“You never know. A good boy like you who looks after your sister, handsome and tall . . .” She slid her measuring tape around his arm. “Strong, too.” She reached up to wrap the measuring tape around Sam’s chest. “Fit.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s perfect for you. I’ll need to make some adjustments, but it should be ready for you in a week or two.”

Sam grimaced. “Thank you, but I really don’t need a sherwani—”

“You don’t like our clothes?” Her mouth turned down in a sad smile.

His gut clenched. He was no good at this game. Usually his mother did all the bargaining when it came to buying traditional outfits. “Yes, I do. They’re beautiful but—”

“So no problem.” She continued measuring him, writing down numbers on the small notepad she had pulled out of her apron.

“I’m not getting married.”

“Not getting married?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you’re getting married. A man like you was made to settle down.”

“I’m not getting married now,” he explained. “When I do—if I do—I’ll get my clothes at the time.”

“At the time? There is no time at the time.” She snapped the tape after the last measurement. “I’ll give you a special price. One thousand dollars. It will be ready next week.”

“What’s going on here?” Layla came up beside him, a sticky orange jalebi in one hand and a silver shawl in the other. “Are you getting married?”

“No, but your aunt seems to think I am.”

Layla laughed. “What price did Nira Auntie give you?”

Sam’s mouth opened and closed again. “I don’t care about the price. I don’t need—”

“See.” Nira smiled. “He doesn’t care about the price. He knows $1,000 for this quality is a good deal.”

“For last year’s style?” Layla fingered the material. “This isn’t worth more than $700.”

Nira slapped a hand over her heart. “Seven hundred dollars? You want me to give it away? I’ll go out of business. He can have it for $1,100 and that’s a final price.”

“What happened to $1,000?” Sam asked.

“That was the old price.” Nira shook her head. “You should have taken it before it went up.”

“Seven hundred fifty dollars,” Layla said. “And you’re lucky to get an offer like that since it’s covered in dust from sitting so long.”

Nira brushed off the sherwani. “That’s not dust. That’s pure gold powder that we sprinkle on it for luck. Just one ounce costs over $100.”

“Look at this thread.” Buoyed by Layla’s presence, he jumped into the game. He negotiated with clients and employees every day. How hard could it be?

“No, Sam.” Layla groaned softly and shook her head.

“That’s high-quality thread,” Nira’s lips quivered at the corners. “What was I thinking offering it to you for $1,100 when a sherwani of that quality usually goes for $1,200?”

“At the store down the street they are charging $700 for sherwanis that don’t have threads on them,” Layla countered. “Maybe we should go there.”

“One thousand dollars and I’ll throw in the juti.” Nira smiled. At least Sam thought it was a smile, or maybe she was baring her teeth. “Special price on shoes for friends of family.”

Layla glanced over at the rows of formal wedding shoes. “Embroidered. Not plain.”

Sam made one last attempt to save his masculine pride. “I’m buying my sister’s clothes so I can’t pay more than $800.”

Nira threw up her hands. “Any less than $950 and I might as well close my doors.”

“You won’t go out of business for $50, Auntie-ji.” Layla held out her hand. “Are we agreed on $900?”

“It hurts my heart that family would take advantage of an old lady like me.” Nira shook her head. “Eight hundred seventy-five dollars.”

“Including the pajama,” Sam added, gesturing to the pants that went with the outfit.

“You two together . . . rascals.” Nira shook Sam’s hand. “Eight hundred eighty-five dollars. Pay up front.”

“What just happened?” Sam watched Nira carry the sherwani away.

Layla laughed. “We tag-teamed and now you’re all ready for your wedding. You just need to pick out your shoes.”

“I didn’t come here to buy an outfit, I came for . . .” He trailed off when he saw Nisha laughing with Deepa by the fitting rooms. She was wearing a royal blue short-sleeved ghagra choli heavily embroidered with silver thread, a matching orange skirt draped over her lap, and a silver shawl over her shoulders. She clearly didn’t need him. She was handling it all herself, as he had always known in his heart she could.

“I came to see you.”

Layla finished her jalebi and licked her lips. “Here I am.”

“We need to talk.”

“I need to wash my hands. I was on my way to the restroom when I saw you about to be swindled by Nira Auntie. I was tempted to leave you to her mercy, but she had that special glint in her eye that meant trouble.”

“She doesn’t look like a swindler.” He followed Layla through the racks of clothes to the back of the store.

“You obviously haven’t seen Dirty Rotten Scoundrels,” Layla said. “No one thinks a sweet old lady is going to soak them for all their cash.”

His pulse kicked up a notch when they reached the restroom. This wasn’t going as planned. “I shouldn’t have left you at my apartment the way I did,” he blurted out. “Royce had a layover and asked to meet at the office at five thirty A.M. I didn’t know how things stood between us, so I took the easy way out.”

Layla pushed open the door. “I got the message when I woke up alone and came into the office to discover my designs in the trash covered with horrible comments. But that’s just how things roll with me. I have an uncanny ability to pick the wrong guys.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe while she washed her hands in the sink. “That wasn’t me; it was Royce. He’s brilliant at what he does but he lacks empathy and basic social skills. After I saw what he’d done, I put the papers in the trash hoping they’d be cleared away before you saw them. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

She studied him in silence as she dried her hands. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.”