Page 110 of Pretend for Me

Dad’s eyes meet mine, filled with a vulnerability I haven’t seen before. “I lost sight of you and Deena. I lost sight of your successes and achievements, and I became the stereotypical draconian dad from aBollywood film.”

I can’t help but smile.

He places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. Not only for the businessman you’ve become—handling our company better than I could have ever imagined, given all the pressure and responsibility on you—but also for speaking up for your beliefs, your love.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry about the things I’ve said about Piper. She didn’t deserve my hasty judgment, and neither did you. I can see how happy she makes you, how deeply you love her . . . similar to the way I love your mom.”

Both our eyes glisten at those words, and I place a hand on his shoulder, knowing he needs it. I can imagine the pain of preparing to lose the one you’ve loved for over thirty-five years must be insurmountable.

His voice catches as he speaks again. “I promise to support both you and Piper from this day forward. And as far asMenon Inc. is concerned?” He gives me one of his intense looks. “Son, it’s always been yours. I just needed to step out of your way, and I promise to do so.”

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that,” I say, my voice rough before he pulls me in for a hug, giving me a pat on the back.

He’s almost at the door when I stop him. “Hey, Dad? You know that bit about you being a dad from a Bollywood movie? Can you just promise you won’t break into song and dance in front of the guests?”

His lips twitch as the tension fades between us.

He feigns disappointment. “But I have five outfit changes ready for it. I even practiced my slow-motion running through Mom’s roses.”

At this, we both throw back our heads, laughing, and I feel years of pent-up resentment melting under a renewed relationship on the horizon. God knows, our tiny family that’ll be left in Mom’s wake will need each other.

A minute later, Brandy, the wedding planner, ushers Dadout to join the guests before coming back to my room. Her heels click frantically on the hardwood floor while she clutches a walkie-talkie.

She looks like she’s seconds from tears, her usually professional facade cracking under the weight of the situation. “I can’t get a hold of Piper or her bridesmaids, Dev. I’ve tried their phones and the salon. As a last-ditch effort, I even spoke to her brother to see if he could get a hold of her. But no luck.”

She bites her nails as her eyes dart around the room, searching for a solution. “Do you think you could call her again? We’re literally twenty minutes away from?—”

A sharp knock halts her words before the door opens and the face of the woman I’ve been dying to see—to talk to and hold—all fucking week appears on the other side.

The air stills and the world narrows as she steps into the room. Everything fades away—-the ornate decorations of this guest bedroom in my parents’ mansion, the muffled sounds of the guests outside, and even Brandy’s jittery presence. All I see is Piper and the storm of emotion in her eyes I can’t quite read.

Brandy starts to speak when Piper clears her throat. “Could you give us a few minutes, Brandy?”

Our wedding planner mumbles an agreement before she rushes out of the room, holding her walkie-talkie like a lifeline. And with thethudof the door closing behind her, my heart lurches against my ribs.

What am I seeing here? Why does the air feel so . . . different? Why does she seem so different?

My eyes scan her briefly, looking for some sort of clue, as that same thudding heart starts to sink all the way down to my stomach when the realization hits.

She’s not wearing her bridal gown.

Instead, she’s here in a plain cream blouse and jeans,dressed for a casual outing rather than the day she promised me.

The understanding of why she’s here hits me like a ton of bricks. She’s not here to get married; she’s here to let me down gently and walk away.

It’s a shock as to how I manage to stay standing.

Piper lifts her chin, reaching for my hand. Numbly, I allow her to intertwine our fingers. Her eyes glisten with emotion, determination, and something else—regret, perhaps?—and I brace myself for the words I know are coming.

Her voice cracks like the thunder inside my chest. “I can’t do this, Dev.”

And there it is.

My world tilts on its axis.

My heart shatters beyond repair.

Every hope, every fucking dream turning to dust with sounds of those four words. I can’t do this.

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