The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(52)

After the glasses were filled, she decided to focus on Vivek. Parvati had already sent her four texts asking about her progress, and the woman in white had finally left him alone to powder her nose with a friend.

“We’re so delighted you could be here,” Zara said. “I’ve seen all your Bollywood films. What’s your next project?”

“I just got a role in a new zombie film.” He puffed out his chest. “It’s called Night of the Living Hell Reincarnated Mutant Corpse Son of the Father of the Grandfather Evil Terror Grain-Fed Free-Range Bone-Sucking Undead Part 4: In IMAX 3-D.”

“Zombies?” Her eyes widened and she squeezed his arm. “I love zombies. I was just at a wrap party for Day of the Night of the Evening of the Revenge of the Bride of the Son of the Terror of the Return of the Attack of the Alien, Mutant, Evil, Hellbound, Flesh-Eating, Rotting Corpse Living Dead Part 6: In Shocking 4-D last week. I met Bob Smith.” She looked over at Jay to share in her excitement only to find him scowling at her. What the hell was going on? He was all soft smiles and gentle whispers when he talked to the simpering Binita.

“Bob was supposed to play the commander,” Vivek said. “But he’s been caught up in some kind of scandal and I heard they’re considering replacing him. I hope not because it would be an honor to work with such an artistic genius. He’s a method actor. Did you know he lives as a zombie for three full months before filming, to get into the role?”

She tried to pay attention as he talked about filming, but now Binita was touching Jay’s palm. What was that all about? Two-timing bastard. What about Indra? Why couldn’t he just pick one woman? And why did she have the overwhelming desire to claw out Binita’s eyes?

Gritting her teeth, she turned her attention back to Vivek, who was back on the topic of zombies. The college dude interrupted with questions about zombie sexy times and whether all the important body parts were operational in the undead. Clive snickered like a teenager. Zara wanted to tell him he wasn’t getting lucky tonight but she couldn’t get a word in because he wouldn’t stop talking about how being between jobs had encouraged him to focus on himself and now he only ate raw.

The woman in the white dress returned and went balls to the wall to get Vivek’s attention back on her. She twirled a lock of her silky, dark hair around her finger. Batted her long eyelashes. Laughed at everything Vivek said, including his sad story about the death of his childhood pet and his plastic surgery failures. Not wanting to disappoint Parvati, Zara made a last-ditch, desperate attempt to talk up her friend.

“My friend Parvati has a collection of kites.” Zara edged her chair closer to Vivek. “It’s amazing. When she’s not at the hospital, where she works as an emergency room physician, or doing volunteer work for inner-city kids, or modeling for desi magazines, or watching another zombie movie marathon, she’s out on the beach . . . flying them . . . in the sky.”

“You’re lucky to have found someone,” Vivek said. “I’m still single.” He gave the woman in the white dress a smoldering look. “And available.”

What had happened to her matchmaking chops? Parvati was going to kill her. “We’re not together,” Zara blurted out. “We live together but we’re not together together. She likes men. Well, she also likes women. But not me. She does like me, of course. We’re friends. But I like men. Just men.”

“I’m a man,” Clive said. “All man.”

She mustered a cold smile. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

Turning back to Vivek, she gestured to the dance floor, where Rucha and Rishi were having their first dance. “Parvati will be dancing next. If she wasn’t a doctor, she would have been a pole dancer.”

“I can pole dance.” Clive put his arm around her chair. “I learned when I was tree planting in the Canadian wilderness.”

Zara put up a hand, warding him off. “Please don’t tell me . . .”

“I was surrounded by beavers. Brown, black, brown and black . . .”

“Single ladies!” The MC’s voice rang through the hall. “Time for the bride to throw the bouquet and then you can hit the dance floor.”

Rucha stepped into position, ready to toss her bouquet to the baying, slavering mob of excited women crowding the dance floor. Zara hunched in her seat, trying to hide. Aside from the singles table, the bouquet toss and single ladies’ dance were the most humiliating wedding rituals for single people.

“She’s single!” Clive grabbed Zara’s hand and held it high, ensuring he wasn’t getting lucky tonight.

One of the bridesmaids screamed in delight and dragged Zara to the dance floor, placing her squarely in front of the melee. Zara glared at Parvati, who mouthed an apology before slinking into the crowd.

The giggles. The countdown. The good-natured shoving that would momentarily turn into a no-holds-barred brawl. Dozens of hands outstretched, bangles clinking, rings glittering, long nails sharpened to claws.

And it was off. The bouquet soared over her head. All hell broke loose. Lehenga were hiked up thighs, sharpened stilettos pounded across the tiled floor. There was a bump. A set. A scrum. A scream. Zara tried to push her way through the frenzy. She made it to the edge of the dance floor only to see the bouquet heading her way.

Heart pounding, she jumped and spiked the flowers away. Too late she realized her high school volleyball skills were a little bit rusty. Instead of heading into the seething mass of desperate singles, the bouquet flew straight at the back of Rucha’s head.