Chapter Five
Lilavati
Two emergency surgeries and a surgeon who hit a bleeder.
It’s been a shitshow of a morning. So I’m fifteen minutes late to meet Ant.
But I guess he should get used to it. He’s sitting at a table by the window, reading a surfing magazine.
The light is hitting the sun-bleached blond streaks in his hair, giving him a halo.
There’s more than one woman in the room shooting him admiring looks.
“You see, I’ve already learnt something about you. Timekeeping is not one of your strengths.” He closes the magazine and looks up. I notice there’s a small brown paper bag on the table.
He sees the direction of my gaze as I sit down opposite him.
“You seemed to like the brownies. Thought it might sweeten you up.” He nudges the bag across the table towards me.
“It would take more than a brownie,” I mutter under my breath, but he has the hearing of a fox.
“Would two work? You can have mine.”
How is he simultaneously sweet and annoying?
“Did you do your bio?” We’re having this meeting to exchange information, and I need it to stay on track.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” He pulls a crumpled yellow Post-it Note from the pocket of his jeans. Which, unfortunately, draws my attention to his muscular thighs. And the act of leaning back in his chair exposes an inch of tanned skin that I remember from when he was Naked Guy in the car park.
But a Post-it Note? Seriously?
I snatch it and read what he’s written aloud. “Ant Stevens. Thirty-two. Single. Surfer. Loves coffee. Lives at Collaroy. That’s it?”
“Well, those are the important things.”
I try, I really do, but I can’t hold back a frustrated sigh.
“My grandmother would give the interrogators at Guantanamo Bay a run for their money. We need to sell this as a serious relationship. I can’t just tell her you’re thirty-two and love coffee.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to talk to me then.
Oh, and I was thinking, if we’re going to make this work, we should probably schedule a few practice kisses.
” He quirks a single eyebrow and leans forward ever so slightly as though he’s going to make good on his suggestion right here and now.
“Because Nanna will spot it straight away if we’re not physically familiar. ”
“Firstly, we call her Grandie, which you would know if you’d read my bio. And secondly, she’s an elderly woman from an old-fashioned, conservative family. They don’t do PDAs.”
“Well, she may be an elderly, old-fashioned woman. But I’m a man in love. And we definitely do PDAs.”
“Not in front of my grandmother, we don’t.”
“Hugging?”
“Nope.”
“Holding hands?”
“No. Well, maybe. Briefly.”
“Squeezing your bum?”
“Definitely not!”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” He huffs out a sigh.
“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to convince my grandmother, in a respectable way, that I’m in a committed relationship.” He’s deliberately making this harder than it needs to be. At this rate, even two brownies won’t help.
“Hmm. You said she was trying to set you up with someone. Don’t we need to convince him too?”
“Argh. I don’t care about him.” I throw my hands up in frustration. “Just my mother and grandmother.”
“And where does your mother fit in all this?” My grandmother is a top-tier interrogator.
Maybe Ant Stevens is, too. “I was thinking about it after we met on Sunday. She hooked up with a guy in London, making her a single mum. From what you’ve said about Grandie, that would’ve gone down like a shit sandwich. ”
He was thinking about me? Wait. Stop. None of that, Lili. You are absolutely not going to be charmed or flattered by him.
“Yes, Grandie gave her a terrible time over getting pregnant.” We’re getting pretty deep in the weeds here.
I wedge my hands under my thighs on the chair to stop myself from grabbing the end of my plait and twisting it.
“Neither of them will talk about it. But when I was a teenager, I heard my Aunt Caroline telling a friend that by the time Mum realised, and Grandie found out, it was too late for a termination. Mum refused point blank to have me adopted out.”
Ant’s expression melts from interest to empathy.
“That must’ve been hard to hear.” He reaches out and rubs my upper arm in a gesture of comfort.
I don’t know why I’m telling him all this.
I’ve only ever told my closest friend this story.
What is it about Ant that makes me run my mouth?
First, all that stuff about my name, now this.
“It’s interesting she gave you a Hindi name. ”
I’ve always wondered that myself. But no matter how I approached the question, Mum has always been a vault.
“She’s never explained that. She just clams up and refuses to talk about it if I ask.
Maybe it was a last act of rebellion. I don’t know.
Whatever her motivations were, Grandie shortened my name to the acceptable Lili.
And by the time I was five, Mum had married the kind of man Grandie approved of and redeemed herself. ”
“Your grandmother sounds scary.” Ant shudders dramatically, making me laugh despite the painful topic.
“Yep. Grandie is not the kind of woman you cross. Normally, I can keep her out of my personal life. But with my cousin—who is much younger than me—getting married, she’s on a mission to have all her granddaughters married off and ‘respectably’ settled. And I think maybe Mum is wanting grandbabies.”
“Oh, well, if they’re wanting grandbabies, we’re going to need to do a lot more than hold hands.
” He leans back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head and stretching out his long legs until they bump mine under the table.
The contact sends a rush of warmth up my leg to settle, well, everywhere.
“What part of fake dating are you not getting?” I snap while I struggle to control my physical reaction to him.
“I just want to do a good job. I was the lead in the school play in year six. I have a reputation to uphold. And I’m a method actor.”
He’s got to be kidding. Right? But his trademark smirk is missing. He looks, well, if I had to describe it, I’d say earnest.
I guess my thoughts show on my face because suddenly he’s laughing again.
“You’re really going to need to read me better if we’re going to pull this off, Flower.”
“Flower?”
“I need a nickname for you, obviously. And sweetheart and darling are so overused. I need something different. Unusual. I’m not your regular bog-standard boyfriend, after all. I need to be something special to snag a woman like you.”
Based on previous boyfriends—all three of them—special must mean self-obsessed and condescending, but whatever.
“Would it be too much to ask that you take this seriously? Lili will do just fine.”
“Oh, I’m very serious. And you’re stifling my creativity here, Flower. Hmm. Maybe you’re right. Flower is a bit cumbersome. I’ll workshop it.”
I don’t dignify that comment with a response.
I’m learning that conversations with Ant are like a fast game of ping-pong.
He’s managed to take me from talking about a very painful subject to being exasperated and, at the same time, amused by him.
I choose to ignore the attraction that runs underneath it all.
“Did you at least read my bio?”
“Yeah. Nah.”
Of course he didn’t.
Back to exasperated.