CHAPTER 17
Maya
“I’D SAY THE PARTY WAS A HUGE SUCCESS.” SLOANE stretched her arms over her head. “Everyone was talking about that aerial entrance stunt—as they should, because it was inspired. Viv, you nailed it.”
“Thanks, but it was Maya’s idea, not mine,” Vivian said with a smile. “She told me what she wanted, and I took care of the logistics. That’s all.”
“I could never.” Alessandra shuddered. “Trying stunts like that when I’m not professionally trained would give me hives.”
“It was nerve-wracking,” I admitted. “But I’m always down for a little danger as long as it’s in a safe, controlled environment.”
“So no more sleeping in the woods with Sebastian?”
Isabella teased.
“Absolutely not. Once was enough.” I busied myself with opening the next gift so my friends didn’t see the conflicting emotions on my face.
Part of me had thought Sebastian wouldn’t show tonight.
Things had been so weird between us lately, which was why I’d been shocked to see him in the conservatory. I’d never
admit to the way my pulse skipped a beat when I saw him, or the way I’d felt a twinge of disappointment when he’d reacted to my arranged marriage predicament with as much interest as someone reading Apple’s terms and conditions.
But secretly, deep within the chambers of my heart, I couldn’t deny the feelings I’d had.
My birthday party ended over an hour ago, and it was an annual tradition for me to host a gift-unwrapping after-party with my family. This year, however, my family was busy chatting with the remaining guests and overseeing the cleanup downstairs, so I’d invited my friends to stay behind instead.
Vivian, Ayana, and Sloane were a given, and I’d been happy to include Isabella and Alessandra at Sloane’s request as well. I didn’t know them as well as the others, but I liked Isabella’s humor and Alessandra’s down-to-earth personality.
Their significant others were hanging out downstairs, waiting for them to finish, but Ayana had assured me I didn’t need to worry about the time. The guys could entertain themselves for a few hours, she’d declared.
“This isgorgeous.” Alessandra unfurled a hand- embroidered shawl. “I want to bury myself in this.”
“This is why you have to invite people with good taste to your birthday,” I said. “Or you’ll end up with a dozen ugly trinkets and an itchy sweater that’s two sizes too big.”
She laughed, adding the shawl to the pile of silk scarves, cashmere sweaters, and other apparel on the couch.
I’d divided the upstairs parlor-turned-gift-room into sections by gift category: clothing, accessories, shoes and handbags, beauty, food and wine, home goods, electronics, and miscellaneous. There was already a decent pile in every section, and we were only halfway through my presents.
To be honest, I usually donated most of it to charity. I kept my favorite items and those that were given to me by actual friends and family, but generic trinkets from acquaintances went straight to local nonprofits. I had enough belongings
without hoarding stuff I’d never use.
Ultra-luxury noise-canceling headphones. A priceless Ming vase. A diamond tennis bracelet.
I placed them where they belonged and reached for the next present. It was a metallic gold envelope with my name written across the front.
My pulse jumped. That was Sebastian’s handwriting.
I tore open the envelope with impatient hands. There was a sleek black card sleeve inside, and I opened it to reveal… A twenty-thousand-dollar gift card to Delamonte, just like he’d said.
My shoulders slumped. Fresh disappointment settled like a rock in my chest as I slid the card back into the envelope.
Why should I have expected anything else? He’d told me exactly what he’d gotten me, and he had no reason to lie.
Besides, twenty grand was nothing to sneeze at.
But as I placed the envelope in the miscellaneous pile, I couldn’t shake off my misgiving. Our gift-giving tradition was rooted in rivalry, but our presents had alwaysmeant something. A gift card was soulless and generic. It was something you bought a co-worker or a friend of a friend, not someone you’d known your entire life.
By the time we finished unwrapping everything, I’d managed to push Sebastian’s strange behavior to the recesses of my mind. Unfortunately, that void was filled with a topic I had even less interest in discussing.
“Can we talk about your parents’ ultimatum?” Ayana asked. She sat cross-legged on the floor next to the beauty pile, her skin so luminous she was positively glowing. “What are you going to do? A year is not that much time.”
She didn’t ask what they were all probably thinking—why was I adhering to my parents’ arbitrary timeline when I was a full-grown, fully capable adult? Why couldn’t I date (ornot date) whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted?
I could, but that would mean more than an argument; it would mean a full break from tradition and possibly my
family.
“Go on more dates, I guess,” I said, my stomach winding into knots. “What else can I do?”
“Did you like Killian?” Sloane asked. “He’s such a player, but you never know. You could be the one to tame him.”
Xavier had introduced me to Killian earlier that night.
