Accidentally Engaged(2)
Eyeing her intently, he snatched back his hand and ran it through his sweaty hair. “Bollocks,” he whispered. “You’re Reena Manji?”
She spoke slowly. “Yes.”
“Aziz Manji’s daughter?”
Obviously. “Yes…why?”
“Fuck. You live here?” He tugged at the back of his neck. Finally meeting her eyes again, he smiled sheepishly. “I’ve made a terrible first impression. Any chance we could start over?”
Her eyes widened.
“Forget all my swearing, and pretend I’m showered and dressed respectably. I had this suit picked out for our first meeting,” he continued. “And my hair was supposed to be clean. Also, you didn’t see that beer. And I didn’t call you a goddess…although I meant it…” His voice trailed off, losing power as he seemed to shrink in the hallway.
“Why? How do you know my father?”
He smiled again, but this time the smile looked forced. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am here in Canada to work for him.” He sighed. “Your father and my father just entered a business partnership together. And apparently…you and I are to be married.” He shrugged, one side of his lip raising slightly. “Surprise?”
CHAPTER TWO
Reena closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Crap. Not this again. Her captivating stranger turned out to be just the same as the countless other men her parents had dug out of the Muslim Bachelors “R” Us warehouse. She met his sheepish smile with a blank gaze for several seconds before mumbling something about being late and rushing down the stairs. Cute smile, sexy voice, and strong legs could not even come close to overriding this monstrous problem with the new hottie across the hall: Nadim worked for her father, and his presence in her life had been orchestrated by her parents. That was a great, big no. Yet another thing she couldn’t have because of them.
*
There were two things Reena could always count on during her weekly brunches at home. One, there would be soft puri. Puffy, pillowy rounds of fried flatbread ready to sop up spicy channa and yogurt. And two, her overinvolved parents would attempt to insert themselves into every aspect of her life, all while her younger sister, Saira, managed the impossible feat of being both passive-aggressive and self-involved in the same breath. Reena attended these brunches religiously for the puri, not for the quality time with her family.
And, as expected, the heady scent of strong chai and spices eased her annoyance as she walked into the house after driving the ten minutes while fantasizing about being an orphan. She inhaled deeply as she removed her shoes. This. This was why she decided to come today. Nothing like her mother’s cooking to ease stress, even stress induced by her parents themselves.
Of course, Reena knew she was deluding herself. She hadn’t decided to come to brunch for the puri any more than she had decided to come for the family judgments disguised as scintillating conversation. The word decided implied free will. And when it came to family, free will was nothing but a convenient illusion Reena created for her own sanity.
She operated under the assumption that giving in to these insignificant demands on her life would trick them into leaving her alone with the big stuff. It sort of worked. She’d stood her ground on some big decisions. Like her decision not to work in the family real-estate development business. Her decision not to live at home, despite being single. And her controversial decision several months ago to insist her sister move out of her apartment. But it was becoming harder to make her parents understand that she had no interest in any of the approved Muslim men they had been parading in front of her since she reached the age of twenty-five. Including this new overseas model.
But at least the puri helped make up for this emotional torture. She took another from the platter and added it to her plate heaped full of channa masala.
“Reena,” her father said, pouring himself more chai, “I don’t know if I told you, but my friend Shiroz from Tanzania is investing in the Diamond building project. His son Nadim has come from Dar es Salaam to work with me. I’ve put him in your building.”
Dar es Salaam, Reena’s parents’ hometown, was the largest city in Tanzania, a country with an active and vibrant minority Gujarati-Indian population. The Diamond project was her father’s biggest real-estate development to date—a large retail/residential building north of Toronto. She knew there were foreign investors from Africa involved but hadn’t heard about the involvement of any flirty beefcakes who sounded more British than Tanzanian.
“I hope you will make Nadim feel welcome. He’s a very smart man. Graduated from the London School of Economics. He’s religious and well-mannered, and has a promising future ahead of him. You two have much in common.”
Proof that Dad knew nothing about his middle child. No one who really knew Reena would call her well-mannered. Her sweetness ran surface-level only. And clearly, her father didn’t know Nadim too well either. The man swore like a Manchester United hooligan and invited her out for a pint upon first meeting, all while holding a six-pack of beer. Reena had nothing against drinking, as evidenced by her low-key hangover most Sunday brunches, but in her religious Muslim father’s opinion, well-mannered and respectful meant no alcohol.
Also, Nadim seemed a bit of a player—winking at her, calling her a goddess, and asking her out before even knowing her name. Reena enjoyed players for a good time every now and then, so long as she recognized what they were. But it was troubling that Nadim asked her out when he knew he was supposed to marry his boss’s daughter (the fact that he unknowingly flirted with his fiancée seemed beside the point).