Twenty minutes later, I took the seat across a stern-faced Ajay and an even harsher scowl from his father. My uncle and aunt sat down on either side of me, offering comfort with soft smiles, one sincere and the other as fake as this engagement.
Bored with the adult talk, I barely paid attention to and squinted at Ajay. Mischievous, I crossed my eyes and rolled my top lip above my teeth, hoping the funny face would get a smileout of him. His scowl deepened while behind him, his niece and several other girls giggled at my antics.
I figured Remo was the cause of his unfriendliness. Ajay knew he wasn’t marrying a virgin. But he couldn’t divulge the truth to our elders without exposing the full story. In our world, premarital sex was taboo. This arranged marriage would end in a bloodbath if word got out.
If Ajay said anything, it wouldn’t just embarrass him, his family would call him weak for allowing Remo to take what wasn’t his. From the little I’d heard, the Italian and Indian mafia never crossed territories. Judging by Remo’s insolence and Ajay’s barely restrained hostility, their families’ amicable relationship was about to hit a tailspin.
My aunt placed the ring in my palm drawing my attention. “Go on, Ishika.” She gestured with her chin for me to make this engagement official.
I looked at the diamond solitaire. Large, cold, a clear statement of wealth, of proprietorship.
Ajay slid the ring onto my finger, his touch clinical, devoid of warmth. His eyes met mine for a second, hard and unreadable.
“It’s a pretty ring.” Thirty minutes later, a cousin, Madhu, held my hand, inspecting the stone. “So freaking big, though. Think he’s trying to make a statement?”
“Probably.” I looked at the ring. “Still doesn’t stop me from losing it at the hospital,” I joked, catching Ajay’s frown from across the room. Yet I couldn’t ignore the heaviness on my finger and my emotions.
fifty-six
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
The engine had been cold for an hour, but I hadn’t moved. Over the last few weeks, Ishika tried in vain to shove me away, to pretend she hated me, attempting to make me pay for leaving her after the ambush. I let her play her little game of independence, let her believe the engagement meant I’d stay away. Not even traveling between Boston and Manhattan mattered much.
Because she quickly learned that despite wearing another man’s ring, she still warmed my sheets when I demanded it. I took what I wanted, nights where she forgot her name and screamed mine and I’d continue to do so until I got rid of the fucker.
Ajay was poison, the engagement a farce, they wanted something from her, and I needed to find out what. He was a pawn, moved by an invisible hand I hadn’t yet identified. Not his father or her uncle, but someone with enough reach to move people around like chess pieces.
Only, there was just one important piece they hadn’t counted on. Who was truly watching her back.
The door opening to the hospital staff entrance drew my gaze. Ishika stepped out, her white coat flaring around her as she descended the metal steps. Surprised she was still in her hospital garb, I glanced at the time. If her shift was over, why wasn’t she dressed in street clothes? About to start the car, I stopped, my fingers resting on the wheel, my gaze on her. She paused on the second stair, her head bent forward and hands hiding her face. Another second passed and she sat down heavily.
She wiped her eyes, and something snapped around my heart when I realized she was crying. But more concerning was that foreign feeling squeezing my ribcage. I was out of the car and crossing the parking lot before I could question my hasty reaction. Frowning, I stopped at the bottom of the steps and stared at her huddled figure, her shaking shoulders the only hint she was crying. I climbed up two stairs, bringing me to her eye level if she looked up.
“Ishika?”
Her head snapped upward. Red, watery eyes stared at me, their usual defiance drowning. A sharp pinch in my chest, almost painful and unrecognizable, threatened to derail me.
“Please, Remo…”
It was the first time I’d ever seen her look so uncertain. She never doubted herself, instead she went in full force, not scared of anything, least of all me. Yet somehow the hesitancy in her tone made the direction of her request clear. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“I can’t do this with you tonight. Please…” her voice cracked. She was asking me to leave her alone.
I couldn’t.
Fuck. I didn’t do this emotional shit. “Who hurt you?” I heard myself growling, anger quickly converging over any other feeling.
She dropped her eyes to my chest, shaking her head. “I can’t…Please.”
“Look at me,” I demanded.
She did as I asked, a single tear beading the corner of her lashes. Maybe one day I’d ask myself why I did it but leaning forward and pressing my lips softly to the droplet startled me as much as it did her. Her eyes wide, she gaped at me.
Without thought, I cradled her face, keeping my normally aggressive touch light. “Why are you crying?”
Her lashes lowered, concealing her eyes before she dragged in a deep breath. “I lost my first patient today. Just twenty-five with her whole future ahead of her and telling her parents they’d never see their beloved daughter again…” She burst into tears.
