” he said as he headed downstairs. “Coming right up!”

She half-smiled at his retreating back, not even bothering to correct him. The familiar joke didn’t make her laugh like it usually did. Harsha had only failure on her mind.

Sighing, she hunched in her seat and idly scratched her knee. At least she always had Sunstag to return to, where her favorite baristas made the best coffee and brought it right to her seat. At least she didn’t have to carry her own coffee up one flight of stairs every morning and afternoon. Gotta be grateful for the little blessings in life, right?

Her phone chimed, and she dug her hand into her bag eagerly. Maybe Shashank had seen the error of his ways and was ready to reconcile. After all, who gave up three months of almost-love for a parent-recommended bride they barely knew?

Shashank had been her perfect match on paper. Her family would have approved of his career, status, and upbringing; society would have gone gaga over how good he and Harsha looked together…and sure, maybe their relationship wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine in the real world, but was any relationship? They had had a good thing together—potential. Didn’t that matter?

Harsha unlocked her phone screen, then exhaled. It was a text from the second-last person she wanted to hear from—the first being her father.

Maa:

Are u free? Need to talk to u

She scowled and put her phone face down on the table. What was it this time? More nagging about how Harsha’s lack of marital status was bringing shame to the entire Godbole family? Or that capturing people on the best days of their lives wasn’t a respectable enough way to make money? Or that she needed to come back home after three months of being away and put on a happy front for the sake of their extended family? She didn’t need that toxic energy in her life.

Which was exactly why, a month before she had graduated from college, Harsha made the decision to separate herself from the Godbole family—and their money.

Before moving to America, Harsha wouldn’t have had to think twice about doing as her parents said. Having your cake and eating it too—that was life with the Godboles in a high-rise penthouse apartment. The full-time housekeeper ready to do all the cooking and cleaning. The driver taking Harsha to and from the places she visited. Her parents willing to find her a handsome groom.

It was chocolate cake with the most delectable icing. No wonder most of the girls from her private school had opted for that kind of lifestyle.

The only thing missing was the cherry on top of the cake: freedom and unconditional love. And, unfortunately, Harsha would rather have the cherry than the actual cake.

She exhaled and took out her laptop, deciding to scour the internet for anyone looking to hire a photographer, when Veer appeared with a foaming hot latte. The smell of vanilla wafted into her nostrils, and she smiled contentedly. Her post-lunch coffee always cheered her up, no questions asked. “One triple-shot espresso with peppermint syrup,” Veer said with a wink.

She smiled weakly. “I already know you’ve brought me the right order. I can smell the vanilla.”

“I’m a barista. It’s not the most exciting job on the planet.” Veer let out a huff, scratching his stubbly beard. “This is the only fun I get to have.”

“Fine, I’ll play,” she said. “Oat milk?”

“Yes.”

“Half a shot of coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Extra whipped cream?”

“Yeah.”

“Five pumps of vanilla?”

“How have you not died of a sugar overdose yet?” he asked.

“I have good genes,” she said primly.

Veer gave her a once-over, then looked away, smirking. “Yeah, I can see that. Enjoy.”

Her lips turned up the slightest amount. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” Veer’s forehead creased. “That smile looks a little too small for how great my sense of humor is.”

Harsha made a big show of rolling her eyes. “Maybe you’re just not as funny as you think.”

“Impossible. See you.” Chuckling, he went downstairs, probably back to the counter, and Harsha took a sip of her overly complicated coffee, leaving a red lipstick stain on the cup.

The coffee almost felt off-putting today, though. Harsha set it down and tugged on her lower lip with her teeth, thinking of Shashank. She was going to miss resting her head on his muscular chest and sleeping contentedly three nights a week, when she’d visit his sprawling apartment instead of staying cooped up in her tiny one-bedroom.

When her phone rang, jolting her back to reality, she jumped. Her mother was video calling her. Harsha hesitated, her eyes on Maa’s profile photo: a selfie atop the Burj Khalifa taken during the extended family’s recent vacation to Dubai. Harsha hadn’t been invited to that one, owing to their big fight four months ago. Maybe Maa was calling to apologize, finally.

