Sundays always reminded me of cozy and happy memories.
It used to be my favorite day of the week growing up because it was the one day where my whole family, including my grandparents, would spend time together. It could be going on a day-long trip, a movie night, or simply a picnic in the park.
Arya and I would wake up early and excitedly in the morning and help Mom with the preparations while Dad would finish his important meetings so he wouldn’t be disturbed later.
It continued to be a tradition—the one I actually loved—until my grandparents passed away in an unfortunate accident. The tragedy hardened my dad.
Our Sundays went from being together to everyone being in their own separate rooms.
Their deaths caused a crack in our family that could never be filled or repaired.
Today, the same premonition courses through me as I drive to lunch with my parents. I can already envision the matching disapproving scowls on their faces for avoiding them for weeks. In truth, I’ve been mentally preparing myself. I just know my father would give me a lecture. My mother, on the other hand, will most likely guilt-trip me with passive remarks.
They aren’t bad parents and I do love them with all my heart, but it becomes hard to get along when our thinking and values are poles opposites apart. They see the world as black and white and fitted in a box. If you dare to step outside of it, it’s wrong and unacceptable.
The moment I tell them I’m ready for marriage, only then will they finally be proud of me.
Just how sad is that?
I remind myself that I’m doing this for Arya once I reach the upscale family restaurant. I had sent my mom a text so I know they’ll be here already since the place is closer to their house. Parking my car, I grab my purse and stride to the hostess stand.
Families and a few couples sit on tables around me and their soft murmurs, blending with music, prickles my ears. Usually, the ambience, poolside view, and open sky brightens up my mood but right now, it isn’t.
The cool air coming from the pool on my right teases my arms and I’m glad I wore a halter neck and frayed denims so my legs are covered. I didn’t expect the weather to be a little chilly this morning. The hostess guides me to my dad’s private table which is always kept reserved for him on Sundays.
My shaky hand automatically drifts to my hair to push it away, but I bring it back down, knowing Dad hates it when I’m fidgety. One should always be calm and composed, no matter the situation. At least, that’s what my father drilled into Arya and me.
It has helped me more times than I can count but when I’m overstressed, the bad habit sneaks in.
“Bianca, beta.” My mom’s soft voice greets me as soon as I round the corner.
As always, she is elegantly dressed in a light blue pantsuit without a hair out of place. My dad is sitting beside her with his coffee in one hand and tablet in another. He’s never not working and the effect is starting to show by the stress lines marring his forehead. Even so,he doesn’t seem to show any signs of slowing down.
“Hi, Ma.” I smile and lean down to hug her while she remains seated. Turning to Dad, I greet him, “Good morning, Papa.”
“How nice of you to finally find time for your parents, Bianca.”
“Veer,” my mom scolds at his disapproving tone.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” I sigh, taking a seat across from them. “I was busy with work. I thought you’ll understand.”
“I always make time for my family.”
The urge to remind him that he may have been with us physically but his mind was always stuck on business has me biting my tongue. Instead, I take a sip of my water until the impulse washes away.
“Enough about work,” says my mom, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you hear Saranya’s older daughter got engaged? I hear the boy is from a good business family.”
No ‘how have you been, Bianca?’ Or ‘why have you been distant lately?’ And ‘did anything exciting happen to you?’
It only ever circles back to marriage, whether it’s about mine or any daughter of one of her random friends. Lately, it’s all she wants to gossip about as if it’ll entice or guilt me into saying yes. Like it’s a race I’m losing.
If she knew that it only takes Arya’s heartbreak to convince my mind to marry, she would’ve done it a long time ago.
My dad, who usually avoids partaking in her gossip, says, “He was interested in our Bianca and would have been a perfect match. At this rate, hardly a good match will be left for you.”
The last part was directed to me and it takes years of practice not to shrink under his gaze. He even rests his tablet on the side so I don’t miss the severity of his statement. My mom nods her head in agreement from beside him.
It’s like being faced against two determined bulls with no chance of survival.
I feel like I’m reduced to a prized possession that they can’t wait to get rid of. Oftentimes, I wonder if I’m just a liability to my father that he wants to pass forward before I lose my value. And right now, it seems like his comment is proof enough of that.
The most hurtful is them, especially Mom, not even caring to ask if I’m ready or if there’s a reason behind my reluctance. All that matters is their reputation in society while my sentiments are irrelevant.
Well, it doesn’t really matter now anyway.
Their lifelong wish is about to come true.
“Your father means well, sweetie,” Mom explains before asking, “Did you see the profiles of the boys I sent from Priya Aunty? There are some great matches. Maybe you could meet one of them.”
