Page 65 of The Fake Dating War

“What? No.Grab your stuff. You’ve got to bring it to my room.”

“Why?”

“No time to explain.” Who knows if Manu is already there, knocking? “Just trust me!”

I assume that is the wrong thing to say, since why would he do that? But he has put on a shirt, gone and collected a toiletry bag from the bathroom, swung a duffel onto his shoulder and then with a brisk tug, takes the luggage out of my hands.

Since I’m empty-handed, I try to take something off his hands, but he ignores my attempts and orders me to be his door-opener.

We’re quick and efficient, but still run into an aunty on our way. I don’t recognize her, vaguely mumble something about laundry, which makes no sense, and don’t pause for any chit-chat.

Only once we’re safely back in my room do I breathe properly.

Coleman walks around. He stares at the empty chip bag on my dresser, the chocolate wrappers, and the empty water bottles I haven’t gotten around to recycling. Plus, the hairbrush plonked on its side, half-hanging from the ledge of the table.

“Don’t waste time,” I say, stopping his judgy survey. “Quickly, make it seem like you’ve been staying here the whole time.”

He puts his luggage in the corner. The duffle is dropped beside it. They remain closed. My empty wrappers are thrown in the trash. When he starts gathering water bottles, I grab his toiletry bag and put it in the bathroom. Next to my toppled over makeup and perfume bottles, it doesn’t look like it belongs, so I unzip the bag and pull out a few things.

Coleman’s head pops in the doorway. “Stop that.”

“Pay attention. This is how you trick women into thinking you’re not a serial killer.” I pull out a bottle of cologne, catching a subtle whiff of it. So this is what he smells like. The bottle is brought to my nose. Without meaning to do it, my eyes flutter close. I forget I’m being watched and smell it again. It’s more than nice. It’s sumptuous.

Glancing in the mirror, I catch his smirk in the mirror. He says something about me needing private time and walks away.

“It’s revolting,” I yell out, too late.

Deciding I should put his toothpaste on the counter, I pull out the tube. Along the way, a few packets of foil nudge my hand. I look down and my face explodes with heat.

Condom companies love false marketing, right? Their sizes aren’t accurate. Double XL could meananything.

“What else am I supposed to do?” he asks, calling out my name.

I don’t have time to splash water on my face. I’m grateful for how my brown skin hides blushing since my cheeks are basically on fire. Leaving the bathroom, I pretend I’m cool as a fucking cucumber.Act casual. Act like those aren’t his. Act like they weren’t meant for his dick, but emergency gloves for his hands. Or for balloon animals. Yes, he’s a balloon animal enthusiast. How weird and fucked up is that…

“Patel?”

I force myself to smile. “Now we wait. It shouldn’t be too long now.”

39

REEMA

“It’s been fifteen minutes, Patel. They forgot about us.”

“Maybe. But you can’t leave in case she still comes.”

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “How much time do we have until the Jago party starts?”

“Three-ish hours. And it will run until at least midnight.

“Well, today’s schedule is brutal.”

“Indian weddings are a marathon. When you think it’s almost over, another ceremony pops up. Then another. And another.”

Since I’m hovering by the door, he stares at me from across the room. “Is this what you’ve got to look forward to?”

He doesn’t know I’ve done this already. That it was nice back then, but if I ever had to get married again, an all-out extravaganza isn’t my idea of fun. In my personal experience, the size of the wedding doesn’t correlate to the success of a marriage. If anything, there’s some sort of opposite pattern at work. Not that I think my sister’s future is doomed. All signs point to how much Gurinder adores her.

---