She put on her AirPods and hit the green icon. Maa popped up on the screen, her gray eyes slightly widening as though she, too, couldn’t believe Harsha had picked up. “Hi, beta,” Maa said, smiling tightly, or maybe that was the result of her Botox. “How are you?”

Harsha shifted in place. “Fine. Just getting some work done.”

“You got a job?!”

“I meant for my photography business.”

Maa cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed. “All right. And how’s your boyfriend? Neha saw your three-month-iversary dinner photos on your story last weekend at that gourmet restaurant. Her fiancé takes her there all the time.”

Shit. Harsha had never posted Shashank’s face on her Instagram or even tagged him, given that he refused to use social media, but showing off snippets from their fancy date nights was her way of hinting to her parents—and her snobby cousin—that she could find herself a perfectly suitable match without their help.

She widened her lips into a fake smile. “He’s great. We just had lunch together.”

“Wonderful.” Maa scratched the side of her eyebrow. “I’m glad you’ve found a nice boy for yourself. A nice Indian boy who meets all of our standards.”

“Thanks.” Harsha’s throat tightened, and she pretended to look sideways at her laptop. “I have a lot of photos to edit, Maa. Is there anything else?”

Maa nodded, looking smug. “It’s your Uncle Madhu and Aunt Pinky’s twenty-fifth anniversary party next month, here in Mumbai. I’ve already told everyone you’re bringing your boyfriend.”

Harsha’s mouth fell open, the phone nearly slipping from her grasp. “Maa! How could you do that without asking—”

“Shush.” Maa put out her free hand, her diamond-studded wedding ring glinting. “We’ve given you plenty of space. The least you can do is make an appearance at family gatherings every now and then. You chose to move away from us with no warning. People talk.”

Harsha licked her lips. “Okay,” she said, if only to be done with this conversation. “I’ll be there.” She hit End Call and groaned. Uncle Madhu and Aunt Pinky’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, bound to be a lavish affair at some five-star Mumbai hotel. That meant her entire family would be there: parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, their spouses, their kids—everyone. And of course, that included Neha Godbole, her beautiful, successful cousin who worked for the UN and was engaged to a surgeon. Arranged marriage, obviously.

Aunt Pinky, Neha’s mother, was the only sensible person in their family, the one ally Harsha still had among the Godboles. She was the aunt who had set Harsha up with her last freelance job. But she was probably busy planning the anniversary party; there was no point taking up more of her time and asking her for help.

It was fine. Harsha would figure something out; she always did when it came to her family, especially seeing how much drama being a Godbole entailed, given her dad’s industrial business and her uncle’s Bollywood movies. When she was younger, she used to have to meet her real friends in secret because they weren’t “society-approved,” or avoid the paparazzi during a terrible bout of teenage acne when visiting her aunt and uncle.

Harsha whipped out her phone and rested her finger on Shashank’s contact. She could call him and ask him to play along, just for the anniversary party. But after the nonchalant way in which he’d dumped her, as though it were merely something he was checking off his daily to-do list, calling him was not an option. There was nobody to take her side, reassure her that she wasn’t a complete failure, or tell her she was loved even if her parents didn’t approve of her decisions. She was on her own again.

To top it all off, Harsha didn’t have anything to wear to the anniversary party. She’d left most of her wardrobe at her parents’ penthouse in Mumbai, and quality sarees were expensive.

Financially speaking, she had one decent backup plan, though her ego would be seriously bruised if she took it. Her dad had transferred a good sum of money from the family trust fund into a secondary account when she turned eighteen. She hadn’t touched the money since moving back to India, but her father had encouraged her to use it, “just in case”—of course, he didn’t believe she could make it on her own. There were probably still five million rupees in the account.

If she needed to make ends meet, she could always dip into the secondary account, and her father wouldn’t even know. But it would mean breaking the promise she had made to herself…

First, she would breathe. She would send out a bunch of cold emails. And then she would head to a bar and find solace in a vodka soda, or three.

