“Try these.” Mehar Auntie plucked a jalebi from the plate. “I’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon. I thought I’d bring some treats to our dance class.” Short and round, and blessed with an amazing sense of rhythm, Mehar was the family dance queen, hogging every sangeet pre-wedding party with her well-rehearsed dance moves. She and Daisy taught Bollywood dancing together at the local recreation center, both as a fun cardio workout and a way to connect to the Indian culture.

“I’m meeting Liam’s family tonight.” Daisy nibbled the jalebi. Fragrant with rose water and spices and dripping with heavy, sweet syrup, the spiral-shaped orange treats were her favorite Indian dessert. “Can I bring some to share?”

Mehar Auntie sniffed her displeasure. “The boy should meet the girl’s family first.”

“I couldn’t have a family gathering without Dad.”

“I’m with you two times a week,” she huffed. “You didn’t say anything about him.” Mehar Auntie turned away. “I thought I was the favorite auntie, but you let Salena meet him first.”

Daisy put down the plate and her treat to give her aunt a hug. “Don’t be like that, Auntie-ji. Of course you’re my favorite. Meeting Salena Auntie was an accident. If I hadn’t bumped into her, I would have told you first.”

Slightly mollified, Mehar Auntie sighed. “Take some sweets then. Maybe they will like them; maybe not. Who knows? We know nothing about this family. Not even their name.”

Layla arrived while Mehar Auntie was packing up the sweets. She shooed them into the living room with steaming cups of chai while she cleaned up, and they settled on the couch with Max curled up between them. Mehar Auntie’s taste veered toward the traditional, with dark wood furniture and brightly colored fabrics.

“How are things with the fake fiancée?” Layla asked.

“I kissed him.”

Layla froze, her cup halfway to her mouth. “Are you serious?”

“It was just for show.” She gave an absent shrug. “Tyler told my friends at the office that we were engaged. Mia and Zoe were happy for me, but Josh couldn’t believe someone like Liam would want to marry someone like me. I got a bit irritated, and then when Rochelle brought him in and was clearly just waiting to make a move, something snapped inside me.”

Layla sighed. “Stories like this never end well.”

“So I kissed him,” Daisy continued. “But he took it a step further and bent me right over backward like they do in the movies . . .”

“Oh no.” Layla put down her cup. “Do not fall for that. You saw what he was like in high school. You know that move. Remember Becky Evans? And Maria Lopez? He dipped them, slept with them, and dropped them. Even after he broke it off, they hung around his locker like lovesick sheep.”

Daisy stroked Max’s fluffy head. “I’m not a lovesick sheep. It was just . . . He understood that I needed to make a point and I didn’t have to explain.”

“All he understands is how to get a woman into bed. If he has to bend you over in the middle of your office, then that’s what he’s going to do.”

“We have rules,” Daisy said. “No sex.”

“Be careful with him,” Layla warned. “That’s all I’m saying. He broke your heart once. Don’t let him to do it again.”

• 15 •

LIAM slowed his motorcycle outside his grandfather’s ranch-style house in Richmond, pulling up to the curb where Daisy was waiting beside a bright red Mini.

She tapped her watch as he pulled off his helmet. “You’re two minutes and thirty-seven seconds late.”

“I wanted to make an entrance.”

Daisy laughed. “If you want to make an entrance when we meet my family, you’ll need to do better than that. Two minutes would be considered ill-mannered and early. An hour late is right on time.”

In her family, people didn’t just get together for weddings and funerals. They were involved in each other’s lives. They would know if someone was being abused and would step in to help, unlike his father’s side of the family, who had never once reached out to his mom. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t made an effort to reconnect with them after his dad passed away. Forgiveness wasn’t easy when he couldn’t forget.

“I brought Indian sweets.” She held up a pink cardboard box. “Mehar Auntie made them this afternoon. I was tempted to eat them all myself, but Layla convinced me to share.”

“How is Layla?” He secured his helmet to the back of his bike.

“Very skeptical of you and your motives.”

He bit back a chuckle. “I would expect nothing less. She always had your back.”

“So this is your motorcycle.” Daisy walked a full circle around his bike.

“That’s my baby.” He patted the dark brown seat. “It’s a Ducati XDiavel S in liquid concrete gray with black mechanics.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” The words dropped from his lips before he could stop them. She was wearing a cherry red dress with white polka dots that hugged all her curves and dipped low at the top, giving him a delicious glimpse of the soft swell of her breasts.

“Thank you.” Her gaze dropped and she pulled her phone out of a small red purse that matched her shoes.

Liam had never thought much about a woman’s shoes before, but Daisy’s shoes demanded to be noticed. Curvy and round with bows on top and a high, graceful heel that made his mouth water, they were sweet and sexy all at once—the kind of shoes a man could admire when his lover was bent over his table in her fancy dress, skirt flipped up, and . . . fuck, why had he locked his helmet to his bike?

Shrugging off his leather jacket, he held it discretely in front him and forced his mind back to the conversation because, holy hell, when had he ever let his Daisy fantasies get this out of control?