4. Oopsie
OOPSIE
DEEPIKA
“Hold still or you’re going to look like a drunk raccoon,” Priya hissed, wielding an eyeliner pencil like a weapon as our Uber hit another pothole.
“I’m going to look like a drunk raccoon,” I said, checking my phone for the fifteenth time.
I was officially late to my cousin’s engagement party (they got engaged earlier but wanted to throw an official party), still in my car, getting my makeup done by my best friend while wearing a golden dress that cost more than my first paycheck.
Ugh. I hate being late.
“Okay, listen to me,” Priya said, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at her.
“Yash is bringing Diya. Your ex-boyfriend is bringing your identical twin sister to a family event, which is psychotic. But you? You are going to walk in there looking like a golden goddess with Marcus Reynolds on your arm, and you are going to be fine.”
“Fine,” I echoed weakly, with an equally weak nod.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“FINE!” I said, sounding as if I were trying to convince myself. Because I was.
Priya sat back, examining her work. “You look hot. Like, inappropriately hot for a family event. Your boobs look amazing.”
“Thanks?”
“Just saying, if Yash has any regrets, they are about to multiply.” She handed me my lipstick. “Now get out there and make your twin sister feel like the poor man’s version.”
I loved Priya. She was a terrible influence and the best friend I ever had. She gave me a flying kiss as she left for her own party to attend.
Marcus was waiting by the elevator, looking devastatingly handsome in a navy suit. He was my co-star, my friend, and tonight, my armor.
The fact that he was secretly dating a lovely sound engineer named David was information the world didn’t get to have yet. Hollywood wasn’t ready for Marcus Reynolds to come out, even though it was the twenty-first century and we should have been past it.
“Deepika, you look lovely,” he said, kissing my cheek and offering me his arm. “Ready?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
The rooftop was gorgeous with string lights, a city view, and beautiful people drinking expensive champagne. I scanned the crowd immediately, my stomach in knots.
Where was Yash? Where was Diya? Where was the nearest exit?
And then my eyes landed on him.
Liam fucking James.
Time didn’t slow down because that would be too romantic. Instead, it felt like time slammed to a halt, like a car hitting a brick wall.
He was across the rooftop, champagne in hand, looking unfairly good in a suit that probably cost more than my rent. His date was a literal supermodel. Tall, dark hair, perfect bone structure, and the kind of woman who made me want to check my teeth for lipstick.
Our eyes met, and neither of us smiled.
Seventeen years of terrible history passed between us in a single look. Pool water and a lost heirloom, birthday cake and accusations of cheating the game, a Valentine’s Day closet where he humiliated me so badly I cried in my mom’s car for an hour, promising her I’d never see him again.
I looked away first, turning to Marcus. “We need alcohol.”
“Way ahead of you, darling,” he said, steering me toward the bar.
Unfortunately, Liam had the same idea.
We arrived at the bar simultaneously, both reaching for the same champagne glass as if it were some kind of rom-com meet-cute, except we already knew each other and hated each other’s guts.
Our fingers touched, and I jerked my hand back as if he had burned me.
“Still compensating with excessive chlorine exposure, I see,” I said sweetly.
His jaw ticked, but he forced a smile and said, “Still showing up where you’re not wanted?”
“It’s my cousin’s engagement party.”
“And Ethan’s my best-friend. I was in his life before you were born.”
The audacity. The absolute audacity of this man.
“We’re the same age, you egotistical—”
“Children!” Marcus cut in, laughing as if this was all very amusing and not a powder keg about to explode. “Perhaps we could save the death match for after the toasts?”
Liam’s date appeared at his elbow. Valentina was a model who worked for about seventeen different charities.
She also had an engineering degree, because of course, she did.
She was probably gearing up for Miss Universe too.
Women like her didn’t just have one talent.
No, they collected them like Pokémon cards.
“Is everything okay?” Valentina asked, her voice like honey.
“Fine,” Liam said tersely.
“Wonderful!” I beamed, with enough fake enthusiasm to power a small city.
We were not fine. Nothing was fine.
I was about to grab my champagne glass, ready to retreat to literally anywhere else, when I heard the whispers and the shift in energy meant that something terrible was happening.
I turned and there they were.
Yash Malhotra, my ex-boyfriend and the man I had planned to marry. Who promised me forever, who looked me in the eye and said he loved me.
And Diya. My twin sister, my other half, and wearing the same golden dress I was wearing.
The same fucking dress.
Except hers was shorter, showing more leg, and somehow the dress that had made me feel beautiful suddenly made me feel like a before picture. Like the curvy, too-much version of my own sister.
Yash’s hand was on Diya’s waist, possessive and familiar in a way that made my stomach turn.
Diya saw me and had the audacity to look surprised. “Oh! Deepika! I didn’t know you’d be wearing… I mean, you look—”
I couldn’t hear the rest. Blood was rushing in my ears, my heart was hammering against my ribs, and I was going to either cry or commit murder, and I wasn’t sure which would be more satisfying.
So I did what any rational adult would do.
I turned to grab my champagne for a sip and accidentally threw the entire glass on Liam’s Tom Ford suit.
The champagne arced through the air in slow motion, splashing across his chest, his jacket, and probably his shirt underneath.
