They walked in easy silence across the square, stopping at the edge of the dry fountain.

“Time to open your eyes, Sam. There’s beauty in the most hidden places.”

Sam stared at the massive forty-foot concrete tangle of square pipes illuminated by a few perimeter lights. “It looks even worse than I remember.”

“Stay right there.” Layla dodged a late-night skateboarder and jumped down into the dry concrete basin.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to dance.”

He glanced quickly from side to side. There were a few people taking pictures, a couple seated along the edge, and the skateboarders were practicing their jumps in the square.

“There’s no water.”

“I’ll imagine it.” She twirled around in front of the gaping maw of a concrete tube. “Do you know the song ‘Dard-e-Disco’ from Om Shanti Om?”

“Am I brown?” Om Shanti Om was one of the classic Bollywood films. He’d been forced to watch it countless times. His mother never cooked without a Bollywood film playing on the TV in her kitchen, and the songs from each one were burned into his brain.

“Look it up and play it for me. I’m going to teach you the dance.” She posed for him as he joined her in the fountain, searching his phone for the music.

“I’ll watch.”

“You need to experience it, Sam. You can’t live your life at a distance.” She rolled her hips and danced a few steps, her hands stretching in the air. “Put your first two fingers together and place them on your thumb so your hands look like little wolves, then turn them up and twist into flowers. It’s easy.” She made the gesture. “Come on, lone wolf. I’m putting it in manly wolf terms for you. If the Khans can dance, so can you.”

Sam seriously doubted his skills were on par with the Khans, two of Bollywood’s most famous leading men. And how could he dance when Nisha could never dance again? How could he find joy in a fountain that represented a freedom she could never have? “Flowers aren’t manly,” he protested.

“Fine. You just stand there and wallow in your masculine pride. Cue the music so I can dance.” Her hands flowed from hips to waist and then up to her shoulders as she practiced her moves. She was breathtakingly lovely, but it was the light in her face that drew him in—a joy he desperately wanted but could never possess.

“Imagine the water flowing through the pipes.” She circled one arm and pointed with the other at the nearest open tube. “Imagine being young and riding the waves through the darkness and then exploding into the light.”

Sam was imagining a lot of things as she undulated in front of him, and none of them involved being a kid.

“Do you see the beauty?”

“Yeah.” Mesmerized, he watched her dance. “I see you.”

“Come on. Dance with me.” She held out her arms and he took a step forward, yearning for the freedom she offered, the beauty and joy she could find in a moment.

“Sam! Look out.” Layla ran at him, hitting his body with such force, he stumbled back. His arms wrapped around her to keep them both from falling, just as a skateboarder shot out of the darkness. Momentum carried them into one of the angled legs of the fountain, the force of their landing reverberating through the structure with a low hum.

“Idiot!” Sam shouted at the skateboarder. “Watch where you’re going.” His pulse pounded in his ears so loud he could barely hear.

Layla drew in a shuddering breath. “Are you okay?”

He adjusted his grip, pulling her closer, enjoying the warm, soft comfort of having her in his arms. “Yes. You?”

“I’m fine.” A slow smile spread across her face. “I saved you. Like Katniss saved Peeta in The Hunger Games.”

“So now I owe you my life? Is that it?” he teased. Layla made him feel things he wasn’t ready to feel. She made him think about things he’d buried years ago. She was redemption made real. But was he worthy of being redeemed?

“You owe me something.” Her arms wound around his neck, soft breasts pressing against his chest. Her eyes softened, lips parted, head tilted back . . .

There was no resisting that plea. He crushed her to his chest, head dipping down. Their lips touched . . .

“Sam!” A woman’s voice rang through the shadows. “I’d recognize that sexy butt anywhere. Why didn’t you call? I missed you.”

The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end. No. It couldn’t be . . .

“I can’t do this.” Layla pulled away. “Not again.” Before Sam could stop her, she climbed out of the fountain and ran into the night.

Sam moved to follow, but a taloned hand gripped his arm, holding him fast. He caught a whiff of Eau de Musk and his stomach clenched.

Karen.

“I’m so glad I bumped into you,” Karen said. “I need your help. I got fired.”

• 12 •

IT was standing room only in the function space at Redwood Hospital. Layla’s father was awake, but with visitors strictly limited to two at a time, the Patels had rented the room so everyone could have a snack while waiting their turn to visit.

“This is chaos.” Pari Auntie shook her head. “So much shouting. So little respect. Nasir’s sisters should see him next, but I saw Nira and Vij sneaking down the hall.”

“I think they were going to get more plates.” Layla looked around at the tables heaving with food, kids running around, cousins pranking each other, aunties arguing, and uncles trying to figure out how to get more power to the hot plates. It was no different from any other family gathering, except that her father wasn’t around to take control.

Pari Auntie’s head jerked to the side, and she shouted at Lakshmi Auntie, who was holding a lighter to a small bundle of incense. “Lakshmi! I told you. No fires. I don’t care if flames will give him twenty years of good luck. If the sprinklers go off, we’ll have to leave and no one will get to see Nasir.”

“Pari! Your boys are fighting,” Charu Auntie called out. “They just knocked over a bowl of gulab jamun. Someone find a mop. We need an extra table for food. Turn down the music. There are sick people down the hall.”

Layla’s heart sank when she saw the boys rolling on the floor. Nadal Uncle and Hari Uncle were trying to pull them apart. This would never have happened if her father had been here. Someone needed to take control. Wrangling rowdy relatives was far outside her comfort zone, but then so was running a business, and if she wanted to make it work, she needed to practice taking some risks.