Technically, it was a reintroduction since Killian and I were already acquainted, but we hadn’t interacted in so long that Xavier’s obvious setup was necessary.
“I liked him fine,” I said. “He’s hot, but I don’t know. The chemistry wasn’t there. Besides, I don’t have the time or energy to ‘tame’ anyone. I’ll leave that to someone else.”
Killian and I had chatted for fifteen minutes about art, travel, and the upcoming holidays. It’d been a perfectly pleasant conversation, but I had more romantic tension with my hair dryer.
“Too bad,” Isabella mused. “I would’veloved to see someone bring that man to his knees.”
“Arranged marriages can be good. Dante and I—” Vivian stopped, obviously remembering the rocky start to her engagement. Her marriage hadn’t been arranged so much as forced, courtesy of the blackmail her father had on Dante at the time. “Um, never mind.”
I kept quiet while the girls brainstormed other options.
Frustration gnawed at me. If this were a work issue, I’d have solved it in minutes because I had a crisis management plan for everything. When problem A occurs, implement solution B (adjust parameters as needed), to get outcome C. Nice, neat, logical.
Personal problems were the opposite of that. Emotions were messy and complicated, and whentwo people’s emotions were involved, the complication factor quadrupled.
It was partly why I’d avoided certain relationships. I hated messy.
But I’d also reached a point where I couldn’t hide
anymore. I had to dive straight into the mess and hope I made it out intact. If not, I could kiss the prospect of love goodbye.
I sat back on my heels and stared at the sea of presents before me. I would trade them all for a solution to my
problem if I could. Sadly, I couldn’t.
I sighed.Happy birthday to me.
I woke up early the next morning. I usually slept in the day after my birthday, but I was too restless to stay in bed, so I threw a cardigan over my pajamas and padded downstairs.
My friends and sisters had gone back to the city last night, and my parents were still sleeping. The house was eerily quiet. All traces of last night’s party were gone; I didn’t spot a single feather or piece of glitter on my way to the kitchen.
My grandmother and Diya were already seated at the tiled island when I entered. They were chatting over a plate of crispy dosas and steaming mugs of chai, but they stopped when I entered the room.
“Good morning, Diya. Good morning, Nani,” I said. I took the stool next to my grandmother and yawned.
“Good morning.” Diya sprang into action. “What would you like for breakfast? We have more dosas, plus yogurt, cereal, and fruit. I can also make you eggs, pancakes, or anything else you want.”
The usually stern housekeeper doted on me exactly once a year, during my birthday week. I took as much advantage as I could because she’d never let me slide on anything during the other fifty-one weeks.
“I’d like the dosas with some eggs and strawberries, please. And maybe a bit of cake?” I gave her my biggest smile.
She frowned and tutted under her breath, but she didn’t
say no.
While she prepared breakfast, my grandmother calmly sipped her tea and observed me. She wore a loose linen shirt, matching pants, and her “gardening jewels,” aka a pair of rose-shaped ruby earrings and her favorite gold necklace. Her floral gardening hat sat on the island next to her plate.
“Here you go.” Diya placed the dosas and strawberries in front of me, along with a slice of leftover chocolate cake from last night. “I’ll make your eggs next. Don’t start with—”
I dug my fork into the chocolate goodness and shoveled a chunk into my mouth.
“The cake,” she finished with a sigh. She moved away, grumbling about cavities under her breath.
“How are you feeling?” my grandmother asked.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?” Her tone was knowing.
I chewed silently, staring at my half-eaten cake. I wanted to shrink beneath my grandmother’s scrutiny and hide from her inevitable questions.
I could fool everyone else in my family, but I couldn’t fool her.
“By this time next year, you’ll be engaged,” she said.
“Hopefully, you can communicate with your fiancé better than you can with me.”
“Please don’t remind me, Nani.” I abandoned the cake for a dosa. I tore off a piece and dipped it in the mint chutney with unnecessary force. “How could Mom do that to me?
She’snever brought up arranged marriages before, not even when Priya went sailing around the world and declared herself a lifelong bachelorette.”
“Don’t blame your mother too much. She’s making decisions based on what she knows.”
My parents had the world’s most straightforward love story: they met in college, got married after graduation, and popped out three daughters in quick succession. My mother
had me at twenty-two, Neha at twenty-four, and Priya at twenty-seven. Most of her friends and family (minus Meera Aunty) had followed a similar timeline, and she couldn’t wrap her head around why anyonewouldn’t.
But that was decades ago, and I wasn’t my mother or Meera Aunty. I was my own person with my own timeline— one that, ideally, did not involve finding a husband within the year.
