You're Invited(78)

We need to talk. Call me.





Fuck this bullshit. Seriously. Like I didn’t have enough on my mind.

But still, I was about to dial when I heard my mother’s shouts travel up the stairs.

Really, woman? For someone who’s always on my case about keeping up appearances, she regularly managed to pull some ridiculous, dramatic bullshit in front of her annoying friends.

I sighed. I’d better go out there and do some damage control.

I guess it wasn’t the worst thing. I looked great in this not-trying-at-all, five-hundred-dollar robe, and it’ll be nice to have one more chance at showing it off.

I went down the stairs, ready to smooth over whatever it was my mother was on about when I saw Amaya.

I couldn’t believe it. This was certainly not good. I guess I could understand my mother’s hysterics now, but I didn’t have the luxury of reacting. Those aunties were watching us like animals marking their prey. They would love a dramatic scene, wouldn’t they? Something they could call their gossiping friends about and have a good old chin-wag, all at the expense of my mother. No way I was giving them that satisfaction.

“I invited her,” I said to my mother. Thankfully, that shut her up.

I had to admit, I was curious as to why the hell she’d suddenly rocked up after lord knows how many years. Maybe she thinks I was backstabbing her by marrying her ex, but hey, she screwed me over first. I hope she doesn’t decide to tell anyone about how she dated Spence. That’ll really mess things up for me.

But there was only so much I could focus on. My phone kept vibrating in the pocket of my robe, and there was a call I really needed to make.

Making my way upstairs again, I’d have thought Amaya would take a hint, but it looked like she followed me as well.

I didn’t have time to get wrapped up in her drama now. Amaya had made it very clear over the last few years that she didn’t give a fuck about me or our friendship. I had far more important things to worry about.

I went into my bathroom and ran the shower. Hopefully, that’ll be loud enough to drown out my conversation.

“What’s going on?” I asked as soon as he picked up, making sure I kept my voice low.

“I’m doing great. Lovely to hear from you too.”

“Cut the bullshit, Mike.”

“Can you meet me today?”

“Today? You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m drowning in wedding prep.”

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart”—I rolled my eyes—“you’re gonna love what I have for you.”

“Can’t you just—?”

“Kaavi?” Amaya called out.

Fuck her. Seriously. If I didn’t have Mike to deal with I would have stormed back into my room and told her to get lost.

I yelled out some bullshit excuse, my mind already a million miles away.

“Listen, I don’t have time for this,” his voice was low too. “Meet me at Cinnamon Grand. Text me when you’re on your way.” The asshole hung up.

It was all I could do to keep my shit together for the rest of the morning. Amaya tagged along, still oblivious that I didn’t really want her there. The fitting with Andre needed to have ended, like, yesterday, but he was taking his sweet time about it and I let him have his way. He was upset enough when he heard I was wearing a Hayley Paige dress for my reception—I actually thought he’d pass out when I told him. I mean, Andre was the best designer in the country, but all that meant in Sri Lanka was that he was a big fish in a pond the size of a puddle. I needed a showstopper dress for my showstopper wedding, no offense to him. But I sucked it up and tried not to look too impatient as he tried to strong-arm me into an elaborately beaded straightjacket.

My phone buzzed again.

Where are you?





It’s not like I was on holiday, Mike.

Andre and his assistant left to find a necklace or something, leaving me with Amaya.

It was my first time truly alone with her in years. Since she just up and vanished, leaving me so worried that I’d gone to the police, checked every hospital in Northern California, and couldn’t eat or sleep for weeks, only to learn after what felt like a lifetime later that she was living in my own house back home. You tell me that’s not the most ridiculously selfish bullshit you’ve heard.

Anyway, I’m not the whimpering little loser who followed her around all my life, only to be left a pathetic mess when she cut me out. I wanted her to know that. I wanted her to see how I’ve changed. How confident I am now. How I am everything. How I have everything.

“What do you think?” I asked. I knew the answer. It felt delicious to rub it in. I looked amazing. It wasn’t just Andre’s and his tittering assistant’s gasps of delight—I had eyes. I don’t know who circulated the memo that it was unbecoming of women to appreciate how they looked. Probably some insecure man. I mean, I worked out every day. I haven’t eaten anything deep-fried since last year. I spent an inordinate amount of time and money on my skin, hair, makeup, nails, and outfits. It is only right that I’m allowed to look in the mirror every once in a while and feel fantastic.

“You look amazing.” Bitch, I’m a fucking ten. I wanted you to know that. I wasn’t the stupid, shy little girl who came running to you all the time. You couldn’t hurt me anymore.