Chapter Six
Chapter
Six
“If all else fails, you can marry rich.”
—Rory Gilmore, Gilmore Girls
Veer had to laugh when he pulled up inside the gate of the fancy-schmancy Japanese restaurant Harsha had suggested for their first weekly date. This was her idea of a good place for date night? Predictable.
The doorman rushed ahead to open the door of the blue car, the valet close on his heels, but Veer did it himself, flashing the doorman a weak smile. At least the car looked more impressive today—the evening rain had washed away all the grime and dust from Veer’s weekly commutes.
He resisted the urge to rake his hand through his gelled hair as the attendant took down his info. Veer didn’t like using valet service. Nayanthara, his secondhand beauty named after his mom’s favorite Tamil actress, needed gentlemanly love, and who knew if this valet would handle her with care?
Harsha’s Uber was less than a minute away according to her text, so he shook off his hesitation, took the ticket stub, and stood by the entrance, tapping his tight, brand-new loafers that he hadn’t broken in yet against the ground. He wore the burgundy collared shirt and a pair of sleek black trousers from their shopping spree, hopefully fitting the role of Harsha’s perfect, rich, absolutely-not-fake boyfriend.
A car stopped just outside the open restaurant gate in the distance, and Harsha got out from the back seat, her mane of curly hair flowing down her back. She wore a short, tight black dress and high heels that dug into the muddy earth. She looked…breathtaking. More so than usual. Veer only saw her in cute tops, jeans, and sneakers at Sunstag, so he hadn’t known until now that her long legs went on for days, or that her sharp collarbone perfectly complemented her slender neck. And her usual ruby-red lips that were begging to be kissed—
Cut it out, Veer. “Hey!” he yelled, waving to her, noting how she tugged on the hair elastic on her wrist as she wobbled on those sky-high heels that were not made for Indian roads, especially after a thunderstorm.
Veer didn’t think he’d seen her in heels before. He jogged ahead. “Don’t want you tripping on our first date.” When he reached her, he extended his hand, surprised when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders instead.
“Hi, nice place, right?” she said into the crook of his neck, bringing the scent of strawberries with her.
Oh, fuck, Veer thought as he reluctantly hugged her back, catching a proper whiff of her perfume. Yep, strawberries: his favorite fruit and his go-to choice of jam to slather on buttered toast every morning before work. Not surprisingly, the combination of her heady scent and the softness of her skin made him hungry in more ways than one—
She’s paying you, he reminded himself. He pulled away with a tight smile, keeping her at a distance.
Harsha tutted. “That hug is going to need some work, if we’re going to convince anyone we’re together.” Then she gave him a weird look. “Why are you ruining a perfectly good head of hair with that gel?”
He bit his lip self-consciously. “I thought I’d try something different for your boyfriend character.”
“Trust me, you don’t need it.” Harsha wrapped her hand around his arm and grinned. She had the kind of wide smile that was so radiant it overwhelmed everything else, the world fading into a blur around her—the kind of smile Veer didn’t want to look away from.
As they walked into the building toward the lift lobby, hand-in-hand so Harsha wouldn’t trip, Veer thought back to the first time, three months ago, that Harsha had walked through the Sunstag doors. She’d worn an ankle-length sundress with some kind of bird pattern on it. He remembered because his mom had a saree with birds embroidered on it, too. She walked inside, slid an American Sunstag loyalty card in front of him, and smiled that super-wide smile, her gray eyes sparkling. “I’ll have a—”
“That’s not an Indian card,” Veer said, sliding the card back to her. “You’ll have to get a new one made.”
Her smile faded, but she nodded. “All right.” She waited while he set up her card, then told him her name. “Harsha.”
He raised a brow. “That’s usually a boy’s name here in Bangalore.”
“And yet, somehow, it’s my name,” she tutted, giving her phone screen a wayward glance. “Will you take my order, please?”
As she listed out her customizations, Veer nearly ran out of writing space on the cup. “What if I screw it up?” he joked as she took the wooden table number and started for the stairs.
“Then you buy me another drink,” she called out, smiling wide as she disappeared to the upper floor.
