Page 24 of The Matchmaker

Borzu types his name into his computer. “Wait. We’re talking abouttheLogan Wilson? Not that this rules anything out, but heisa journalist. One of the best tech reporters out there. I can’t believe you actuallymethim.” Borzu’s no longer looking sleepy. He’s downright perky. “Look, he’s got eighteen bylines on here alone. A Wikipedia page. The Brad D’Angelo piece went viral.”

“Who’s got time to read a ten-thousand-word profile?” Genevieve retorts.

“When he discloses that D’Angelo sleeps on an eighty-thousand-dollar bed and has a panic room outfitted with a movie theater, I’ve got time. No way he’s behind this. Logan doesn’t make up stories, he breaks stories!”

“I’ll track his whereabouts on the hotel security footage when we get it.” Genevieve shoots Borzu a withering glare. “Doesn’t hurt to rule things out.”

—

The sky has shifted overhead by the time I reach my home and pull into the driveway. Flecks of pink and purple fill the horizon. I rest my head on the steering wheel. The wired feeling from earlier has worn off. Now my eyes feel scratchy like sandpaper. I want nothing more than to unbuckle my seatbelt, crawl into bed, and sleep the day away. But my work is not yet done.

Entering the house, I turn off the beeping security alarm and sidestep my running shoes lying askew next to the front door. Gertie hops down from her cat tree and hurries toward me. Pressing against me, she purrs.

“Sorry I’m late.” I scoop her up and snuggle her. “It’s been aday,and it’s not officially over yet.”

With a free hand, I pull out my phone and sink into thecouch. It’s five o’clock in the morning, but I doubt Avani is sleeping given the night she had. I need to tell her what happened. She needs to know as soon as possible that Dev was exactly as advertised: a perfect match. My agency did not screw this up. She picks up on the first ring.

“It wasn’t real,” I tell her. I explain how the mug shot was fabricated. The court record cut and pasted from someone else’s. “It was a prank. A cruel and horrible prank.”

There is silence on the other end.

“Avani? Are you still there?”

“So he isn’t a criminal.” Her voice breaks. “So what? I already accused him of being one. I accused him of lying to me. It’s not like he’s ever going to forgive me. I can’t even blame him, can I?”

My chest tightens. I want to fix this. But howdoesDev get over the fact that his fiancée accused him of felony assault? That she hadn’t taken him at his word, her trust in him dissolving in an instant, like salt in the sea?

After some halfhearted reassurances, I hang up with Avani and bite my lip. Running a hand through Gertie’s fur, I look down at her. “What would Khala have done in this situation?” I ask her. “She’d have sorted it out, wouldn’t she?” Gertie leans up and licks my chin with her rough tongue in response.

I refill Gertie’s food bowl. Replenish her water tray. Glancing at my sneakers, I’m tempted to go for a quick run. It’s always the surest way to clear my head. But this isn’t something a simple jog will sort out. My team thinks I should let it go, that I shouldn’t take it personally. Maybe they’re right. Contractually, I’m not on the hook. But there’s no getting around the reality that there were people at the mehndi eager to meet the “world-renowned matchmaker” and who instead watched a disaster unfold. How exactly am I supposed to let it go?

Seven

I nearly canceled my weekly Friday dinner with Khala. Even if Nina and I somehow get along beautifully tonight, I’m a coiled-up ball of stress. But on hearing Khala’s voice when I called to postpone, all my excuses evaporated. I thought of my birthday. Those six or seven seconds when she looked at me but didn’t see me. The memory still lands like a gut punch. I need to be with her as much as possible while she’s still the woman I know. While she still knows me.

But now that I’m here, sitting in my car in her driveway, taking in the cream shutters, the bright-blue front door, the scent of basil filling my car, I debate dropping off the Thai food takeout and heading home to Gertie.

It’s been exactly one week since Avani and Dev’s wedding fell apart. A week of using every method we know to figure out how the fake documents reached the bride and, just as important, why. If I can find out who did this and for what reason, maybe there could be a way to help Avani and Dev find their way back to each other. So far, nothing’s turned up. Even Logan proved to be a dead end. Footage showed him entering the hotel lobby. Interviewing Avani. Swinging by the bar for a drink. It even captured our conversation in silent-movie fashion, after whichthe grainy footage confirmed that he really did grab a rideshare and leave the premises. I’d have loved an easy answer—an ambitious reporter out to make the story he wanted to see in the world. Too bad nothing is ever quite so simple.

There’s an incoming text.

Genevieve:Finally heard back from my contact at the Four Seasons. No security cameras in the back walkways.

Nura:What about the interior hallways? I saw cameras there.

Genevieve:They’re broken.

I slump back against the seat. Through the windshield I see a ceiling of gray clouds sliding overhead.Snap out of it,I chide myself. No amount of beating my head against a wall will make this situation untangle itself. There’s nothing I can do about this right now.

Balancing the two bags of food, I make my way up the pathway to Khala’s house. I note with a small feeling of satisfaction that the lawn service I hired has spruced the place back up. The scent of freshly mowed grass still hangs in the air. The dried-up shrubs against the windows were pulled, new ones planted in their stead.

Nina’s in the family room scrolling on her phone when I enter.

“Auntie!” Lilah hops up and gives me a hug.

“I come bearing Thai food,” I tell them.

“Mom’s sleeping.” Nina doesn’t look up.

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