Priya Aunty is a matchmaker my parents hired despite me saying no several times to search for the love of my life. She’s another woman besides my mom who’s even more eager for my marriage. After all, I’m the only one standing between her and a hefty fee if she succeeds in her matchmaking.
At least, one of us will be having a happy day because until now, I had no intention of touching that list.
“It’s actually the reason I wanted to meet you both.” My tone instantly sparks an excited glint in my mom’s gaze. Though she tries to hide it, it’s unmistakable. My dad, on the other hand, only watches with an unreadable expression. “Well, I’ve decided t—”
I trail off when a shadow falls over our table, stealing my parents’ attention.
“Hi, wifey.”
The low and husky voice raises goosebumps on my arms and my heart stops beating for a second when I look up to meet Dash’s soft green eyes. The color is so light under the morning sunlight that I’d be able to see my reflection if he was just a breath closer.
His hair, which is slightly longer in the middle, falls onto his forehead, softening his edges only marginally, while my own eyes devour his dashing and masculine beauty in a three-piece suit. Navy blue, which only brings out the color of his eyes, seems to be his favorite color.
Black sunglasses hang from his suit pocket while his muscles are barely confined and hidden beneath his expensive clothes. I’m still admiring every little detail about him when his words hit me like a freight train.
He called me wifey. Wifey! What the fuck!
Wait… Did he change his decision?
My eyes widen both in shock and confusion, much like my parents, whom I can sense are going through the same emotions as me. Well, minus the drooling over Dash part.
“Dash.” His name is a breathless whisper on my tongue.
As if he can sense my inner turmoil from my voice, he takes the lead before I blow our cover. I try to process what is happening internally, but many freaking questions seem to be fighting to come out to the surface.
“Sorry I’m late, my love,” he softly speaks before bending down to take my palm and kissing the back of it as he sits down on the empty chair beside me. The movement is effortless and natural like we’ve done it a million times. “Still getting used to the traffic.”
My love. Jesus. Is this how he flirts when he’s being nice? I have to be dreaming that this is the same man I’ve been chasing and fighting my lust over the past few weeks. The man from yesterday might as well be a figment of my imagination.
A disillusion.
A dream.
The smile on his rugged face feels way too real. The possessiveness in his eyes, too tangible. His acting skills are too genuine.
I can’t decide which version of him made my heart race faster and my skin shivering.
“Who is he, Bianca?”
“Why is he calling you his wife?”
My dad and mom ask at the same time as they gather their bearings. His voice is an angry lash while hers is a bewildered whisper. Their gazes, however, hold the same horror.
“I’m Dash Stern. Your daughter’s fiancé,” Dash confidently replies. Our joined hands are resting on his thigh while he lays his other arm on the back of my chair. His fingers lazily graze my upper arm while I stare between him and my parents mutely. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Chopra.”
My dad bristles, nostrils flaring, and ignoring him as he demands from me, “Is this true? When and why did you get engaged without telling us?”
“Very true and real, sir,” Dash replies, unperturbed by my dad’s blatant disregard of him. His voice, proud and unflinching. Laced with an unspoken message saying he’s not so easily dismissed. He pauses until my father meets his gaze before continuing, “I’m afraid it’s all my fault. I proposed to Bianca last night because I couldn’t wait to make her mine. The heart wants what it wants, timing be damned.”
“And you didn’t think her parents’ blessing mattered?” my dad questions.
“It’s her heart and the rest of her life I’m after. She’s going to be my wife no matter what.” The possessiveness in his words floors me. He deliberately lets his declaration simmer in the air before adding, almost as an afterthought, “With all due respect.”
My father doesn’t visibly react but I feel him sizing Dash up silently. His expression settles into the one he poses in front of his colleagues and rivals alike. Make no mistake, he is angry having been spoken back to by Dash, but there’s also no denying he’s just as impressed.
Had Dash cowered—an impossibility—he wouldn’t be sitting here. I’ve seen most men shrink in front of my dad, so a stranger standing up to him is a true show of integrity and strength in his eyes. Especially if the said man is going to be his future son-in-law.
Even if it’s fake and until Arya is married.
Although this is only the tip of our carefully crafted lie, we would be under the laser focused microscope of my family, who will be searching for the tiniest of cracks. A tear, to be exact. It’d be nothing short of scandalous if we got busted.
“Bianca,” my mom sharply says, yanking me back to the present. “Tell us this isn’t true.”
I’m taken aback by her sullen mood, and guilt settles in the pit of my stomach when I see hurt flash across her eyes.
