Page 9 of Commander

“Shoot,” I said, lifting my glass to my lips and then taking another deep gulp.

“Why aren’t you fucking my brother? A person has to be dead not to see the chemistry between you two. Is ‘no sex’ part of the bargain Ashur made with you?”

I coughed, nearly choking on my champagne. How the fuck would she know about my deal with Ashur? He’d stipulated that no one was to know anything other than that we fell back in love.

“What makes y—?”

“Don’t even try that deflection shit. I am a master at that game.”

I sighed, set my glass on the table, and leaned back on the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s complicated.”

“Every couple has issues. Hey, look at Dev and me. We worked through our problems and are happier than we’ve ever been.”

She had a point. For years, Samina and Devin’s relationship was a secret. Sam being a celebrity attorney and a celebrity in her own right would have been detrimental to Devin’s and his father’s careers. So, for over a decade, they kept quiet about who they were to each other, even going as far as dating other people.

It took Samina filing for divorce for Devin to get his act in gear and work his best to win her back. After a lot of work, the two of them were one of the most solid couples I knew and the proud parents of two beautiful children.

“It’s different on a whole new level. You and Dev never stopped loving each other.”

“Neither have the two of you.”

I opened my eyes and gaped at her. “Sorry, but you are way off base. I loved Ashur for a long time after we broke up. It wasn’t until three years later when I started dating Xander that I got over him.”

Xander Alexi was a man who’d given me what I’d needed to get over Ashur. He was a friend, a confidant, a study partner, and for a brief time, a lover. We’d known what we had wouldn’t last longer than our years at Harvard, Xander having to return to Greece to take over his family’s business and me moving to California to attend law school at Stanford. To this day we remained friends, with me serving as groom’s lady at his wedding.

“I’m sure dating an international supermodel and shipping heir can do that to a girl.”

“Whatever, I had no idea of his net worth until we were dating for a few months, and besides, you’re the one who introduced us. Our dates were never fancy. We were broke college kids who loved to hang out, study, and eat pizza.”

“Are y’all really talking about ex-boyfriends when there is a wedding in less than three days?” Jacinta Camden-George, the junior senator from Texas and wife of the vice president, asked as she walked in from a back room with Shawna and Neya Sunkureddi. They all carried boxes, which I could assume contained my many outfits and accessories.

Neya was a former partner turned friend, who happened to be a well-known fashion designer in India. When she’d offered to design my wedding outfits, I’d jumped at the chance. Outside of her work for international affairs, she was one of the most sought-after fashion designers in Indian haute couture.

I smiled at everyone and then pointed to Sam. “She brought it up. I was merely an innocent bystander.”

Jacinta glared at Samina. “She’s about to marry your brother, the president, and there are like a million reporters out front. The last thing the two of you need to do is talk about hot exes with unending bank accounts when someone could be hiding to record any conversations.”

Sam winced—no one wanted to get on Jacinta’s bad side, especially after a four-hour Senate Finance Committee meeting. And the fact Jacinta was six months pregnant only added to the grumpiness.

“Sorry. I promise never to bring up Tara’s hot-as-fuck ex again.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Sam, you know I love you, but you are a complete pain in the ass.”

“Torturing my bhabhi is a privilege I plan to use to the fullest. You’ve always been my sister, but now it will be official.”

My heart contracted to hear her refer to me with the traditional Gujarati word for a sister-in-law. Sam and I had had a bond since we were young. She was the prodigy daughter of a billionaire, and I was the awkward tween daughter of a worker in her father’s company. We ran in different circles—Sam in the world of privilege and social standing and me in the life of limited income and saving pennies. But somehow, we’d always found each other. Especially during social events, where we never fit in and wanted to escape the pretense. We’d end up sitting in some hallway, chatting about nonsensical stuff and laughing our heads off.

When the drama between Ashur and me happened, she was dealing with her own issues with her father and her relationship with Devin and the last thing I wanted to do was burden her with my troubles. We’d stayed in touch over the years, but it wasn’t until I entered law school and Samina was finishing up her last year that our bond had grown. Even though we were only a few months apart in age, she’d became my mentor and even helped me get my first job after Stanford.

Then about seven years ago, we’d joined forces to start our own law firm. Sometimes, I still couldn’t believe the success we’d achieved in such a short time. I knew some of it was due to the clients Solon had referred to the firm, but no one, including Samina, knew that tidbit of information.

“I guess that means I can boss you around like the older brother’s wife does in Bollywood movies,” I said to Sam.

“And how would this be any different than normal?” Sam muttered, making Jacinta, Shawna, and Neya laugh. “You’d give Attila the Hun a run for his money.”

“Bite me.” I picked up my glass again and took another deep sip. “I just like to make sure all I’s are dotted and T’s crossed.”

“She’s got you there.” Neya set a box in front of me. “You’ve been a bossy boot since the moment I met you ten years ago. And with this wedding—you’re lucky I love you. Otherwise I would have designed the ugliest lengha possible for being such a micromanager.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss Neya. Aren’t you the one known for threatening anyone who dares to touch your designs?” I sat up and began to open the box Neya brought me. “Let’s get this fitting underway. I’m due for a family dinner with the in-laws.”

Sam groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m not sure I won’t stab the tech man. I’m going to drink at least three more glasses to increase my tolerance for his antics.”

“He’s your father.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

I grinned at her and then poured us both another glass of champagne.

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