18. Liam is Eating Deepika
LIAM IS EATING DEEPIKA
DEEPIKA
The brunch was at Ethan and Kiara’s home in the Hills.
It was one of those sprawling Spanish-style houses with terracotta tiles and bougainvillea climbing the walls.
The place felt lived-in despite being expensive, with family photos on every surface and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen.
Indian aunties bustled around in bright saris, rearranging flower arrangements and debating cake flavors with the intensity of United Nations peace negotiations. Uncles congregated on the patio, drinking masala chai and arguing about cricket while kids ran through the house, shrieking.
It was complete chaos, yet it felt just like home.
I had arrived early to help Kiara and Liam had sent a driver since my convertible was still parked at my old apartment, gathering dust.
“Deepika!” My mother materialized the moment I stepped inside, pulling me into a hug that smelled like sandalwood and the coconut oil she had worn my entire childhood. “You’re so skinny! Are you eating three meals a day? You need to eat more, beta.”
“I’m eating, Mama,” I said with a smile.
“Not enough.” She pulled back, examining my face with the critical eye of someone who easily looked through me. “That boy is feeding you, yes?”
That boy. Liam.
She hadn’t accepted the engagement at first and called me five times demanding to know if I was ‘doing this to spite Diya’ and if I had ‘lost my mind completely.’
But when I finally brought up Diya and Yash and how everyone had expected me to just accept their relationship, to be happy for them, Mom had gone quiet. Then she finally agreed and said, “Fine. If you’re happy, I’m happy. But I’m watching him. He seems very American.”
“Mom, he’s an Olympic gold medalist.”
As soon as I had said that, her demeanor changed, and she wanted me to marry Liam as soon as possible to produce her grandchildren who would win more Olympic medals.
Thinking about it made me shudder.
But now she was watching the door, waiting to meet my fake fiancé.
Liam showed up with Ethan, both of them fresh from a morning swim, hair still damp. He wore a navy-blue kurta which fitted him perfectly. I hated how good he looked in Indian clothes. How the color brought out his eyes and how the aunties were already whispering and staring.
Our eyes met across the room.
He nodded.
I nodded back.
Awkward. So fucking awkward.
Living with him had been… strange. It was scary and exciting in equal measure.
Scary because we weren’t fighting. Not really. We bickered about our work schedules and who ate the last of the Lucky Charms cereal, but the venom was gone, replaced by something softer.
Exciting because we were living under the same roof, sharing space, seeing each other first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and yet we hadn’t kissed. Hadn’t even touched beyond the necessary public displays. Yet.
The word hung between us like a promise. Or a threat.
Diya arrived with Yash, and they were immediately all over each other. Their hands intertwined, his mouth on her neck, giggling like teenagers who had just discovered sex.
The aunties stopped mid-conversation, and the uncles shifted uncomfortably. Even Kiara winced.
“Get a room,” someone muttered in Gujarati.
An aunt turned to me, pity in her eyes. “Beta, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I smiled, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. “Diya looks happy.”
The auntie tsked. “Still. It’s not proper. Sisters should not—”
“Should not what?” I kept my voice light, but my eyes hard. “Fall in love? These things happen, and we have all moved on.”
The aunties exchanged glances and went back to their cake tasting.
I looked at Diya. My twin, my other half, the girl I had shared a womb with, fought with, loved despite everything, and felt the familiar ache of loss.
Despite being a little evil, she was still my sister.
We hadn’t talked to each other ever since I found her in my bed with him.
It hurt more because she was the first person I went to whenever I had an issue.
She knew how much I hated Liam, how he had lost our grandmother’s ring, how he made fun of me, and how terrible he was. She knew how much I liked Yash and…
I poured coffee for myself, but my hands shook slightly. There were too many people with too many questions about the engagement and too many pointed looks at Yash and Diya, then back at me and Liam.
Across the room, Liam was talking to my father, nodding seriously at whatever advice was being dispensed. He caught my eye and frowned slightly.
I forced a small smile and escaped to the kitchen to get some alone time. The bathrooms and guest room were occupied with great-granduncles or our cousin’s grandpa sleeping.
I escaped to the kitchen, grabbing the tray of gulab jamun that needed to be refilled. The sweets were perfectly soaked in the golden, sweet syrup, the kind my grandmother used to make.
“Dee.”
I turned to find Yash standing in the doorway, that familiar smirk on his face.
