The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(91)

Zara cringed inside. Unlike most of her family who delighted in having long-winded discussions about body ailments, Zara liked to keep her personal troubles to herself. “That’s . . . um . . . good to know.”

“It’s our best seller,” Bajaj said. “We don’t dilute it. One glass is the equivalent of eating thirty pitted prunes. You see immediate results.”

Was it possible to be a worse salesman? Zara didn’t think so. “Not something I’ve ever really wanted to try, but I’ll make a note of that for middle age.”

“Take this.” He handed her his card, white with a picture of two wrinkled prunes in the background. “If you’re ever in New York and need juice, just give me a call.”

“Thank you.” She tucked the card into her purse. “That’s very kind. I do get thirsty from all that pollution.”

“I’ve got some free juice samples in my car . . .” He smoothed his mustache and gave her an exaggerated wink. “Maybe we could sample them later.” He said sample with a little roll of his shoulders and a shake of his oversize head.

Where was Parvati? Was the dude seriously trying to get it on with her in front of her aunt by luring her to his car with free juice? Parvati would have been in hysterics by now.

“Gosh. Thanks. I’m actually all juiced out for the day. And I’m . . . with someone.” At least she would be if she could get the damn lawsuit out of the way and then find a way to fix things with Jay.

She would fix things. She was smart and capable and a damn good catch and she still had Lin-Manuel Miranda’s name on her arm. If that wasn’t lucky, she didn’t know what else was.



* * *



? ? ?

Pickings were slim at the singles table. A barely legal cousin of the bride who claimed to be a famous influencer. Avi’s work friend who was sweaty from his golf game and hungover as hell. A divorced aunt and a widowed uncle who had clearly been put together in the hopes that they’d keep each other entertained. Kamal on her right. A woman who looked like she’d walked off the set of an A-list film. And a dude in an expensive suit who looked incredibly bored.

After introducing themselves, they all sat in silence.

Kamal nudged Zara with his elbow. “Say something,” he whispered. “Getting the conversation going is your thing.”

“I’m not up for it today.” She drained her third—or was it her fourth?—gin and tonic and looked around for a waiter to open the bottles of wine on the table. If it took any longer, she was going to crack them open with her teeth. Jay wasn’t here and it was entirely her fault. He’d given her a gift, and she’d thrown it in his face. She needed a little something to numb the pain.

“Don’t worry.” Kamal patted her hand. “I’ll handle it.”

“Handle what?”

“So . . .” Kamal raised his voice loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “Here we are at the singles table. They’re probably expecting us all to hook up. Am I right? Who wants to get down and nasty? Pick someone and get it on.”

“What are you doing?” Zara hissed under her breath. “You sound like you’re doing bad stand-up comedy in a dive bar.”

“I’m doing your job to help you out.” Kamal smiled warmly. “I’ll keep us all entertained so you can wallow in your self-pity. I heard you broke up with your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t have a . . .” The response was almost automatic but she caught herself again. She’d been afraid to say it, just as she’d been afraid to admit she’d fallen in love. “It’s a temporary break. We have some things to work through.”

“Did anyone go to a wedding in a cold place and jump into a lake naked and then not be able to have sex because the guy was too cold?” Kamal looked around expectantly and held up Zara’s hand. “Only Zara?”

With a groan, Zara dropped her forehead to the table. “Please stop,” she whispered under her breath. “I appreciate what you’re doing but . . .”

“Zara!” Lakshmi Auntie hurried over to her chair with Bushra and Mehar Aunties behind her. “I saw a three-eyed crow!”

Bushra caught Zara’s gaze and held up her hand, making the motion of bringing a bottle to her lips.

“She hasn’t been drinking, Bushra,” Mehar spat out. “Really. That’s very unkind. She was watching Game of Thrones.”

“I don’t need to watch TV,” Lakshmi protested. “My visions keep me entertained, and one them was of a crow with three eyes. It’s a portent of doom.”

“These are my aunts,” Zara said to the fascinated table guests. “Don’t mind them. Maybe Kamal can tell my story about shooting a dude in the ass at a bachelor party and watching him try to sit through the wedding dinner without wincing, and how I felt good about it because the dude was so officious and arrogant, but I didn’t know at the time that he would turn out to be the best thing in my life and I threw it away because I’m a hot mess who is afraid of commitment.”

“Is it your story or my story?” Kamal asked, frowning. “Maybe I should tell more about the skinny-dipping.”

“And maybe Lakshmi can tell us more about doom,” Bushra said dryly. “Whose doom are we talking about here? My doom? Zara’s doom? Or are you just sharing helpings of doom all around?”