Until then, Veer’s delicious coffee—and his silly jokes—would keep her company.

“The college canceled your scholarship?” Veer Kannan paused in front of his locker, his apron still half-tied around his back, and tried to make sense of what his brother had just told him. “How can they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Arjun said. “They said there was some sort of technical error, and I was never even allotted the scholarship. I don’t know why this is happening. I’m so sorry.”

“No, look, we need to call them,” Veer urged.

“But I already tried. I called so many times. I think they had to move money around, and maybe it went to someone else. You know how these things go.” Arjun’s voice was defeated and small. It tore at Veer to hear his brother sound so broken when just yesterday, at breakfast, he had been so giddy about the courses he’d signed up for, wondering which professors he would be assigned. Veer had nearly felt excited himself for that economics lecture, which ought to have been an impossible feat. Now, as Veer reflected in the dead air of the phone call, it made sense why the financial offices had delayed the scholarship for so long. They had known that certain strings were getting pulled, and people like them were never the ones with the power to yank back.

“When’s the last date to pay the tuition?” he asked finally.

Arjun gulped, loud enough for him to hear it. “Monday.”

Fuck. That was three days away. “I just got done with my shift. Let’s talk about this at home,” Veer said, biting his lip. “We’ll figure it out, Arjun, I promise.” He hung up and ran a hand through his hair.

Okay, all right. Veer had three days to make half a million rupees.

Well, probably not make . He didn’t make that much money in a year, never mind in three days. The initial deposit money had been only a drop of the total, and even that had been painful to pull together by the deadline. The Business Institute of India, Delhi, was one of the top management schools in the country, and a well-paying corporate job was just about guaranteed after graduation. So he’d have to get his hands on the money somehow. If he didn’t, Arjun would lose his admission to BII, he wouldn’t get his MBA, and he wouldn’t have the best future possible—one he had already worked so hard for.

And Veer couldn’t let that happen to his little brother.

He took off his apron and folded it neatly, stowing it back in his locker, then sighed. Half a million rupees. He had less than ninety thousand sitting in his bank account right now, having spent a considerable amount last week fixing up his secondhand car after some asshole rammed into it in broad daylight. And as the sole breadwinner in their family, Veer was responsible for taking care of his mother’s living expenses as well.

Maybe they could apply for an education loan? But it was Friday. There was no way a bank could process an application and grant the necessary funds by Monday night. Still, he could try.

He rolled his eyes as he slammed the locker shut. Colleges couldn’t just offer you a full-ride scholarship on a platter and then claim there had been a department error. How could anybody pay up half a million rupees in tuition over one weekend? Were people really that rich?

Maybe if that sitcom pilot episode had been green-lit instead of getting scrapped…Veer still remembered the rush of adrenaline he’d felt when he walked into the small Mumbai studio on his first day of filming, and the bounce in his step after the daily shoot. He—and everyone else on set—had been so sure the sitcom, a hilarious show following a class of law school students, would be a hit. Veer had even bought legal textbooks, as boring as they were, to prep for his role as the underdog main character from the wrong side of town.

But then it went nowhere. It was the director’s debut, Veer and the other actors were unknown names in the industry, and the market was “saturated” with both college shows and legal dramas. Nobody had faith in them. Or, as it turned out, in Veer. His film agent dumped him shortly after that.

It’s pointless to think about that, he reminded himself. He grabbed his things and headed out into the store from the employees’ room.

“Wanna get drinks later, Veer?” Deepika, his girl best friend and fellow barista, asked as she waved from the counter. Raunak, his other barista buddy, raised his eyebrows.

“Maybe tomorrow, I’m beat.” He put on a smile and headed to the door, his mind on the astronomical sum of money.

Five hundred thousand rupees. Fuck.

He bit his lip. There was no way out of this, so Veer did the only thing he could think of: distract himself.

Turning back to his friends, he said, “On second thought, drinks sound like exactly what I need.”

Raunak pumped his fist in the air, startling a customer at the counter, then apologized when Deepika side-eyed him. “See you tonight,” she said, and Veer cracked the smallest of smiles before making his way out.