She smiled at him a few more times that week, then constantly during his teasing, enough times for Veer to start expecting it every day—and then she roped him into this fake relationship scheme. There hadn’t been a lot of smiles since.
Until now.
When they got off the lift at the twenty-first floor and stepped into the sprawling rooftop restaurant, the ma?tre d’ led them to a table that overlooked the city.
Veer’s jaw dropped. The view was something else. He could see what must have been half of Bangalore, the twinkling lights of moving traffic and city life brighter than the few stars in the cloudy sky. A band played live music across from them, loud enough for Veer to hear the lyrics to the romantic ballad, but soft enough that they could make pleasant conversation if they sat close together.
Speaking of which…
There was one loveseat and one table in front of it. He’d have to sit next to Harsha. She’d noticed, evidently, because as soon as the ma?tre d’ walked away, she pulled on his arm and sat them down side by side on the cushiony loveseat. “Perfect,” she said. “We’ll be comfortable touching each other in no time.”
Veer shifted in place and nodded in lieu of speaking. The view, the music, the stunning woman interlocking her fingers with his…this was the most beautiful first date of his life, and they were only five minutes in.
Correction: It was a fake first date. Obviously. So none of those things mattered.
Harsha eased her hand out of his— thank god —and flipped through the menu resting on the table, pointing out some dishes as Veer politely listened. So she’d been here before, and quite a few times, too. That ex of hers was definitely loaded. It made complete sense. Veer might not have known any rich people personally, but he understood the way their minds worked. He was sure Harsha would only ever date millionaires. How else would she match up to that cousin of hers?
Harsha smiled at him and scooted closer. “Can we get the lobster curry and jasmine rice? And maybe some duck spring rolls—those are delicious.”
Goddamn strawberries . Veer looked at the items on the menu. Combined, they cost more than the sarees he gifted Mom every Diwali. “Sure. Order whatever you’d like. You’re paying, after all.”
“Technically,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She picked up the bar menu. “Something to drink?”
“I’m good.” He was driving, plus, he didn’t need his inhibitions lowered any further around her.
The server greeted Harsha, a tablet in hand. “Ma’am, nice to see you again!” His eyes went to Veer, his eyebrows rising. “Where is Shashank sir?”
Harsha’s smile faltered. “He won’t be joining us. But we’re ready to order.”
“Of course.” The server typed into the tablet, then repeated the order. “Duck spring rolls, lobster curry, jasmine rice. And a vodka soda for you?” He tapped a few buttons. “What would Sir like to drink?”
It took Veer a few seconds to realize he was the “Sir” in question. “Oh, I’m good with water, thanks.”
“Actually,” Harsha put a hand on Veer’s wrist and said to the server, “he’ll have a Ballantine’s Finest scotch, neat. Thanks.”
Once the server left, Veer gritted his teeth. “I didn’t say I wanted scotch.”
Harsha tucked a lock of curly hair behind her ear. “That’s what my ex drinks. It would make sense to order that, for the photos.”
“Right, yeah.” His stomach twisted at the image of a rich, swanky man in a suit sitting with his arm around Harsha in that very loveseat. “So…what was Shashank like?”
“Why does it matter?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Since I’ve been dating you for the past three months.”
“I want to know who I’m standing in for,” he said.
“Fair enough.” Harsha leaned back into the loveseat, arms crossed. “He was attractive, smart, and successful—perfect on paper—but also a mama’s boy who was meeting potential wives while dating me.”
Veer sighed. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
She shrugged, then clapped her hands together, evidently hoping for a change in topic. “Anyway, I’ve been wondering…what do you need the money for? Why would you do this for me?”
Veer averted his gaze to their feet, his unfamiliar loafers and her fashionable high heels side by side. How the hell had he gotten here? “I, uh…”
She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Let me guess, you used it to hire a hitman?”
He paused, then nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Yes. I hired a hitman to find and kill my father.”
Harsha’s head jerked back. She clearly hadn’t expected him to play along. She placed her napkin on her lap, wiped her hands on it, and laughed shakily.
“I’m joking.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t pay a cent to see my father, dead or alive.”
Her red lips pouted, somehow adorable and attractive at the same time. “It sucks that you had to go through something like that. How old were you?”
