Page 57 of You’re So Vein

His fingers curl around my thigh. I want him to move his hand. I want him to never move it again.

My breath stills. My heart hammers against my ribs, but unlike the last time he had his hands on me, he can’t comfort me, because I have no idea why I feel like I’m about to float away, and his fingers are the only thing tethering me to earth.

I stare at him, blinking as I search his face, trying to understand when I lost control of this situation. Augustin and I throw barbs at each other. That’s our thing. That’s how we interact. But this doesn’t feel like our usual banter. Something’s shifted, and it’s left me off-balance, wishing I could take back what I said, hoping for something I can’t articulate.

But Madam MacGyver can’t fix what she doesn’t understand.

“Very well. I won’t bother you again,” Augustin states with cold clarity. His lip curls back, revealing the tip of a fang. “I merely thought you wanted more from your life than whatever he is.”

The comment stings like taking a bite out of a beehive.

Why am I letting him hurt me like this? Why do I care?

I need to pull things back, to remind us both of what we’re supposed to be. I tear my gaze from Augustin’s wretched expression and turn back to my aunties, beaming even though I feel like crying. “As you can see, Durant would never be husband material. Look at him. What about him makes you think that we’d be perfect together?”

“You’re both into politics, you’re both stubborn, and you can’t keep your hands off each other.” Sunita throws her whole body weight against Augustin’s wrist, but he doesn’t budge.

“I’m not stubborn!” I shout.

“And with your thick hair and his fiery eyes? Imagine the grandchildren!” Dolly Auntie swoons.

The word grandchildren drives a stake through my heart. I blink back tears that threaten to spill over.

“No, let’s not imagine the grandchildren! There will be no grandchildren with Durant, because he’s disgusted by the very idea of it. And so am I. Isn’t that right, Durant?” I turn to Augustin. He’ll agree with me, and everyone will laugh, and this strange moment and the beehive in my mouth and stinging in my eyes will disappear.

Augustin’s fingers tear free of me. He staggers back, his eyes flashing with hurt.

“Councillor Ahuja has made it clear. If I were the last man on earth, she’d take up necromancy before dating me. I understand perfectly, and I won’t come near you or your family again. Good evening.”

“Durant, I was kidding—”

But he’s already gone. Vampires are fast.

“Where did he disappear to?” Sunita stares at the spot where he’d stood only a second before. “He was here, and then poof, he’s gone.”

I should be happy to be rid of him. Instead, my stomach’s all squirmy, as if I’ve eaten too many of Papa’s pakoras. From the hunch in Augustin’s shoulders and that terrible dark cloud in his eyes, I could almost believe that I hurt him. Which is ridiculous. Because I didn’t say anything he doesn’t agree with completely.

“Hmmmph, well, he’s not good husband material anyway, too sullen and pompous.” Mamma reappears with a death grip on Harish’s arm. “But look who I managed to coax back. Komal, this is Harish Patel, son of your father’s favourite cricket buddy. And he’s very excited to tell you about the majestic plumage of the Midnight Plumps!”

My launch party is off to a great start.

The rest of the party went better than I expected.

I mean, children are running everywhere, and I frequently have to break off mid-conversation to hide stacks of Mamma’s real estate leaflets or Sunita’s Komal cards. Harish trails after me and butts into every conversation with pictures of rare birds that all look the same. Mamma and Priya teach Gideon and Dante their favourite Bollywood dances while the cameras roll. Kael Morrigan attempts to skewer a curry with his sword and pokes a hole through the table, which I have to clean up. Preeti can’t figure out how to pull down the blinds in the conservatory, and several guests get dumped on by a huge rain squall before I fix them. During my speech, Mamma steals the microphone and tries to convince everyone of her idea for a day honouring real estate agents, “The true modern heroes of our times!”

In short, it’s a typical evening in the Ahuja house. But everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.

Almost everyone.

I haven’t seen Augustin since he stormed off.

Not that I’m looking for him.

At all.

I assumed he’d be shadowing me, making sure I don’t embarrass him in front of the Conclave delegates or trying to convince every one of my guests that the village absolutely doesn’t need a November festival or an app. It’s a relief not to deal with his nonsense, but I find myself looking over people’s shoulders for him. Surely he didn’t just leave with the delegates still here?

I find him when I head out to the conservatory table to see if any of Dad’s pakoras are left. Augustin is outside in the pouring rain, standing in the corner of the garden underneath the window of my tiny house, holding a plastic doll while Kiaan and Nikhil maul it with their inflatable dinosaurs. The reporter films the adorable scene.