She swallowed, and allowed one of her walls to drop, if only for the space of one single question rooted in emotion instead of logic. “What if we get to the storage locker, and it’s not there?”
He blinked, and his eyes turned to stone. He was angry. Furious. Angrier than she’d ever seen him.
But his words were measured when he spoke, each one deliberate and chilling. “We’re finding it. There’s no other choice.”
Mira watched him walk away. She fiddled with a french fry, then tossed it back on the plate. All she wanted was to suck down that strawberry shake and wallow in a pool of lactose and sugar, but that would be another unfortunate decision in a life where she’d made ever so many of them.
He was right. They’d find it. They had to. It was find that jewelry, or . . .
She tightened her lips. No. The or didn’t bear thinking about.
Chapter Six
Lights flashed behind Naveen, and he checked the rearview mirror compulsively. The car behind them turned a few seconds later, leaving the road dark and empty. He returned his gaze to the road and flexed his fingers around the peeling steering wheel. The odometer on this rusted old Camry didn’t really go past sixty, so he had to guess how fast he was going. No wonder Gladys had been delighted to trade for it, even if it was for something she had to junk immediately. Thankfully, the car ran, and even more thankfully, had had a full tank.
“You’re making me nervous, taking your eyes off the road so much.”
He glanced at Mira. She hadn’t spoken much during their drive, except to give terse directions. “I’m trying to make sure we weren’t followed.”
She didn’t respond, merely looked out the window. The pussy bow at her throat had gotten unraveled, and it hung limply, a far cry from the jaunty knot it had been when he’d first seen her. There was a streak of dirt on her round calf and on her cheek. Her toes were cute and painted a pink to match her shirt.
Luckily, the pink on her cheek from that slap was fading. He tested his jaw. He wished he could say the same. Tomorrow he was going to have a hell of a mark on his face.
If they made it to tomorrow.
Don’t think like that. One step at a time. Look forward, not to the past.
His nose twitched. How was he not supposed to think of his past when a woman he’d once, albeit briefly, thought he’d marry was sitting in the seat next to him?
Oh, he hadn’t bought the ring or anything, but they’d both known it was coming. He’d been busy following his family friend’s divine plan. Chastely date long-distance, meet the family, get married.
They hadn’t been chaste about the dating part, but Hema Auntie didn’t need to know that. When Mira had visited him in the Bay for their third date, they’d gone to a nice restaurant on the wharf, then to a bar in Oakland that served the best palomas. Her eyes had been wide and dark in that dive bar. She’d looked out of place with her modest tea-length floral dress, and her straight bob hair, every strand in place.
There had been nothing modest about her in the ride share back to his home. He’d placed his hand on her knee briefly, and she’d stopped him from removing it. Then she’d slid it higher, under the hem of her dress.
They hadn’t spoken a word, both of them staring out their respective windows. The back of that car had been hot, though the air conditioning had been full blast. He’d waited for her to stop him as his hand slid up a little farther, and more, until his pinky had flirted with the edge of her panties.
She’d only given a tiny sigh and let her round thighs fall apart.
He’d lived in a ritzy high-rise condo then, all the way at the top, and the elevator had been slow. Slow enough that he’d been able to loosen the tiny fabric-covered buttons that had run from throat to waist and bury his face between her luscious breasts. Thank God no one had been in his hallway, because she’d only clutched the two sides of her top together as they ran to his unit.
Naveen shifted in the uncomfortable bucket seat, trying to shake the memory of what they’d done inside his house.
Time for a distraction. This probably wasn’t a great time to ask this, but something had been bugging him since she revealed the truth about her family in that diner. “One question.”
“Yes?”
“How on earth did you get Hema Auntie to take you on as a client? I’ve known that woman since I was born, and she regularly rejects Bollywood royalty. And real royalty. I can’t believe she didn’t vet your family thoroughly.”
She was silent for so long, he wondered if she was going to answer. “My best friend from college, Christine?”
He vaguely recalled the South Indian woman. They’d gone out a few times in L.A. with her. He’d really liked Christine. “I remember.”
“Two of her sisters used her services, and her parents are jewelry designers. They’re pretty in demand, actually. They vouched for me, so she believed whatever I told her. I’m good enough on paper that she didn’t look too closely.”
“And she couldn’t piss off a wedding vendor.” His lips flattened. Hema was nothing if not a businesswoman first. “That makes sense.”
“Don’t worry, though. As of today, I’m definitely not her client anymore.” She picked a piece of lint off her shirt. “So you won’t have to tell her everything about me. It would only embarrass Christine, and she already knows.”
He shot her a narrow glance. “What happened today, other than this terrible debacle?”
She straightened her dirty skirt. “The last match she found for me called things off at lunch.”
“The last . . . wait, are you still using her services?”
“Yes. As of earlier today, at least. You aren’t?”
“No. I never wanted to use her in the first place.” Matchmaking amongst his parents’ circles had always seemed far too insular and full of –isms, the same families sending the same people. He’d never cared what a woman’s pedigree was.
But he’d been busy and a little hungry for companionship, so he’d bowed to familial pressure and agreed to let Hema match him. He’d been ecstatic, at first. Mira had been like a breath of fresh air. She’d been different and he’d felt calm in her presence, in a way he hadn’t otherwise felt. He supposed he had no idea exactly how different she was.
“You were my first match. About a year after we broke up, I agreed to let her try again, and that also didn’t work out.” Understatement. “So I quit. How many matches has she found for you?”
“About a dozen.”
He drew in a sharp breath before he could stop himself. “A dozen? Over the course of three years? Jesus. You must be exhausted.”
“Some of them were just first dates.” She paused. “But yes. I am.”
Her two last words dripped with weariness, and he believed it. A dozen first dates off an app for casual dating, that was one thing. A dozen matches, where both parties were evaluating for matrimony?
No, thank you. Being with Mira had been oddly easy for him, but he couldn’t say the same about Payal.
He had about a million questions about those dozen other men, starting with why they hadn’t worked for her either, but he throttled them back. It wasn’t his place.