I managed to march a few feet before bending over and giving in to a fit of short, loud coughs. Water spilled from my glass as I gasped and coughed and gasped some more. When my breathing got easier, I high-fived myself and straightened. I was going to live.
Take that, Ma Anga.
Refusing to sneak a look over my shoulder and see if Nikos had witnessed my ability to suck water down my windpipe and survive, I made my way back to the table.
“Here you go.” I placed the glass before Naani, hoping she wouldn’t notice it was only half-full. “Naani, do you see that guy in the back? By all the jugs of water?”
“Who?” She swiveled around and then nodded. “Achha, him?”
“Don’t make it so obvious,” I whispered. “What’s he doing? Is he looking this way?”
It’s sad when your wing-woman is your grandmother, but I had to find a way to learn more about Nikos before the evening was over. Like was he seeing anyone? A girlfriend? A boyfriend? A parole officer?
“He’s wiping the table, Moti.”
“What?” I turned around and saw one of the waiters where I had left Nikos.
“Eh?” Naani elbowed me. “You like him?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Not him.” My eyes scanned the banquet hall, searching for the sun-kissed Greek god. “You won’t believe this. I just met a guy with three—”
“There you are.” I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder. It was Isabelle. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’re supposed to be looking afterme. That’s what a maid of honor is for.”
“Sorry, I was just—”
“Never mind. This is a practice run. But honestly, Moti. You can’t be taking off on me at the wedding. Come on. We have to get seated.” She pulled me up and dragged me away. Halfway to the front of the hall, she slipped and teetered, precariously close to landing on her ass. “What the hell? There’s water all over the floor.”
Oops. Flashback to me, spilling water as I coughed and sputtered my way back to life.
Itskedand shook my head. “Unacceptable. I’ll go talk to the event coordinator.”
“Later. We need to get on stage right now.”
The stage was a raised platform, put up at Isabelle’s request. She wanted her table elevated above the guests. I helped her up the makeshift stairs, holding her skirt so it didn’t get caught in her heels. Thank God she hadn’t fallen earlier because I can’t stop myself from laughing when people fall. It’s a knee-jerk reaction and I’m very sorry for it afterward, but I’m pretty sure laughing at the bride-to-be would get the maid of honor fired. Not that I’d applied for the position. Isabelle didn’t have many friends, and she couldn’t be her bossy self with the ones she did. So, the honor had landed on me. Blood is thicker and more boss-aroundable than water because blood takes longer to say, “Screw it. I’m outta here.”
Thomas smiled warmly as I arranged Isabelle’s skirt and draped it around her chair. He was charming and easy-going, with thick black hair, the same color as his eyes. His parents were seated at the first table, with Rachel Auntie and Joseph Uncle. I caught Rachel Auntie’s eye between the pillars of the tiered cake before me. She gave me a discreet thumbs-up; I assumed because Dolly was behaving.
I sat back in my chair and then shot up again. Nikos was weaving through the hall, making his way purposefully toward me.
Holy hell.
Had he felt a connection? Was he being compelled by mysterious forces to seek me out? Was he helpless against the pull that was drawing him nearer and nearer?
God, he was hot. Bold thighs, firm chest. Sleek, sexy, and hopefully single.
Did I call Ma Anga my nemesis? She was a fucking goddess. I was already buying plane tickets for myself, Nikos, and our two kids so I could make the pilgrimage to India and kiss her feet.
My heart was pounding so hard by the time Nikos reached me, I thought I was going to pull a Dolly and pass out at his feet. He took the stairs to the stage, two at a time, and…walked right past me to take the chair next to Thomas.
“Did you meet Nikos?” asked Isabelle. “He’s going to be Thomas’s best man at the wedding.”
My mouth formed a silent O. I was simultaneously deflated and elated—the anti-climax of himnotsingling me out and the realization that he was the best man and I was the maid of honor. Could it get anymore meant-to-be than that?
“Is he related to Thomas?” I asked.
“Childhood friends.” Isabelle leaned toward Thomas and flashed a brilliant smile as the photographer took their photo. Nikos had a colossal flower arrangement in front of him and I was hidden behind the cake. Clearly, it would save Isabelle from having to crop us out of the pictures.
A little band of photographers worked its way through the guest tables. Joseph Uncle and Rachel Auntie really went all out. Not many people from the bride’s side would be able to attend the wedding in Greece, so the engagement party was in lieu of the ceremony they’d be missing
