Page 66 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“Uh-oh.”

“And I can smell the goodies.” She eyed the buffet table being set up on the lawn. The smell of all kinds of fried goodness gave me hunger pangs too.

“Okay, hold on for a minute,” I said. “Mihir, can you come here, please?”

“Yes?” he said, annoyed that I had so brazenly summoned him.

“Can you get Riya something to eat and feed her?”

“What?” they both cried in unison.

“Well, someone needs to feed her. The women all have henna on their hands,” I said with a serious face.

They looked at each other and cringed.

“I’ll get her food, then ask my mom to feed her,” Mihir said, giving her a stern look.

“Oh, too late!” I grinned as another artist began working on his mother’s hands.

“What about Sameer? He’s the brother. She’s his headache.” He growled at Riya, and she snarled back defiantly.

“He’s the groom, and he’s busy. Can’t you see? You are the stand-in brother. Do your duty.”

Mihir grumbled and gave me one last glare before walking toward the buffet table.

Riya remained standing near me. “That dude is intimidating,” she said.

“Hey,” I whispered. “It’s time to get even. Boss him around. It’s payback time for all the growling.”

That perked her up. Her wide eyes brightened, and she skipped to Mihir. I saw her give him directions around the buffet table. I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure he was cursing in his head.

They came back with food on a plate and pulled chairs near me. Mihir scowled at me, and I smiled back sweetly as he fed her.

“Dude, at least see where the spoon is headed,” Riya said, following my instructions to a T. “And I want paneer with the rice, not dal. You’re not doing a good job.”

“I know this is your doing,” he said to me. “What did you say to her?”

I ignored him and focused on my hands. I’d already caught a glimpse of tenderness in his eyes. He was enjoying playing a big brother to Riya.

When all the women had henna on their hands, the soft music playing in the background turned louder and brassier. It was Bollywood dance time!

Sameer’s cousins and friends began urging him to dance. A microphone suddenly appeared, and Sameer’s cousin held it for Tara, whose voice came loud and clear over the music.

“Family and friends,” she began, “who wants to see Sameer dance?”

People cheered and whistled. The music got louder. Sameer’s fair face turned red. He was an abysmal dancer.

“I can’t do this alone,” he said, pulling the mic from his cousin. “I need a partner.”

“Sorry,” Tara said. “I have henna on my feet.” She gave a sweet, teasing smile.

“The next best thing is the bride’s friend,” Mihir’s loud voice declared above the noise of the music. He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill wolf-whistle, then winked at me.

My body froze as people cheered around me. Someone pulled me and placed me next to Sameer, the loud music blaring in my ears.

I looked at Tara with terrified eyes. I wasn’t her! She was the spirited, take-everything-in-your-stride gal. I was more of an I-might-be-cool-but-I-have-a-very-narrow-comfort-zone person. She nodded and smiled in encouragement.

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