“I was having lunch with my friend Anushka and her son, Roshan, and they mentioned he was looking for a wife.” Salena Auntie gestured to the tall, handsome man behind her. “I thought you’d be perfect for each other. I called your office and they said you were here, so we thought we’d drop in.”
Daisy bit back a groan. Her aunties had been on a mission to get her married ever since her cousin Layla had gotten engaged, approaching the task with military precision. They showed up unannounced and unexpected at her home, her gym, grocery stores, and malls, always with an innocent bachelor in tow, and always on the pretense of “just being in the neighborhood” even if the “neighborhood” was an hour away.
“I’m so sorry.” Daisy shot what she hoped was an apologetic smile at the dark-haired stranger. “I don’t have time to chat. I’m about to go into a pitch session, and I have to get these product samples to my boss.”
“But you haven’t even met Roshan!”
“Another time!” She bolted away, clutching the boxes of pads as she wove in and out of the crowd, her heart pounding in her chest. When she’d woken up this morning, she would never have guessed she would be pulled away from her cozy workspace and dragged to a tech conference, only to wind up on the run from her ex, with an armload of pads and her matchmaking auntie hot on her heels.
Maybe she hadn’t woken up. Maybe this was just a dream and any moment now she would open her eyes and . . .
“Ooof.” She hit a slab of something rock hard and teetered back on red Mary Janes that were slightly too high for comfort but looked fabulous with her red flowered minidress. Daisy didn’t care that her feet were usually hidden away under her desk all day. Shoes made an outfit. Whether they were kitten heels with kitten faces, funky flats decorated with embroidered bananas, or even her blinged-up biker boots, her shoes were always the finishing touch to her somewhat eclectic sense of style.
Off-balance, she dropped the pads, her hands flailing for purchase, her Marvel Universe tote bag swinging from her shoulder. Tyler was going to kill her if she didn’t die from the cerebral hemorrhage that would be inevitable once her head hit the tile floor. At least Salena Auntie was there. One text and the entire Patel family would know when and how she died, and the funeral would be arranged before the ambulance arrived to take her to the morgue.
Time slowed and she squeezed her eyes shut as she fell, trying to remember every moment of her twenty-seven years on earth—happy family, sad family, small family, big family, heartache, heartbreak, Max . . .
She was so preoccupied with reliving her most poignant memories that it took her a moment to realize she was no longer airborne. Strong, warm hands encircled her waist, holding her safe.
“Are you okay?”
Deep, warming, and as delicious as liquid caramel, the voice sent a tingle of electricity down her spine, and a jolt of recognition through her body as hard as the strong arms around her.
She knew that voice. She had heard it almost every day for ten years. Her gaze lifted, and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
Liam Freaking Bastard Murphy.
Her brother’s onetime best friend. Her undying preteen crush, teen obsession, and still the object of her nightly fantasies. The man who had broken her heart and disappeared from her life never to be seen or heard from again . . .
Her pulse kicked up a notch, as the still-functioning part of her brain cataloged his appearance. Time had worn hard lines and chiseled planes into what had once been a slightly rounded face, tipping the balance from simply handsome into breathtakingly gorgeous. A five-o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, and his lips—God, his lips—were firm and curved into the familiar smile that had once made her weak in the knees.
“Daisy?!” His voice rose slightly in pitch, and her gaze snapped up to eyes as blue as the ocean she had wanted to drown herself in after Liam stood her up on the night of her senior prom and scurried off into oblivion like the lowly night-crawling scumbag he had turned out to be.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. How did she express the maelstrom of emotions coursing through her veins? It had been ten years since she’d stood alone on the front steps of her house—in a bright pink prom dress, the corsage her father had bought her pinned to her shoulder—waiting for Liam to take her to the prom. Ten years since he’d disappeared, never to be seen again. How many times had she imagined this moment?
Should she slap him or kick him between the legs?
• 2 •
LIAM’S arms tightened around Daisy’s waist in a grip he seemed in no hurry to break. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
Of course he couldn’t. The Daisy he knew was young and innocent and had fully embraced her position on the high school geek squad. Her clothes had been quirky and weird, a mix of accessories, colors, patterns, and fandoms that she’d combined into a unique geek-chic style. She’d tied her long, dark hair in a ponytail so it didn’t get in the way when she was helping the freshmen with their computer programs, mixing chemicals for science fair projects, or studying for the latest math competition. Prom night was the first time she’d ever dressed up, and even then she’d had to ask her cousin Layla to help with her hair and makeup. Not that it had done much good.
“Let me go, Liam.” How ironic that she’d spent her teen years dreaming of being in Liam’s arms, and now it was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
“For a moment there, I thought you didn’t recognize me.” He slowly relaxed his grip and she pulled away, feeling instantly bereft.
“I wish that were true.” She looked back over her shoulder for an escape route only to see Orson and Madison walking her way, hand in hand, hair slightly mussed, clothes askew. Behind them, Salena Auntie battered her way through the crowd with her enormous red purse, poor Roshan following in her wake.
Just what she needed. A lifetime’s worth of humiliation descending on her all at once.
Liam studied her intently as if he hadn’t heard the burn. “How long has it been?”
“Ten years, eleven months, thirteen days, thirteen hours, forty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds.” The clock behind him had a bright red second hand for precise calculation.
She realized her mistake when his lips tugged into an infuriating smirk.
“You haven’t changed.”
Hadn’t changed? Was he serious? She’d grown up the night she had to go to the prom with Layla instead of with the most infamous bad boy in their high school. It was supposed to be the defining night of her high school life—the moment when she showed everyone she wasn’t the geek they thought she was. Someone wanted her—someone handsome and charming who had insisted on being her escort when he found out she didn’t have a date.