“She’s also worried about you,” my grandmother added.
“Why? I’m succeeding in every other area of life,” I said, frustrated. “The idea that a woman has to be married by a certain age is archaic. No one bats an eye when men are lifelong bachelors. Look at Killian Katrakis.”
“From what I hear, Killian Katrakis has his own issues,” my grandmother said dryly. “I wouldn’t look to him as a role model. But that’s not why your mother’s worried.”
“Then why?
I hated that I could do everything right except forone thing, and that the one thing invalidated the rest of my accomplishments. I could’ve been a Nobel Prize winner, chief surgeon, and astronaut rolled into one, and people would still cluck their tongue and say, “Poor Maya. How come she’s still unmarried? What’s wrong with her?”
Most of all, I hated that I’d asked myself the same questions. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I find the same type of connection that everyone else around me could?
I lived in one of the biggest, most diverse cities on earth.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
My grandmother sighed and set down her chai. “She’s worried you’ve closed yourself off for so long that you’ve gotten comfortable with it,” she said. “When someone is… stuck in a certain way of living, they subconsciously resist change even if theysay they want something new. They’re afraid, and sometimes, they need other people to give them a push.”
I understood what she was saying, but an arranged marriage wasn’t a push; it was a shove off a high cliff and into the churning waves below.
“Is the solution really to marry me off to someone I don’t love? I don’t see how that’s helpful,” I said.
“You could grow to love them. Your parents had an arranged marriage, and they’ve been happy for many, many years.”
“They’re the exception, not the rule.” I placed my dosa back on the plate without eating it. I’d lost my appetite, and when I spoke again, my voice came out as a small whisper.
“I’m scared, Nani.”
I felt like a kid again, waiting for my grandmother to bandage my wounds and make the world right once more.
“What if—” I broke off, my stomach bubbling with acid.
“What if I can’t find The One? What if I have to spend the rest of my life with someone I merely tolerate? What if I find The Oneafter I get married to someone else?”
My head swam with a thousand questions. I normally thrived under pressure, but my parents’ imposed deadline threatened to break me out in hives.
For some reason, an image of Sebastian surfaced in my mind. My pulse thundered, and I flicked the image away before it fully formed. We were talking about my future marriage; he had nothing to do with this.
Absolutely nothing.
My grandmother’s face softened. “I have faith in you, beti. If it were Neha or Priya in this situation, I’d worry a little more. Neha is too rigid, and Priya is too impulsive. But you…” She placed her hand over mine, her touch reassuringly soft and warm. “You’re ruled by your headand your heart. It’s a rare skill. It’ll guide you to the right place.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It will.”
I wished I had an ounce of my grandmother’s faith in myself.
Anyone else would’ve been comforted by her confidence, but anxiety clawed its way to the surface again, stoking whispers of expectations I couldn’t meet. The more people expected me to succeed, the more pressure I heaped on myself.
“That being said, I would advise you to meet people on your own instead of relying on your mother’s matchmaking,” my grandmother said. “Go out, have fun. Date for dating’s sake. Don’t put so much pressure on yourselfor your dates to be The One. Oftentimes, the perfect match finds us when we’re least expecting it.”
“I guess,” I said doubtfully. “Maybe I should take a page from the holiday rom-coms and walk around building corners with hot coffee until I accidentally spill it on some handsome, single CEO with a tragic backstory and a secret heart of gold.”
She blinked. “Uh, sure. Or you could go to a bar like a normal person. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself a rock musician. Then we can watch your mother melt down together.”
Despite my earlier melancholy, I burst into laughter.
“Nani!”
“What?” Her expression was filled with innocence. “I’m old, and I’m stuck in this house most of the time. I have to find funsomewhere.”
That sparked a memory. “Speaking of finding stuff, did you ever find your diamond earring?” I asked. “The one you lost in the conservatory.”
She blinked again, her expression turning cagey. “Ah, no.
I’m sure Diya will find it eventually.”
Diya returned with my eggs. She set them on the island and gave my grandmother a disapproving stare, which my
grandmother ignored.
Weird.
But my mind soon circled back to the issue at hand. “I still need a date for Radhika’s wedding.” I doubted I’d find
my perfect match at a bar, but I knew someone who’d met their spouse at a funeral. Anything was possible. “Maybe I need to expand my radius. Search outside New York.”
A sexy vacation fling that turned into long-term commitment. That could be fun.
“Maybe,” my grandmother said slowly. “Or maybe your match is closer than you think. It’s not always about new people and places. Sometimes, it’s about new perspectives.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You’re a smart girl.” She picked up her chai again, her eyes glittering over the rim of her mug. “You’ll figure it out.”