“No!” I say, reaching for her wrist as she pushes off from the seat and slides out of the booth, out of my grasp.

  “I shouldn’t have come tonight. I just—I’m so…”

  “You just what?” I demand. “You’re so what? Be honest with me, Courtney. Please!”

  She plucks her purse from the tabletop. “I’m so sorry.”

  I could have jumped up and run after her. I could have grabbed her arm on the rainy sidewalk outside of the Rum House and turned her around. I could have dropped my lips to hers and kissed her with every ounce of feeling I have for her. And I could have hoped that she’d withdraw her application to be arranged and choose me instead.

  Except that friends don’t shatter each other’s dreams, and if I can’t make hers come true, I have no right to take them away.

  CHAPTER 9

  Courtney

  I cry on the cab ride home to my apartment, then kick off my shoes, lie down on my bed, and cry some more.

  Partially because I know that Josh is right: friends don’t hold hands or have romantic dances in the moonlight or fight against kissing each other with every bit of strength they have. And partially because not articulating our magnetic attraction and burgeoning feelings meant that I could both enjoy it and deny it, and now I can’t. I was happily eating my cake, and he took it away from me.

  Now I have to confront my feelings and deal with them, something I really didn’t want to do. Either that, or I need to make the blanket decision to stop spending time around Josh. With a fiancé in the process of being arranged for me, I shouldn’t be spending time with a man for whom I’ve developed feelings. It’s not fair to him, or to me, or to the man I’ll be marrying soon.

  “Gah! I hate my life!”

  Leaving my bed, I blow my nose as I head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. While I’m standing at the sink filling an old-fashioned kettle with water, my eyes land on the bullet-point list entitled “Prepare for Your Arranged Marriage,” and I lean against the counter, feeling guilty.

  Don’t do it. Don’t use the matchmaker service.

  I blink my eyes against more tears when I hear his voice in my head.

  Oh, my heart. My stupid, stupid heart.

  It’s such early days. Too early to feel this much. It’s dangerous to let myself fall when there are no guarantees. No intentions have been declared. No commitment is in place. We’re still a ways away from calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. And then what? There’s the meeting-each-other’s-friends stage. And the moving-in-together stage. And the meeting-each-other’s-family stage. The splitting-holidays stage. The fights. The breakups. The “I love yous.” The makeups. And then—maybe, just maybe—if he doesn’t get bored of me and move to LA with the twentysomething cutie pie starring in his play, we might end up engaged and then married. But how many years from now? Two? Three? Ten?

  The kettle whistles, and I jump.

  “You can’t do this to yourself,” I mutter, opening the cabinet next to the stove and taking out a teabag, which I throw into a mug and chase with boiling water. “You have a plan. A good plan. A plan that sidesteps years of terrible worrying and wondering and heartbreak.”

  So that’s that.

  Ignore your feelings. Avoid Josh. Be arranged. Get married.

  I take my tea into the living room and plop down on the couch, covering myself with a fleecy blanket.

  But what if it doesn’t take two years or three or ten? asks a voice in the back of my mind. What if you ignore what you feel and walk away from Josh when he could’ve made you happy?

  I was serious tonight when I said he was beautiful and smart, funny and kind. And he is my friend, but he’s also become so much more than that. The way he held me in his arms when I arrived at the theater tonight. The way he kissed my hand during “Sun and Moon.” My breath hitches, and I exhale on a sob. I have feelings for him. Real feelings. When I think of him spending money he doesn’t have on those tickets just to spend time with me, it makes me want to weep for days.

  I reach for my tea, sniffling pathetically as I take a sip. Then I lean back on the couch, remembering his voice near my ear when he told me that he missed me last night. At least two gimlets went to waste when I thought I saw you in the crowd…

  I wake up hours later on the couch, my eyes still burning from tears, and my heart so heavy with doubt and confusion, I wonder how my chest can contain it.

  ***

  Burying myself in work, I burn the candle at both ends this week, arriving at the office early and leaving after nine every night. Josh doesn’t call or text, which feels good and bad for different reasons, but makes it easier for me to tunnel into work. Hell, I’m woman enough to admit that now and then, when I’m truly overwhelmed, avoidance is one of my chosen tactics for dealing with uncomfortable personal issues.

  By Friday, however, I’m not only avoiding my feelings for Josh, I’m also avoiding Dina. If I run into her at the office, I know she’ll try to get me to go out tonight. But if I can skip Tidewaters this week and next, I’ll make it to the June 1 deadline without seeing Josh again. It makes me sad to think of leaving things between us on such a sour note, but I know it’s the smarter choice. He can’t give me what I want, and if I were to compromise—to give him a chance and date him—only to find myself alone and unmarried five years from now? I’d never forgive myself…or him.

  My “Avoid + Ignore” plan is going really well, in fact, until four thirty, when my assistant, Pam, buzzes me over the intercom.

  “Miss Khatri is calling. Mr. DeWitt would like to see you before you leave for the day.”

  “Thanks, Pam. Tell Dina I’ll stop by Walter’s office in half an hour.”

  Shoot. There goes my plan to avoid Dina until sneaking out of here at five. Oh, well.

  I admit I’m curious as to why Walter DeWitt, the founder and CEO of DeWitt, Morris & Jones, wants to see me. My day-to-day dealings are mostly with Joel Morris, our CFO. I head to the ladies’ room to freshen up, then return to my office to pack up for the day. With any luck, I’ll miss Dina and beeline straight to the elevator after my meeting. I bid Pam a good weekend, then begin my trek across the building to Walter’s office, which sits in the southwest corner of the building and affords knockout views of the sunset over the Hudson River. All the trappings of success and power.

