The server came out with the final course.
Instead of serving Maya the same deconstructed tarte tatin that everyone else got, I’d personally prepared a special surprise for her.
I watched, heart in my throat, as she took in the spread. Her gaze latched on to the final item, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.
I’d waited long enough for this moment. It was time, and I couldn’t imagine a better setting than this table in this restaurant—the heart of the thing I loved second most after her. A small, tasteful arrangement of flowers perfumed the air, and candlelight flickered beneath a delicate oak beam carved with my restaurant’s name: Nouvelle Époque. New Era.
I kept my eyes fixed on Maya’s face as she stared at the item cradled in her palm. Her eyes were bright, and her chin wobbled like she was holding back tears.
My heart crashed against my ribcage. The silence was painful, the waiting even more so. Restlessness surged through me, urging me to look away so I wouldn’t have to endure any more torture.
But I couldn’t, and I didn’t have to look at the table to remember what I’d prepared for this course—or what, exactly, I’d included that had her looking so shell-shocked.
One slice of chocolate cake topped with strawberries imported from Korea.
One chocolate milkshake, thick enough to pass for ice cream.
And in her hand, one note with four simple words written on it:
Will you marry me?
Maya
I should’ve known Sebastian would plan the perfect proposal with the perfect ring—a breathtaking marquise-cut diamond that’d been passed down through the generations on his mother’s side of the family. He had, somewhat ironically and perhaps purposefully, proposed to me exactly two years after my family’s now-defunct engagement deadline.
When I’d recovered from my shock and looked up again, he’d already dropped to one knee, ring in hand.
It’d been the easiest yes of my life.
I told my family the next day, and I swore people in India could’ve heard my mother’s scream of joy. She was so ecstatic about my engagement that she only threw two fits after Priya eloped, just like my Meera Aunty predicted she would. She couldn’t take the wedding planning pressure anymore. However, she’d agreed to let my mother host a big reception for her in New York, which was the best compromise they could agree on.
That meant my mother poured all her energy into my wedding. I’d thought I would chafe at her micromanaging, but I discovered that Ilikedgetting into the weeds of wedding planning. It was basically a giant to-do list, and I took great satisfaction in checking off every item.
Fifteen months later, Sebastian and I got married in two separate ceremonies. The first was a traditional church wedding followed by a reception at his family’s château in France. The second was a week of Indian festivities in Udaipur. Like Jaipur,where my cousin got married three years ago, Udaipur was located in the state of Rajasthan. However, its tranquil, picturesque beauty was a far cry from Jaipur’s lively hustle and bustle.
My father, determined to outdo Radhika’s wedding, had spared no expense in making the wedding the event of the century. Based on the guests’ impressed exclamations throughout the week, he’d succeeded. Honestly, I only cared about celebrating with my friends and family, but the spectacle made my parents happy, so I rolled with it.
Besides the food (which included my favorite gulab jamun) and actually marrying Sebastian, I’d been most excited about my wedding attire. I’d spent months working with the designer Vian, who’d custom-made an exquisite red and orange bridal lehenga for me. It was draped with two dupattas—one opulent and traditional, the other gauzier and more graceful—and it featured the most beautiful embroidery I’d ever seen. My grandmother had gifted me a gold-and-diamond heirloom necklace and earrings set, which I’d paired with my own haathphool and my mother’s elaborate maang tikka. My hands were etched with henna from the pre-wedding Mehndi ceremony, and I couldn’t stop staring at them.
This was it. I wasmarried.
The reality of it took my breath away.
“I can’t believe all of my girls are married,” my mother said, her eyes misting over. “I never thought the day would come.”
“Please, Shilpa, you’ve been planning for this day since they were born.” My grandmother snorted. “Perhaps now you can stop moaning about your daughters’ marriage prospects and focus on tending to that garden of yours. It’s looking a little sad. If you’re not careful, Aisha will usurp your throne at the next International—oh, there she is. Let’s say hi.” She winked at me as she guided my mother toward her frenemy, who was hovering by the dessert bar with a grumpy expression.
I shot my grandmother a grateful smile. I loved my mother, but she’d go on all night if I let her.
We were nearing the end of the reception. We’d already finished all the toasts and official performances, so I could relax a bit and find Sebastian, whose friends had whisked him off for God knew what an hour ago.
My own friends were dancing near one of the main stages. Ayana beckoned for me to join them, but I smiled and shook my head.
I searched the crowd, my gaze skimming over my sisters, my cousins, and Meera Aunty, who was talking to a distinguished-looking older gentleman with a beard. I could’ve sworn she was blushing.
I spotted almost everyone in my extended family, but I didn’t see—
“Looking for someone,mon ange?” A smooth drawl came from behind me. It was laced with amusement.