“It is.” My voice sounds scratchy and raw like someone squeezed my neck too tight. I can’t believe I’m the one losing my shit and flailing like a fish out of water instead of Dash, even though it was my magnificent plan. “I thought you’d be happy, Ma.”
“Happy? I feel like I don’t even know my own daughter.” She replies, her bob cut swinging as she shakes her head in bewilderment. “You’ve been against the idea of marriage since the start and now you’re telling us you’re engaged? You didn’t even have the decency to tell us you’re seeing someone. Your father and I have raised you better than this.”
Dash tenses beside me at my mom’s harsh scolding while tears sting my eyes.
Embarrassment rolls through me as he witnesses the moment with a front-row seat. I’ve never felt so small in my entire life. My fingers instinctively tighten around our hands on his thigh and there’s a pang in my chest when he squeezes back.
The small gesture gives me little strength as I face my livid mother.
I’m not the least bit shocked when Dad remains quiet. Of course, he agrees with her and honestly, I expected this reaction from him. Definitely not from my always-polite-and-sweet mother, whose pride and poise never allow her to have an outburst in public.
I take a hold of Dash’s other hand on my bare arm when he leans forward to speak in my defense. I can’t decipher if his instinct to stand up for me is all part of the loving fiancé act or if it means more.
Don’t be stupid, Bianca.
Of course, it has to be all for show. Because the alternative is too hard to swallow and I’d be crazy to imagine he actually cares for me.
I have to give him credit for his acting skills. He has me fooled for a second.
His whole body remains coiled tight as I answer my mom, “I didn’t plan this with the intention to disrespect either of you, Mom. I’m even more hurt that you’re making me feel guilty for falling in love and insinuating that I’m incapable of choosing a worthy man for myself without your help. And I definitely don’t like you insulting my fiancé, whom you haven’t even tried to get to know first or spoken two words to.”
She reels back in shock, mouth agape at seeing me stand up for myself. Something I have never done against my parents, much less for someone else. Whoever said that courage comes from the unlikeliest of places or… a person, was spot on. Dash was the last man on earth I would’ve expected to be that someone for me but strangely enough, he is.
Also, a tiny part of me doesn’t want him to see me as weak. Someone with no backbone.
Or without a mind of her own.
The need to pat myself on the back is a more welcome feeling than the one from a few seconds ago. I’m even more surprised that feigning that Dash means more to me wasn’t as foreign or tough as I pondered. Or that instead of it leaving a bad taste in my mouth, all it left was a strange warmth in my bones. Maybe we’re both natural liars and I can do this after all.
Pretend I’m madly in love with a man who infuriates me.
Pretend I’m his devoted wife when we can’t even stand each other.
Pretend he’s my forever when we already have an end date.
“You’re right, kid,” says my dad, shocking me and Mom. “But you have to understand that it’s a lot for us to process since you’ve sprung it out of nowhere. Your mother has been dreaming of this day to come, just not quite like this. It’ll take time to accept it.”
“I know, Papa.” My shoulders slump. Still, he’s not suspicious so that has to count.
The small trace of softness vanishes from his face as he turns to Dash. “How long have you been seeing my daughter?”
Fuck. My mind blanks and panic swells in my chest because I know we’re not prepared for an interrogation. Something we could have avoided had he not decided to make his surprised grand entrance.
I gasp silently when his large hand curls around my thigh to seize my nervous tapping, away from my parents’ eyes. The tips of his fingers dangerously and indecently close to my pussy.
It distracts me from my rapidly beating heart as I focus on his voice. His words, yanking the ground from beneath me and tilting it on its axis.
“Seeing isn’t the word I’d choose.” His gaze softens. “I’ve been in love with Bianca for as long as I can remember. Though it took her a while to finally see me and confess she feels the same.”
I stare at his profile speechlessly when my mother asks, “When did you two meet?”
“Seven years ago.”
“For the first time, yes,” I add before he can mention Niall and reveal more. “We stayed in touch until he moved here and I couldn’t deny I wanted him.”
“So this is a whirlwind romance?” My mom’s lips purse in distaste. “Your marriage doesn’t stand a chance. I don’t approve of this.”
“Approve?” I jerk back, aghast. “It’s my life. My future.”
“You won’t have my blessing.”
“Meera.” My dad sighs, laying his hand on my mom’s curled fist on the table. “Let’s all calm down.”
The rough scrape of the chair pushing back on my right stills all of us. I whip my head to the side just in time to see Dash get up, eyes thunderous while the rest of his face remains impassive.
My mouth drops open when he tugs on my hand until I’m standing in the crook of his arm and declares, “We’re leaving.”
