Page 80 of Not Your Basic Love Story

“Are you mad at me?” He touched my arm again, but this time I didn’t pull away.

Anger was only one of my emotions, but the main one was overwhelmed. It was all too much. Our rushed, giant wedding. Joining a foreign culture. Dev’s massive family. His perfect ex. His mom’s clear preference for her. Far too much.

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

Feeling safe in our relative solitude, his arms found their way around me and pulled me close to his chest. I allowed my eyes to close, my body to relax against him, as his lips made their way down the side of my face.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered in my ear. His warm breath on my neck sent a tingle up my spine.

Then his fingers found their way to my trench coat. Gently, as if unwrapping a gift and trying to save the paper, he peeled the jacket from me and took a step back. I closed my eyes, cheeks burning, wondering if he’d expected something else. Something grander. Something befitting his family’s class and wealth. Something that had at least cost more than a hundred dollars from a vintage store.

I forced my eyes back open and glanced over my shoulder at him, my naked back exposed.

His mouth hung open slightly, his huge eyes wide, pupils dilated. “Wow,” was all he managed to say.

“Do you like it?” I smiled.

He closed the distance between us, and our lips met. His were eager, insistent, as if he could bear no more time apart from them. His hands trailed up the bodice of my dress carefully, not wanting to disturb the aged lace, and then found their way to the bare skin on my back. My hands found his beard, fingers trailing their familiar routes along his jawline and down to his chin. When our lips finally parted, he was slightly out of breath, and rested his forehead against mine for a moment, swallowing.

“I love you,” he whispered.

My throat was thick. “I love you, too.”

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

I fought back the tears welling inmy eyes. And, just like that, nothing else mattered.

After buttoning up my dress, he kissed the tip of my nose, took my hand, and led me out of the room, the smile on his face the same as the day he’d proposed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The photographs taken outside with the blue summer skies and mountains in the background were everything I hoped they would be. Dev looked incredible in his suit, and I loved my unique vintage dress. The pictures would turn out beautifully, though I likely wouldn’t see the end results until after our real wedding, which of course, was coming up way too fast.

After getting lots of photos of Dev and I on our own, our parents joined us. My dad cried. It was pretty cute. Dev’s mother even looked halfway happy about everything.

Miranda, Angelina, Priya, and I posed for pictures together, too. We did the awkward fake-laugh thing, as is tradition. They loved my dress and said it looked stunning on me. Miranda remarked that it was too bad I wouldn’t be wearing it at my actual wedding, which got a side-eye from Priya. We had a toast for the four of us and then had to separate as more relatives made their way out for photos.

The photographs took a lot longer than expected. When it was finally over, Dev and I were famished and made our way to the outdoor tents where a buffet had been set up.

I took a plate and eyed the food, seeing only Indian varieties available.

“Dev?”

“Yes, gorgeous?”

“You said there would be western food here for my family.”

He looked down the row of dishes. “There’s salad.”

I frowned. “All my parents get to eat is salad?”

“And rice? I asked the caterers to have something for everyone. It was the best they could do on such short notice,” he said, dishing up his plate and moving along.

As much as I wanted to complain, I couldn’t. It wasn’t my family paying for all of this, it was Dev’s, and the last thing I wanted to do was seem ungrateful.

As we moved along the table, Dev pointed to various dishes and put some on my plate he thought I’d like. I was surprised most of it was delicious deep-fried goodness. There was samosa, masala chaat, dal, and roti. My favourite was gol guppa, which was like a deep-fried crunchy hollow ball with liquid inside. If attending parties like this was going to be a frequent occurrence in my life, I’d have to size up my yoga pants. The food was delicious, and with each bite I was more confident even my picky-eating mom would find enough to satisfy her.

Boisterous laughter rang out. Kyle was chatting it up with Dev’s cousins while was making them all cocktails—Monster energy drinks and vodka, heavy on the vodka. How much had he drunk, already? The pictures had taken a lot longer than I’d expected. Leaving my brother on his own, unleashed, was a bad idea.

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