Page 39 of Pretend for Me

I shake my head. “Actually, I grew up outside of Boston. I moved here several years ago with two of my best friends from high school.”

Deepak’s brow rises. “That’s quite the long move. Is most of your family still back in Boston, then?”

“My brother and sister-in-law, along with my nephew, stilllive there. My brother’s a defenseman for the Boston Bolts NHL team, actually. And my mom now lives in Tampa with her husband.”

Deepak’s intense gaze stays on me. “And your dad? Where does he live?”

Reaching for my glass, I take a sip of water, hoping to give myself a moment to come up with an answer that doesn’t sound like,“I don’t actually care where the fuck my dad is, but he did just try to contact me and I’m still unsettled about that.”

Placing the glass back down, I give him a placid smile and a version of the truth. “I don’t know. My parents separated when my brother and I were teens, and I eventually lost touch with him.”

I leave off the nitty-gritty details, like the fact that I blocked his number after he verbally berated me for being adumb piece of shit and a complete disappointment, that he’s a has-been NHL player himself who still thinks his children owe him for giving them life, or that he left my mother for his coach’s young daughter, only to then end up alone after she left him several years later.

I’m trying to make a good impression on my future in-laws, not leave them thinking their son is marrying into a family saga fit for a reality show.

Dev and I exchange a look, and I glimpse an understanding in his eyes, even though I hadn’t shared much about my parents with him. But then my mind floats back to our “conversation” in his car on our way here when my fiancé went all sexy mafia don and threatened to unalive whoever had texted me. The funny thing is, aside from my expression, I hadn’t revealed anything about the text to him, but somehow he’d sensed I was anxious.

Still, I’d had to reel him in, given I wasn’t ready to tell him about my lunatic dad, who was likely drunk off hisass somewhere.

“Simmer down, Tony Soprano, it’s no one you have to worry about.”

His eyes had flicked back to the phone in my hand. “Then why do you look like your pet fish just died?”

I blinked at him. “Firstly, I was sad when Scarlett Johansson accidentally slipped into the garbage disposal when my brother was changing out her water. I still hold it against him, almost two decades later, because there’s not a betta fish alive that could replace her. She was fast and furious, focused and fun.” My throat had felt tight at the memory of poor Scarlett flapping around in the disposal. “I realize that’s a lot of F-words but?—”

“Piper.”

“And secondly, I really don’t like that idiom one bit. It’s insensitive to aquarists.”

“Okay.” Dev took a breath so long, you’d think he was trying to inflate one of those tubular balloons in one shot. “Will you please just tell me if someone is bothering you? If you’re in trouble in any way, I need to?—”

“I’m not in trouble, and no one is bothering me,” I said, hitting the button to block my father’s number. “Now can we please just get going so that we’re not making your parents wait any longer than they have already?”

Thankfully, he hadn’t pushed any further, and we moved on to align our “story” to avoid any mix-ups in front of his parents, which is why I’m well-prepared to answer the upcoming question from his mother.

“Families are complicated,” Claire says with the same look of understanding as her son. “But Dev tells us you’re a hairstylist. Is that how you two met?”

Nodding, I flash her a smile. “Dev came to my salon about a year ago and just loved what I could do with a pair of scissors.” I suppress a giggle, knowing Dev is probably trying to hold back a groan. “He was so smitten by his new haircut, in fact, he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Claire’s face lights up while Deepak eyes his son suspiciously. “Didn’t you walk in here a couple of weeks ago with half your hair hacked off?”

A nervous laugh erupts from my lips because Dev and I hadn’t aligned on this little tidbit, unfortunately, but I decide to take the lead on improvising an explanation.

“Oh well, you see, that was just me trying to modernize your handsome son here.” I pat Dev’s shoulder enthusiastically while he shoots me a mildly worried look. “You know, staying ahead of the trends, shake things up a bit. I suggested he try it for a day, but clearly, it wasn’t his style and I fixed him right up.” I wink at the man in question. “Didn’t I, babe?”

Dev nods, his gaze unwavering from my face and his hand tightening around mine. “You sure did,babe. You have a knack for keeping me on my toes.”

My eyes inadvertently slide down to his plush lips before I remember where we are. Shaking off my distraction, I turn back to face my to-be in-laws with a smile.

We’re midway through dinner, chatting about our wedding—set to be held in Dev’s mother’s beloved rose garden—when Deepak wipes his mouth with his dinner napkin and fixes me with another intense stare that shifts the easy air in the room.

From the little he’s spoken throughout dinner, it’s clear he isn’t much of a talker. Or maybe he just hasn’t warmed up to me. With what I’ve read about him, given Dev has shared about as much about his father as I have with him about mine, Deepak raised his children much like he’s run his businesses, with a firm hand.

“As you must already know, Piper,” he starts, his brow rising, “our son holds several degrees from prestigious institutions, can speak several languages fluently, and has always been dedicated to learning and achieving. Our family very much values education. So, aside from cosmetology school,” hisvoice hints at derision, though I can’t be sure, “what other form of education do you have?”

“Deepak.” Dev’s mom shoots her husband a sharp look, clearly picking up his tone while the sound of Deena slurping the last bit of her boba tea fills the room. We all glance at her, but she’s completely focused on sucking up the last tapioca ball through her straw.

I’m just about to speak when Dev interjects, intertwining our fingers again.

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