“Ma’am, sir.” The server came back with their drinks, then filled both their water glasses.
“Thank you,” Veer said to the waiter. Once they were alone, he cleared his throat. “I was fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” She gasped. “The only things a fifteen-year-old should have to experience are new crushes and first kisses, not—”
“A father leaving his wife and sons without warning?” Veer tapped his finger on the table, sighing through his clenched teeth. “Yeah. That whole year really sucked.”
“I’m sorry,” Harsha said, putting her hand on Veer’s and stroking his wrist with her thumb.
The gesture sent tingles to places he didn’t want to feel tingles right now. He pushed her hand away and folded his on the table instead. “It’s fine,” he said, forcing out a joke. “I did have my fair share of crushes.”
“Oh? Tell me your first kiss story,” she said, her eyes brightening. “Mine was so sloppy.”
Veer didn’t want to think about any kind of kissing—past, present, or future—while this gorgeous woman sat beside him with her annoying red lipstick, that perfect dress, and the torturous scent of strawberry in the air. He coughed. “You could just read my extremely personal, bordering-on-invasive questionnaire. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t memorized it yet.”
Harsha chuckled. “I did. You wrote one sentence: ‘First kiss was with a girl from high school when I was 16.’ So? How was it?”
He licked his lips. He knew she was just trying to make conversation; nobody whose opinion mattered in this charade would ask her about his first kiss. And why hadn’t she whipped out her phone to take a picture of the drinks? Was she waiting for the food?
“Veer?”
“Sorry.” He cracked an apologetic grin. “It was a good kiss.”
“Was she your girlfriend?”
“No, just a fling.” He had no interest in romance after his dad left. His relationships had all lasted only a couple of months—because he could never reciprocate their strong feelings. The hole in his heart had only grown since then, the pain numbing out any possibility of ever wanting to fall in love.
“Okay.” Harsha fell silent, pulling on the hair elastic on her left wrist with nails that were painted black. She must have done them specifically to match her dress. Then she picked up her drink, handed Veer the god-awful scotch, and said, “Pretend like we’re toasting.”
There we go, he thought. Harsha clicked a few pictures, instructing him on how to pose, then smiled as she looked them over. “You’re quite photogenic, you know that?”
He chuckled, setting the scotch down. “Coming from a photographer, that’s great to hear. How did you get into that, anyway?”
She grinned. “After high school, I traveled around Europe with my aunt and uncle on his shoots. Bought my first camera on a whim and…” Her eyes sparkled. “Nothing had ever lit me up like that before.”
“Wow.” Veer’s throat tightened. That was how he’d felt in the third grade during his first school play where he played a tree. One line of dialogue and a few dance moves were enough to cement in his heart the dream of making it as an actor. He opened his mouth, wondering if he should share this with her, when his phone buzzed.
It was a message from Raunak on their Barista Bitches chat, asking how the date was going, and if the cutlery at the restaurant was made of gold, considering the inflated prices on their menu. He exhaled. This morning, during their shift, he’d told them more about his “relationship” with Harsha, as well as where they were going for dinner. They’d had a million questions, of course. It actually made Veer grateful for the stupid relationship history document he now knew by heart.
“My friends are shocked that this is your favorite date place,” he said, setting his phone aside. He’d reply to them when he got back home.
Harsha laughed as she sipped her drink. “Who said it’s my favorite?”
Veer snorted. “Please. You clearly feel at home here, while I take my first dates to places like CTR.”
She frowned. “What’s CTR?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised, but his brows shot up anyway. “You haven’t heard of CTR? Central Tiffin Room! It’s only the best South Indian restaurant in all of Bangalore. Their benne dosas are to die for!”
Harsha’s mouth twitched, as though she were trying not to laugh. “Okay,” she finally said as the server brought over their spring rolls, the pungent smell of soy contrasting the sweet scent of strawberries. “Take me there sometime.”
Veer shook his head. “CTR is crowded and noisy, and there’s hardly ever seating available. You’d drop sambar on your overpriced shoes and blame me.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Now I’ve got to know if these dosas are as good as you’re making them out to be.”
Veer grinned, though part of him wondered if this was all just a vivid and confusing hallucination. “All right,” he said. “Then it’s a date.”