Page 65 of The Matchmaker

“Skip it.”

“No way.” I shake my head. “There are at least four potential clients I promised to meet with there.”

“Your job can’t take precedence overyou.”

“My job isn’t like yours. This agency, it’s a part of me. It doesn’t take precedence over my life. Itismy life.” I give him my most winning smile. “But if you came with me to the wedding, it’d definitely feel less like work. For old times’ sake?”

His smile fades. Right. Zayna. What was I thinking? Ourdinner tonight had been so relaxing and warm, I got a bit too comfortable.

“Forget I said anything,” I say quickly. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

The television drones low in the background. After a few moments, he turns to me. “Actually, count me in.”

“It’s probably best you don’t,” I say. “I’m pretty sure Zayna hates me, and this won’t endear me to her.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” he says. “And…I don’t love the idea of you going there alone.”

“Farhan’s gone,” I tell him. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

“It’s babysitting to eat samosas and chicken tikka?”

“This one’s a Greek and German wedding. No samosas, I’m afraid. Theywillhave a chocolate fountain made with Porcelana cocoa, though.”

“Then I have to go, don’t I?”

“Zayna really won’t mind?”

“She’ll understand.”

But will she? Because sitting as close as we are, his breath warm against my skin…if Zayna knew what I was thinking right now…

“You know what?” I tell him. “I’ll take the rest of the week off until the wedding. And if you change your mind about going with me, or Zayna would rather you not, I can do it on my own.”

He looks at me intently. “I’ll be there, Nur.”

Nineteen

I can honestly say now that one cannot underestimate the life-changing magic of eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. It turned out Azar was right. A few days off lounging at home with Gertie, and I feel better already. I’m still triple bolting my doors, but I’m only checking them a few times each night instead of compulsively every hour.

I felt so much better that, after weeks, I finally laced up my sneakers and went for a jog this morning. No AirPods yet—baby steps on the road to less paranoia—but running down my tree-lined sidewalks, past the pizzeria and the toddler playground, swerving around mothers with strollers and ambling window shoppers, it was the first time in a long time I felt normal.

I’ve just finished showering and blow-drying my hair when my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. An alarm reminding me to get ready for the wedding. Not that I needed it. The downtime was good—necessary—but there’s only so much downtime a type A person can put up with before they start considering how to dust the back of the refrigerator.

I slip on my dress. A floor-length chiffon that cinches at the waist. I slip off my usual silver bracelets, opting for a tennis bracelet and matching diamond earrings. Pulling up theaddress, I see it’s a barn wedding just over an hour outside of Atlanta. I forward the information on to Azar. He’ll join me after he gets off work. I press send as a phone call comes through. It’s Khala. Again. I hit decline. Again.

Please, beta,she texts.I just want to hear your voice.

I’m fine,I reply.I love you. I need time.

The rational part of me knows it’s unfair to be distant. Having to talk to me about the past, about my mother’s murder, must have dredged up painful memories for her. I’m sure she’s blamed herself all these years for what happened. I don’t. She loved my mother—I know this without any doubt in my mind. She didn’t mean to put her in harm’s way. No one knows they’re about to make a deadly decision—only in hindsight does everything become clear and obvious. Khala thought she was helping my mother find the perfect match. Providing her younger sister with financial security from a well-established family with a good reputation. This is how arranged marriages were done back then. People didn’t dig deeper.

Our agency rules take on new meaning for me, though. Khala’s strict edict about not advertising. Not matching those we are close to. How the smallest white lie about one’s past is a deal-breaker. Why she won’t tolerate anyone who asks about income brackets. She’d wanted to make sure what happened to my mother never happened again. The rules were her penance.

I look at the phone and hesitate. Maybe I should call her. It’s the right thing to do.After the wedding,I tell myself.I’ll call her, and we’ll have the conversation we need to have.

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I swing by the office before I head to the wedding. Darcy’s hunched over at her desk when I open the door. She startles at the sound of the chime overhead.

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