Page 73 of The Fake Dating War

“You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

She scrunches her nose. “Shut-up.”

We both turn so we face the event. I know Jago translates to “wake up” but even with the images I saw online, I wasn’t prepared for the singing. Patel tells me the songs are a Punjabi version of a rap-battle where her mom and dad’s side of the family sing mischievous songs full of disses to each other. Relatives are twirling and stomping and throwing their hands in the air.

It’s exhilarating.

“Do you need anything from me?” I ask, noticing Patel sigh by my side.

She shakes her head.

“Are you sure? You’ve been watching the door a lot. Planning your escape or looking for someone?”

It’s not Tarun Singh. He’s been hanging around the bar. She doesn’t clock him as anyone important, but she has been scanning faces when they come in. Who is she waiting for? A late arrival? The wedding keeps swelling in numbers, the further along it goes. From what I gather, that’s typical. The pre-wedding events are nice, but can be optional. Most people come for the wedding itself, and then the majority will be here for the reception party.

“I’m not looking for anyone,” she says, way too loudly.

Before I can argue, my phone vibrates. The kurta pajama is handy in that it has pockets.

“You should get that,” she tells me.

I bring it out and read the caller ID. “It’s my lawyer. He doesn’t usually call this late.”

“Finally getting charged for your crimes? Took the justice system long enough.”

A sarcastic retort waits on my lips, but I’m too distracted to say it. Joe is not texting me, he’s calling me. It must be important.

Patel put her hand on my arm. “It’s too loud in here. You should go back to the hotel to call your lawyer back.”

“I’ll come back after.”

“No, you’ve done enough work tonight.” She sighs again. “Brilliant move with the kids. That earns me a load of points.”

“It wasn’t premeditated. Kids seem to like me.”

Her face falls, as though she’s devastated by that information. “Well. Good. Great.”

My phone lights up again. Joe has messaged now. He’s written: Call me.

“I have to go,” I tell Patel.

She nods. “It’s better this way. Everyone is here, so you can sneak your stuff back into your room without anyone noticing. I’ll just tell my family you had work—” She offers me a smile. “Or violent diarrhea. Dealer’s choice.”

“Or you could tell them the truth?”

My words come out harsher than I intended to and are hypocritical considering everything I’m not telling her. I hate the way her face pinches. My non-guilt guilt roars back.

Before I can apologize, she speaks first.

“Don’t worry, Coleman. Just two more days to go. Wedding tomorrow. Reception the day after. Then we don’t have to pretend anymore. I know you’re sick of it like I am, but chin up. It’s almost over.”

She walks away.

Her words burn through me.

Sick of it?It’s everything I should be thinking, but I’m not.

42

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