Ishika– 31 years old
“What are you doing tonight?” Brandi asked after she’d ranted a good five minutes about her family issues and them depending on her for money.
I tucked the book I promised myself I’d finish soon, under one arm, picked up the glass of wine I’d just poured and crossed over to the window alcove that overlooked the neighboring winelands.
“Absolutely nothing. I’m just so freaking tired all the time, and I intend savoring these next two days, drama free.”
Over the last month, I’d worked non-stop but no matter how much rest I managed to get in between surgeries and everyday casualties, I always seemed exhausted.
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” she teased.
“It takes two tango, Bran.”
“And who’s fault is that? You’re disinterested in dating, clubbing or any form of socializing,” she scolded. “I mean you even managed to scare off Remo Rossi, the epitome of a walking dildo.”
I burst out laughing. “Thank goodness for that.” I sat down on the window seat with my knees bent, rested my book on them and set my glass on the ledge.
“You ever think about him?”
“Only when I’m in front of a mirror, naked,” I scoffed. “And no, not to get myself off.”
Two months ago, after tattooing his name on my pussy, and threatening to make me his, he disappeared. Now every time I saw my naked reflection I had the privilege of remembering his godforsaken name.
“At least, you’ll never forget him.” She laughed as if privy to my thoughts.
“Until I work up the courage to visit a tattoo parlor and beg them to save my pussy.”
We had another laughed. “Sean’s back.”
“I might consider the date if he doesn’t have to rush off again.” Last time Stasia planned on setting me her nephew, he had to leave before we could meet.
“Must be fun being an investigative journalist,” Brandi quipped. “All those fancy places–”
“Where you can get killed?” I reminded her of the danger.
“True.”
After we said, goodbye, I gave the book my full attention.
I was lost in the second last chapter when, my mobile rang. Frowning, I stared at the number, recognizing the American country code but not the number.
Curiosity got the better of me. “Hello.”
“Ishika Sharma?” Expecting an American, I was surprised by a woman’s soft Indian accent.
“Speaking.”
“Oh,Jaan, I’m so happy to hear your voice.” Baffled, I stared at the phone for a second before putting it back to my ear. “You might not remember me but it’s Aunt Lalitha. Uncle Veer’s wife.”
Vaguely, I remembered my uncle from my childhood. “Um…” Words defeated me.
“Uncle Veer was your mother’s brother…” she trailed off as if giving credence to my mother’s memory.
I was very young when I lost my parents to an accident and too young to remember this uncle well enough to have an enlightening conversation right now. Regardless, I waited to see what he wanted.
“I’m sure you’re surprised by the call, but your uncle asked that I ring you to discuss a marriage proposal.”
“A what?” The wine I’d just sipped, spluttered out, messing my chin and the book on my lap. Setting the glass and book on the ledge, I wiped my chin with my t-shirt sleeve and cleared my throat.
