Page 92 of Cross the Line
She finally straightens up. Taking my hand, she leads me to her bed, and I hold up the sheets as she climbs in. I tuck her in as promised, arranging Ellie beside her before I sit on the edge.
‘Sweet dreams, jaanu,’ I murmur, stroking a thumb over her cheek. She looks so peaceful that I don’t dare ruin it by climbing in beside her, no matter how much I want to. ‘I’ll see you from afar tomorrow.’
CHAPTER 28
Dev
The big weekend has finally arrived, and I swear I’ve been scrubbing haldi stains off my face for half the day.
‘This shit is a nightmare,’ I hiss, still pissed that I, the brother of the bride, had to be covered in that stupid yellow turmeric paste as part of the pithi ceremony. ‘There’s no way Alisha would stand having this spread all over her. That girl threw fits as a kid when I got washable marker on her while we were drawing.’
Chava spares me a disinterested glance from where he’s lazing on my bed, scrolling through his phone while Mark and Oakley do the same thing beside him. They have their own bedrooms in this sprawling Malibu beach house my family rented, but, of course, they’ve posted up in here instead. I hate to say it, but I think we’re attached like conjoined quadruplets at this point.
Downstairs, the thudding drumbeats grow louder, and excited shouts and laughter accompany the music. It’s the first night of the wedding, and the men from both sides are here to celebrate while the women get their mehndi done at their own party next door. I don’t know how Alisha foundthreehigh-end rental properties on the same street, but my bank statement says she pulled it off. They’re so nice that I can’t even be mad about it.
The house across the street, with its lush green yard, will be home to the garba tomorrow night and the wedding ceremony on Sunday, but this place and the one next door will be used for the rest of the events and ceremonies. Plus, we put our close family and friends up here. It’s the perfect way to keep the celebration going twenty-four seven.
‘I saw her,’ Chava says offhandedly, his attention still fixed on his phone. ‘She looks great. Glowing. And you look . . .’
‘Jaundiced,’ Mark finishes for him.
I throw the yellow-tinted washcloth into the sink. ‘Fuckoff.’
‘You look fine,’ Oakley calls as I stalk out of the en-suite bathroom. ‘Not like you have anyone to impress. It’s just the men tonight.’
I’m careful not to react to that, because I don’t plan to just hang out here all night. No, I’ll be heading next door the second I can slip away without being noticed.
This already feels like a taste of how life will go when Willow and I are forced to make our relationship long-distance. Endless texts, phone calls sneaked in spare moments alone, sending silly pictures of the most mundane things. This morning, I stared at a photo of a stack of pancakes for several minutes, all while imagining I was sitting at the table next to Willow. It was the highest degree of pathetic.
I’m in love with her. I’ve known as much for a while, and I’ve already confessed it, but I didn’t expect love to hurt like this. To ache. To burrow deep into my bones and physicallypullme toward her. She’s part of me, wrapped around every nerve and muscle and bone, and to be separated from her is like missing a piece of myself.
And she’s just next door. How wretched will it feel when she’s half a world away?
Fuck. Right now, I need to be the joyful brother of the bride, not the moping lovesick puppy who’s just been kicked by reality. But,man, this is miserable.
‘Are you really that mad about a little turmeric?’ Oakley asks, surveying me closely. ‘I’ve never seen you scowl this much. Didn’t even know you could.’
Doing my best to school my expression, I turn toward the mirror and adjust the collar of my navy button-down. I’ll be back in Indian clothes tomorrow, coordinating with Willow again, though hopefully no one other than my scheming mother will notice.
‘Just a little on edge,’ I admit when I can’t conjure a relaxed expression. ‘I still haven’t heard from Howard. My future’s kind of up in the air, and it’s silly season, so . . .’ I shrug without finishing the thought.
Heaving a sigh, Oakley gets up from the bed and stands beside me, clapping my shoulder and making eye contact with me in the mirror. ‘You could just retire,’ he says, smirking. ‘Life’s pretty good on this side.’
That gets me to snicker. I shake my head. ‘I’ll pass, thanks. I like my job.’
‘Shame.’ He uses the hand that was on my shoulder to slap me upside the head. ‘Stop moping. Let’s go get shit-faced. You don’t have to drive this weekend.’
He’s right about that, and I plan to take advantage of it – just not in the way he’s suggesting. ‘All right, fine,’ I concede, managing a smile this time. ‘Wanna bet on how long it’ll take for one of the uncles down there to ask me for paddock passes?’
Oakley snorts and guides me to the door. ‘I’m giving it no more than ten seconds.’
——
If racing doesn’t work out, I might have a future career as a spy.
After plying all the boys with drinks and leaving them singing completely unintelligible Bollywood karaoke, I’ve made my escape. It’s a little after ten p.m. – still incredibly early when there are wedding festivities in full swing – but I can’t take another second of waiting.
I texted Willow twenty minutes ago and told her to meet me here – the laundry room in the house where the ladies are partying tonight. It’s the only place I could think of where we wouldn’t be interrupted, because who’s doinglaundryat a party? And with wet mehndi on their hands? Never happening. Besides, all those sparkly outfits are dry-clean only.
