“Zombies?” Her eyes widened and she squeezed his arm. “I love zombies. I was just at a wrap party for Day of the Night of the Evening of the Revenge of the Bride of the Son of the Terror of the Return of the Attack of the Alien, Mutant, Evil, Hellbound, Flesh-Eating, Rotting Corpse Living Dead Part 6: In Shocking 4-D last week. I met Bob Smith.” She looked over at Jay to share in her excitement only to find him scowling at her. What the hell was going on? He was all soft smiles and gentle whispers when he talked to the simpering Binita.
“Bob was supposed to play the commander,” Vivek said. “But he’s been caught up in some kind of scandal and I heard they’re considering replacing him. I hope not because it would be an honor to work with such an artistic genius. He’s a method actor. Did you know he lives as a zombie for three full months before filming, to get into the role?”
She tried to pay attention as he talked about filming, but now Binita was touching Jay’s palm. What was that all about? Two-timing bastard. What about Indra? Why couldn’t he just pick one woman? And why did she have the overwhelming desire to claw out Binita’s eyes?
Gritting her teeth, she turned her attention back to Vivek, who was back on the topic of zombies. The college dude interrupted with questions about zombie sexy times and whether all the important body parts were operational in the undead. Clive snickered like a teenager. Zara wanted to tell him he wasn’t getting lucky tonight but she couldn’t get a word in because he wouldn’t stop talking about how being between jobs had encouraged him to focus on himself and now he only ate raw.
The woman in the white dress returned and went balls to the wall to get Vivek’s attention back on her. She twirled a lock of her silky, dark hair around her finger. Batted her long eyelashes. Laughed at everything Vivek said, including his sad story about the death of his childhood pet and his plastic surgery failures. Not wanting to disappoint Parvati, Zara made a last-ditch, desperate attempt to talk up her friend.
“My friend Parvati has a collection of kites.” Zara edged her chair closer to Vivek. “It’s amazing. When she’s not at the hospital, where she works as an emergency room physician, or doing volunteer work for inner-city kids, or modeling for desi magazines, or watching another zombie movie marathon, she’s out on the beach . . . flying them . . . in the sky.”
“You’re lucky to have found someone,” Vivek said. “I’m still single.” He gave the woman in the white dress a smoldering look. “And available.”
What had happened to her matchmaking chops? Parvati was going to kill her. “We’re not together,” Zara blurted out. “We live together but we’re not together together. She likes men. Well, she also likes women. But not me. She does like me, of course. We’re friends. But I like men. Just men.”
“I’m a man,” Clive said. “All man.”
She mustered a cold smile. “Thank you for clearing that up.”
Turning back to Vivek, she gestured to the dance floor, where Rucha and Rishi were having their first dance. “Parvati will be dancing next. If she wasn’t a doctor, she would have been a pole dancer.”
“I can pole dance.” Clive put his arm around her chair. “I learned when I was tree planting in the Canadian wilderness.”
Zara put up a hand, warding him off. “Please don’t tell me . . .”
“I was surrounded by beavers. Brown, black, brown and black . . .”
“Single ladies!” The MC’s voice rang through the hall. “Time for the bride to throw the bouquet and then you can hit the dance floor.”
Rucha stepped into position, ready to toss her bouquet to the baying, slavering mob of excited women crowding the dance floor. Zara hunched in her seat, trying to hide. Aside from the singles table, the bouquet toss and single ladies’ dance were the most humiliating wedding rituals for single people.
“She’s single!” Clive grabbed Zara’s hand and held it high, ensuring he wasn’t getting lucky tonight.
One of the bridesmaids screamed in delight and dragged Zara to the dance floor, placing her squarely in front of the melee. Zara glared at Parvati, who mouthed an apology before slinking into the crowd.
The giggles. The countdown. The good-natured shoving that would momentarily turn into a no-holds-barred brawl. Dozens of hands outstretched, bangles clinking, rings glittering, long nails sharpened to claws.
And it was off. The bouquet soared over her head. All hell broke loose. Lehenga were hiked up thighs, sharpened stilettos pounded across the tiled floor. There was a bump. A set. A scrum. A scream. Zara tried to push her way through the frenzy. She made it to the edge of the dance floor only to see the bouquet heading her way.
Heart pounding, she jumped and spiked the flowers away. Too late she realized her high school volleyball skills were a little bit rusty. Instead of heading into the seething mass of desperate singles, the bouquet flew straight at the back of Rucha’s head.
A blur of black. An elegant hand. Jay caught the bouquet midflight and tossed it into the crowd.
“Quickly.” He grabbed Zara’s hand and pulled her off the dance floor. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Zara was more than happy to follow Jay off the dance floor. He led her through the expansive hallways and out onto a secluded balcony overlooking a manicured garden.
“I’ll have to remember to give you a call the next time my friends set up a volleyball game on the beach,” he said, barely winded.
Zara bent over, wheezing out a breath. “I didn’t mean to spike it at her head.” She stood and gripped the railing, cursing herself yet again for her impulsiveness. Why couldn’t she be more like her mother? Always cool. Always calm. Always poised no matter what the occasion. “I guess you’re the next one who’s going to get married since you actually caught it.”
He gave her an affronted stare. “You caught it first.”
“Technically, it wasn’t a catch because I didn’t hold it. I simply redirected its path.” She looked out over the gardens, where Vivek stood near a fountain, his expectant gaze on the patio where people had spilled out to dance.
“Is he waiting for you?” Jay’s voice was tight, strained.
“What?” She frowned. “Me and Vivek?”
“You spent most of the dinner talking to him.” His hand fisted on the balcony. “He’d probably think a zombie party was the most fun he’d ever had.”
Zara felt a flutter of excitement in her belly. Was he jealous? Not that jealousy was a good thing, but glaring was caring. “Can you imagine a bigger disaster? He’s like me—reckless, impulsive, accident-prone—he just hides it better. He told me he had to hire an assistant to follow him around and move things out of his way because when he’s in character and focused on his lines, he forgets where he is. He fell into the ocean on his last set.”