“Oopsie,” I said, not sorry at all.
Liam looked down at his ruined suit. Then at me and then at his suit again.
“Oopsie,” he repeated, his voice deadly calm.
If it hadn’t been for the situation I was in, I would have laughed at him.
And then he bumped into me accidentally of course, sending me stumbling backward directly into the dessert table.
I felt it happen in stages. The impact, losing balance, and the horrible realization that I was falling, and then—
Frosting.
Cold frosting in my dark, wavy hair, down my dress and smeared across the side of my face.
I gasped, sputtering, and wiping chocolate mousse from my eyes.
The rooftop had gone silent.
Everyone was staring. I could see phones out, already recording, because of course they were. This was going to be on gossip sites within the hour.
And suddenly I was ten years old again, covered in birthday cake at Ethan’s party, with Liam James standing over me looking smug.
Something inside me snapped.
I grabbed a cupcake from the ruined dessert table (it was red velvet with cream cheese frosting) and launched it directly at Liam’s head.
It hit him square in the face.
Bullseye.
Ha, take that, jerk!
His expression of absolute shock was the most satisfying thing I had seen in six months, and it made my body light up.
“Deepika, honey—” Marcus warned, but I was already grabbing another cupcake.
“You want to play?” I said to Liam, who was wiping frosting from his eyes. “Let’s fucking play.”
“You’re insane,” he said, but he was already reaching for ammunition.
This was it. This was my villain origin story. I was going to murder Liam James with baked goods at my cousin’s engagement party, and honestly? So fucking worth it.
Somewhere in my peripheral vision, I saw Ethan and Kiara watching us, mouths open.
Kiara leaned over to whisper something to Ethan.
Ethan said loud enough for me to hear, “Should we stop them?”
My cousin replied, “Let’s see how this plays out.”
I appreciated that about my cousin. She understood the value of chaos.
“You’ve been a fucking nightmare since we were eight years old,” I said, stalking toward Liam with another cupcake.
“Me? You pushed me into a pool!”
“You lost my grandmother’s ring!”
“You destroyed Ethan’s birthday cake!”
“You told everyone my bra size!” My voice cracked on the last word, and oh god, I was going to cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him and Yash and Diya and everyone with their phones out.
Liam froze, cupcake in hand. Something flickered across his face. Regret? Guilt? It was gone too fast to tell.
“Deepika, I—”
“Don’t.” I held up my hand, covered in frosting, throwing it at his suit, smiling at the satisfaction it brought me to see his stormy gray eyes clear and soften and widen all in the span of five seconds. “You’re an asshole. Always have been.”
He stared at me, lifting his hand, and I waited for him to tug my hair or pour another glass of champagne on me, but surprisingly he did neither of those.
Instead, he gently wiped the frosting from my eye and I blinked at him.
Liam James was acting like a decent human being in my vicinity?
The moment shattered when Diya appeared at my elbow, her perfect face arranged in concern. “Dee, are you okay? Do you need to—”
I pulled away from her touch. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I said, my words coming out sharper than I intended.
Diya looked taken aback, but her knight in shining armor appeared beside her with an arm on her waist, glaring at me. The same eyes used to look at me full of love.
How quickly did his so-called love dissolve into nothing?
“Let’s go, darling,” Marcus whispered in my ear, taking my hand and dragging me away from the uncomfortable situation.
I was grateful to him. And as we went to the nearest washroom, I could feel the warmth of someone looking at me. Thinking it was Yash or Diya, I turned around and found Liam’s eyes staring at my hand that was holding Marcus’.
Catching my eye, Liam said, “Real mature, Sharma!”
I turned around and flipped him off over my shoulder as the doors closed.
I was covered in frosting, my ex was here with my twin sister wearing the same dress as I did, and I had just assaulted an Olympic gold medalist with cupcakes in front of a hundred witnesses and approximately hundreds of camera phones.
This was going to be everywhere by morning.
Blake was going to kill me.
I was going to be ‘difficult’ Deepika again, unstable Deepika, and ‘can’t handle her emotions’ Deepika.
But right now, covered in chocolate mousse and cream cheese frosting, with my heart in pieces and my dignity on the dessert table, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Marcus looked at me, covered in frosting, mascara probably running, golden dress ruined.
“Well,” he said finally. “That went better than expected.”
I burst out laughing, and then I was crying, and then I was laughing and crying, and Marcus just pulled me into a hug and let me ruin his expensive suit, too.
“I hate him,” I said into his shoulder.
“I know.”
“I hate her.”
“I know.”
“I hate everyone.”
“Understandable.”
After a few more sniffles, I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Can you do me a favor?” I asked, my voice groggy.
“Anything for you, darling,” Marcus said with a smile and paused. “Anything but murder.”
“What a friend you are,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Well, if murder’s off the table, then how about… I get smashed.”
“Are you sure?” he asked carefully, as if I were a bomb that was about to explode.
I nodded, wiping the water droplets from my hair. Marcus, bless him, helped me wash the hair in the bathtub and clean up the frosting from my neck, face and dress so I looked presentable.
“What’s the worst that could happen now?” I said, feeling much better that I had relieved my anger on a certain medalist.
Really? What’s the worst thing that could happen? I kiss Liam? Ha!