Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(96)

He looked out at all the expectant faces, all the aunties at the edge of their seat so invested in his love life, as if the key to his happiness was a key to their joy, too.

“But now, an update on my personal life.”

The sound guys rolled the music, the lights flashed, and the audience laughed.

“Four months ago, Kareena Mann, a successful attorney and member of the South Asian community here in New Jersey, came on my show and, quite frankly, put me in my place. She, like so many South Asian women, was faced with a daily reminder of her single status. Although we’ve progressed as a community, there are still so many families that set a ridiculous level of importance on single women getting married and starting a family.”

He pressed a hand to his heart.

“I was part of that problem. By invalidating the feelings of women in our society, by removing the emotional connection aspect from matchmaking as a consideration, I was hurting rather than helping people like Kareena.”

He took a deep breath. “We began spending time together, and four months later, I asked her to marry me. Kareena taught me that all the science, the studies, the facts about heart health are only part of the story. Relationships and South Asian marriages are so much more complicated. The communication aspect, the trust and honesty that couples need to share with each other. That’s all true, but that’s not all. And that’s when I realized that I love her. And love may be terrible for heart health sometimes, but the absence of it can be just as bad.”

The audience gasped. An aunty in the front row whispered, “Ae kii kenda eh?” What did he say?

Prem’s palms began sweating.

“I can’t believe that after all these months, you still can’t just come out and say that you’re wrong and I was right,” a voice said.

People gasped in the audience, and Prem whirled to see Kareena step out from behind the stage backdrop. She looked . . . perfect. She wore her lucky black sweater vest with a puffy capped sleeve shirt underneath. Her hair hung around her shoulders in loose waves. He immediately focused in on her shoes, though. Her heels were a vibrant magenta with peonies painted along the slides. And she was wearing his favorite payal.

“Why is it always about trying to make a point, Dr. Dil?” Kareena said. The corner of her mouth twitched.

At the signal from his producer, Prem cleared his throat and motioned for Kareena to join him at center stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, Kareena Mann.”

When the audience clapped and cheered, he leaned in to whisper, “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to tell you that . . . I, ah . . .”

“She loves you!” The crowd yelled in unison.

Hell. She was miked.

“You love me?” he said.

She blushed, her cheeks deepening in a golden glow. “I love you. You’re the one, Prem Verma. Did you honestly think you’d be able to pull off this grand gesture without me?”

“I never doubted you for a moment,” he said.

They stood staring at each other, the audience straining forward in their seats to listen.

“Well, that was fun. Now that it’s over, I should probably sit down.” Her fingers trembled in his, and she kept glancing over at the nameless faces watching them intently.

“Kareena, wait.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m so sorry I was an ass.”

“It happens.”

He laughed, then blurted out before he could stop himself. “Marry me. For real, for real.”

“Wait, what?”

Riding the high of seeing her for the first time in a week, from knowing that she still loved him, and they still had a chance at her Taylor Swift happily-ever-after love story, Prem dropped to his knee, and blood rushed to his head, drowning out the sound of his beating heart. All he could see was Kareena’s face. “Kareena Mann, will you marry me?”

“I mean, we were going to for the house and stuff—”

“Kareena—”

“Four months isn’t that long, you know. We could—”

“Will you just answer the damn question?”

“Fine, yes!”

It was like someone had counted down to New Year’s. The entire studio exploded with cheers, whistling, and applause again. The audio technician played music, and Prem’s producers tossed files in the air like graduation hats. Everyone was on their feet applauding.

Prem stood and covered his lapel mic. “Do you mean it?”

Kareena did the same to hers. “I . . . I do.”

“I swear, I just wanted to be with you, and Rina, I totally screwed it up—”

“Just a warning, your penance is coming. You still have to ask my dad for permission and we have to compare our star charts, apparently.”

“Noted,” he said. He linked his fingers with hers and leaned close to her mouth. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to love you for as long as I live. That sounds cheesy as hell, but I promise you, it’s going to happen.”

“I’m going to love you, too,” she said.

Prem stepped back when his producer rushed onstage with a microphone and shoved it in Kareena’s hands.

“Oh, uh. Okay,” she said. “I mean, people usually buy me dinner first.”

The teleprompter flashed “QUESTIONS FROM THE AUDIENCE.”