“You look good.”
I know I did. I was wearing a lehenga in midnight blue with silver embroidery that caught the light. It brought out my olive skin tone, making me feel beautiful and like an Indian princess.
“Thanks,” I said, turning back to the sweets.
“So you’re really dating Liam? That swimmer?” I felt him move closer. “I thought you learned that athletes were beneath you. You always said you wanted someone in the industry.”
My spine went rigid. “That swimmer is an Olympic gold medalist and my fiancé. And I've learned—no, realized that you were beneath me.”
His expression darkened as he stepped closer, invading my space. “Come on. We both know this thing with Liam is for show. You’re not over me.”
“I am completely over you, and I don’t have to prove myself to—”
“Then why are you shaking?”
He was too close. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, the same one he used to wear when we were together, the same one that used to make me feel safe and now just made me nauseous.
I was frozen. Cornered between him and the counter. I could throw the gulab jamun at him, but that would ruin Kiara’s beautiful kitchen tiles.
“Yogin, right?”
Liam appeared in the doorway, moving with fluid grace and appearing beside me. His arm slid around my waist, warm and solid.
And safe.
“It’s Yash!” He snapped making my lips curl.
Liam’s smile was wide and friendly, but his eyes were ice. “I’ve heard so many terrible things about you.”
God, he looked good in that kurta. It made his shoulders look impossibly broad, and was he always that tall?
I had heard the aunties gossiping earlier. “Can you believe Deepika bagged such a handsome American? And he’s an Olympic athlete!”
I wanted to tell them our relationship was fake, but looking at him now, I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.
Yash tried to maintain dominance, puffing out his chest. “Whatever. You should keep this one in check. She almost—”
“I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Liam pulled me closer, his hand spanning my waist. “I don’t want my lovely fiancée to see how good my uppercut is. Right, sweetheart?”
I rolled my eyes internally, but leaned into him, smiling. For the first time all morning, I felt at ease.
Yash’s expression turned snide. “You know, Deepika’s last film didn’t do so well. I’m worried about her career trajectory.”
Liam’s jaw clenched. I felt the tension of his body against mine.
“Funny,” he said, his voice still pleasant. “I’m worried about your character trajectory. Takes a special kind of man to cheat on his girlfriend with her twin sister.”
“That’s—”
“What I love about Deepika?” Liam continued, not letting him finish. “She doesn’t need anyone’s validation. She’s talented as hell. Which is probably why you tried so hard to dim her light. Insecure men always do that.”
Love? No. Of course not. Ha! He is such an excellent actor. Even better than the guy standing in front of me.
Yash looked furious as he glared at both of us and left.
Liam’s arm was still around my waist, and I was still pressed against his side, my hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the thin cotton of the kurta.
We pulled back slightly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly.
“Yes, I did. He’s a dick.”
“Why?”
He looked down at me, and something flickered in his expression. “Because watching someone hurt you makes me want to break things.”
We stared at each other.
The kitchen felt smaller and warmer. The noise from the brunch faded to background static.
“Thanks,” I said, clearing my throat quickly.
He cleared his throat as well, suddenly awkward with genuine emotion. “Yeah. Well. Fake fiancé duties.”
But it didn’t feel fake.
The way he defended me. The way his arm was still around my waist. The way he was looking at me as if I were something worth cherishing.
I didn’t know how to respond to that and didn’t know how to process the warmth spreading through my chest.
So I grabbed a gulab jamun from the tray and shoved it into his mouth.
“Here’s my fake fiancée duty.”
He bit down, eyes widening, syrup dripping down his chin.
“That’s disgusting and… so fucking sweet,” he said around the mouthful.
“You’re disgusting.”
“You just assaulted me with a dessert.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I smiled. “You defended my honor, and I’m returning the favor with calories.”
He swallowed, grinning. “Fair trade.”
“Now let me give you a taste,” he threatened, his eyes lit with amusement as I tried to back off and he pounced on me, grabbing my cheeks and kissing me clumsily.
I squealed and giggled, trying to get away when he playfully made eating noises while kissing me. I could taste the sweetness of gulab jamun and giggled when his warm hands tickled my waist.
“Ethan! Moms! Kiara! Liam is eating Deepika!”
We paused, breathing heavily as I glanced at Eveline, Ethan’s younger sister, looking at Liam, petrified.