Page 91 of Not Your Basic Love Story

I mulled it over. I could tell he’d put a lot of thought into it already, that he’d considered every other option.

He thought for a moment. “What if we moved into the basement suite? After I’ve gotten my MBA, I mean. It’s self-contained. And by then, who knows? Maybe we’ll have a baby on the way, and you will want the extra help.”

I considered that. Their basement suite was four times the size of my current apartment, and it walked out to the blueberry fields. We wouldn’t be completely alone, no, but close to it. It was a compromise. But that’s what this was about—finding a middle ground, finding a way to make both of us happy.

“Okay,” I said finally. “If it’s it important to you and your family, then I’m in.”

He grinned. “Thank you. I can’t live without you, but I don’t want to give up my family in the process.”

“And I don’t want you to, either. I never meant for you to choose between me and your family.” I gripped his hand tight.

“Is there anything else?”

“Well. Since we’re on the subject of babies. Our kids' names.”

Dev sucked air in through his teeth. “I’ve given it a lot of thought and was wondering if you’d be okay with western middle names. A Punjabi first name is very important to my family. Then the kids can decide whatever they want to go by when they grow up.”

I thought about it for a moment. I remembered seeing a Punjabi baby-naming website I’d stumbled upon while researching Indian weddings (because of course my mind went there), and recalled several names that I thought would be perfect. This one wasn’t even a compromise. I nodded. “Yes. Deal.”

“What else?”

I scrunched up my face. “Working with Sonja…?”

“I’ll be in school for the next two years. Afterwards, I can work from a separate office. And that’sifI go back to work with my dad’s businesses. A lot can change in two years. Honestly, we never even saw each other that often. She was in accounting, and I was in the shop. Our jobs crossed over maybe twice a week. And trust me, there’s nothing there between us. We’re just friends. But I completely understand why you feel that way, given our history.”

I shook my head. “No. If you tell me there’s nothing there, then I trust you. I don’t want to go into a marriage telling you who you can and can’t see.”

“Well, I’d prefer if you never saw Graham again.”

I chuckled. “I’d prefer that, too.”

We looked at one another. The twinkle was back in his eye, the light shining from within, and in that instant, I understood. I was the twinkle this whole time.

“So… does this mean I can have my ring back?”

He kissed my forehead again, his lips light, lingering. Then, taking my face in his hands, he kissed my closed eyelids, my nose, and then finally my lips. His touch was so gentle, so light. It was as if he was worried I was a mirage this whole time and might vanish in an instant.

I ran a hand up his forearm, along those muscles and tendons I’d coveted from the moment I met him, to his bicep, and then to his chest, where I could feel his heart beating beneath his ribs. My other hand trailed his jawline, teasing his beard, and then my fingers found their way to his hair, where I gripped him and pulled him closer.

Our lips met, our kiss quickly becoming more fervent. We were starving, aching for one another. Our tongues reunited, eliciting a deep moan from the back of his throat, which triggered an insatiable heat within my body.

Suddenly the distance was too great; we needed to be as close as possible. Our inhales and exhales were quick gasps as our lips fought to stay together while we pulled our clothes off and tangled up with one another on his bed.

A moment later, we were together, and I could no longer focus on our kissing. I tucked my face into his neck, wrapped my arms and legs around his body, and embraced the sensation of being with him, of it being just us, the way it was supposed to be, the way it would be for the rest of our lives.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The following weeks were a blur. A blur in a good way, at least.

The morning of my wedding, I sat in a chair in Jag and Shawan’s spacious main bedroom as two women bustled about doing my hair and makeup. I sipped a mimosa and listened to the girls chat excitedly with one another. Music reminiscent of my college years played in the background. A photographer fluttered from here to there, the sound of her camera shutter click-clicking as she went, capturing every moment.

Miranda was starting to show now, but with the saree she wore you couldn’t tell. She said she was feeling fine, better since her first trimester ended. Priya and Angelina, now dating openly, sat close to one another. Angelina absentmindedly trailed her fingers up and down Priya’s back as they talked. Shawan had recovered from the initial surprise quite well. She was even letting Priya drink a mimosa with the rest of the group. My mom sat next to Miranda, glancing over to me every now and then, a proud look upon her face, probably wondering how long it was until I graced her with her first grandchild.

As I watched these important women in my life, I recalled the events of the past few weeks. Everything had happened so quickly, and for that, I was glad. I was excited to move on to the next chapter.

When Dev and I had experienced our momentary break-up, he had put his mother in charge of cancelling the wedding. The smart woman that she is, she’d waited to do so until she spoke to me herself. I was so glad she did. Since then, she and I had become thick as thieves. She seemed all proper and what-not on the outside, but in secret, she was kind of a badass. I could tell Priya got her personality from her mom, which was why they butted heads. She was even trying to teach me how to drive her Mini Cooper, though I argued it was probably best to start with an automatic and then work my way towards a manual transmission. She laughed so hard every time I stalled the damned thing, which was constant. I didn’t mind her laughter, though; it was contagious.

During the week, Dev would pick me up after work and drive me home where we would spend the evening with his family, eating meals and getting to know one another better. Even his grandparents began opening up. Punjabi was still their main language of communication, but now they were trying to teach me some words and phrases. My pronunciation was horrid, but they appreciated the effort I was making. Shawan took it upon herself to teach me some of Dev’s favourite recipes, and I made a point of including Dev on the instruction—because like hell I was going to be doing all the cooking.

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