Page 72 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“Interaction?” Tara narrowed her eyes at me. “Is that her word or yours?”

I stifled my chuckle with a cough.

“That one was for you,” I said in a near-whisper.

As Tara looked up from her phone, I asked, “What’s taking so long?”

She took the hint and dropped the subject. “I’m looking for the worst item number I can find.” That was Bolly-speak for a song that had no relevance to the story. As if any of them did, I scoffed. To myself, of course. I wasn’t bold enough to say it to her.

“Ah, here we go,” she said and turned on a loud, raucous, raunchy song. “Time to shake that booty, Rehani.”

It was the worst kind of double entendre, set to loud hip-shaking music, and yet it sounded strangely erotic. I willed myself off the couch and flung my arms and legs around to match the rhythm.

“Yes!” She rolled on the couch laughing. “Dance to the music you loathe, rich boy.” I “danced,” watching her revel in schadenfreude, before pulling her off the couch. “I can’t be doing this alone. You’re dancing with me.”

She swayed her hips, moving gracefully to the music that I had trouble keeping up with. When she turned her back to me, I brought my hands to her hips and pulled her flush against my body, taking in her smell and absorbing her touch that, until yesterday, was only a memory. She danced without a care, cheering me on in my humiliation. For the first time in years, I abandoned all inhibitions and cavorted like she wanted me to. By the time the song ended, I was out of breath, and tiny beads of sweat glimmered on her forehead. We flopped down onto the couch together.

“How did I forget you’re such a terrible dancer?” She panted, reeling in laughter.

I covered my face with my palm and said, “That was humiliating! You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

She brought her chin to rest on my chest and removed my hand. “Serves you right, Casanova,” she said. As her eyes met mine, her breath shallowed, her pupils widened, and her smile disappeared. She lifted herself off with haste and moved away on the couch.

“Why did you come over that night after the opening, Tara?”

This time, she met my curious gaze with grit. “I was so overwhelmed by what happened that evening that I thought if you could handle me at my worst, we’d be able to face anything together. I gave myself the wrong idea that you wanted me.”

I bolted upright and rubbed my hands over my face. “You know what I want, Tara. You’ve always known.”

“We’ve been at these crossroads twice before, Sameer. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to Aarti and Sujit.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“It’s not that simple. Are you prepared to give up Aarti?”

“I’m breaking up with her after her parents’ anniversary party next weekend.”

She frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“Why am I breaking up, or why after the party?”

She blinked. “Both.”

I let out the breath I was holding. “I realized life is too short to spend with someone I don’t love, but I still wouldn’t want to be cruel. I don’t want her to feel dumped and unwanted at an event she’s spent an awful lot of time planning.”

“You have changed,” she said with a weary slump. “But you don’t know the whole story.”

“What story?”

She clutched her hands together and heaved a breath. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about that morning at your parents’ home. Sameer, when you left, I was pregnant. I learned a week later. I tried to get in touch with you desperately because I wanted you to know.” She took a shaky breath and kept her eyes on her hands. “I didn’t carry the pregnancy. It wasn’t the right time for me. Amar was my sole support during that time. I couldn’t do it alone.”

My heart pounded in my head, and I felt heat creeping up my neck. My forehead wrinkled into a frown, and I felt sweaty and unwell. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts to respond.

“And you thought this would somehow change my mind about breaking up with Aarti?”

“It might change your mind about us. I don’t regret the decision, only the circumstances.”

I blinked in disbelief. “Fifty-seven,” I whispered.

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