  When I arrive at Walter’s suite of offices, Dina is sitting at her desk. She looks up and offers me a warm smile.

  “Hey, stranger!”

  “Hey, Dina,” I say, grinning at her. Her glossy black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a sapphire-blue silk blouse. “Great color for you.”

  “Jewel tones,” she says. “An Indian girl’s best friend.”

  I gesture to Walter’s office. “Do you know what this is about?”

  “Nope. But you can tell me all about it over drinks. I’ll run to the ladies while you’re inside and we can head downstairs as soon as you’re finished.”

  “Oh. No, I don’t think so. Not tonight, Dee.”

  “What?” She pouts. “Why not? We always—”

  “I’m tired. I’ve got stuff to—”

  “One drink. Come on! I don’t want to go alone.”

  “You’re never alone,” I say. “You’ll have ten guys swarming you five minutes after you arrive.”

  Dina bites her bottom lip, then tilts her head to the side, her dark eyes holding on to my blue. “I talked to Josh last week.”

  Just his name. Just hearing his name sends a shiver of pleasure mixed with melancholy down my spine.

  “Oh.” I gulp, searching her face, thirsty for any and all news about Josh.

  “He really likes you.”

  My heart clutches.

  “I like him too,” I admit in a whisper.

  “Then, Court—”

  “Like isn’t enough,” I say. “Don’t you get it? I’m on the precipice of forever.”

  “Or disaster.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I don’t share your optimism about this matchmaking business,” Dina shoots back. “I’ve been up front about that with you.”

  “I’d like your support.”

  “Can’t give it,” says Dina. “Josh is real. Josh is a known entity. I’d choose that over the unknown any day. Besides, he’s sweet and he’s hot and he likes you. Isn’t that enough to give him a chance?”

  “No,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ve really thought about this, and no, it isn’t. The reason I signed up with ArrangeMeToo.com in the first place is that I’m done dating. My heart can’t take it. And that’s just dating random guys. If I date Josh, who I actually care about, and it goes sour? I’ll not only have wasted years of my life, it’ll be…devastating.” I pause, remembering the plot to Great Expectations, which I read in high school. A woman disappointed by a jilted marriage locks herself up in a mansion and essentially becomes a hermit for the rest of her life because she can’t and won’t trust her heart to be broken again. “I could become another Miss Havisham.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind.”

  Dina tsks, then purses her lips and shakes her head at me. “Court, I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. I have a plan.”

  “I know all about your stupid plan. That’s what worries me.”

  I shrug because we’re at an impasse. She doesn’t think ArrangeMeToo.com will work and I do. And I’m not letting her—or Josh—ruin it for me.

  “How do you know you won’t regret it?”

  “My arranged marriage?”

  “Fuck your arranged marriage!” she hisses, shooting a quick glance at Walter’s closed door before continuing with her tirade. “No! Walking away from Josh. What if you regret it?”

  “The only thing I’d regret is giving up my expert-arranged match to date someone for God only knows how long and end up alone and brokenhearted several years from now. Christ, Dee! Give it a break, okay? I’m doing this. It’s my life!”

  “Fine,” says Dina. “Then come have a drink with me. If you’re so sure you’re making the right choice, then running into Josh shouldn’t bother you, right? It shouldn’t matter if you see him.”

  I take a deep breath and let it go slowly.

  She has a point. It would be empowering to say hello to Josh, have a quick drink at the bar, and then go home. I could even apologize for running out on him last weekend and make peace with Josh so that he didn’t take up so much of my mind. I could put our short little flirtation behind me and continue forward on my path with a clear conscience.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  Her intercom beeps. “Has Miss Salinger arrived yet?”

  “I’ll send her right in, sir,” answers Dina.

  Before I open Walter’s door, I turn around.

  One drink, I mouth to Dina, who nods, looking pleased as punch that she got her way.

  One drink I hope I don’t regret.

  ***

  Four weeks in London.

  That’s what Walter wanted to talk to me about.

  Whether or not I’d be open to spending the next month in London to look at prospects and make recommendations on initial investments.

  “It’s not a mandatory assignment, Miss Salinger,” he said, “but it would bolster our confidence in you to know that you could step in on an international level now and then.”

  As Dina checks her phone beside me on the elevator ride to the lobby, I consider Walter’s offer. I would have an apartment of my choosing and an ample allowance, and I would be paid an additional bonus for the four weeks. I’d leave as early as next Monday and return sometime in mid-June…just in time to get married.

  Josh’s face flitted through my mind when Walter suggested the trip, and I can’t deny that I felt something tighten inside of me at the notion that tonight will likely be my final chance, as a single woman, to see him. It made my decision to get married by expert more real than ever.

  But it also made me rise to Dina’s challenge. If you’re so sure you’re making the right choice, then running into Josh shouldn’t bother you, right? Right.

  And yet, as we exit the elevator and breeze through the glass doors onto the sidewalk, a knot forms in my stomach.

  As if she can sense my fear, Dina takes my arm, looping her elbow through mine. “It’s okay to admit you’ve made a mistake.”

  I haven’t.

  “It’s okay if you want to put your matchmaking service on hold. They’ll still be there, ready to take your money.”

  “Actually, they have a clause about that,” I tell her. “If you back out, you forfeit your money and there are no second chances, because it’s an indication that you’re not committed to the process.”

  “There are other matchmaking services in the world.” She pauses. “My mother, for instance.”

  I laugh. “Does she have someone lined up for you?”

  “Always,” says Dina.

  “What? I didn’t know!”

  She shrugs. “At least once a month I attend a very awkward dinner at my mummy’s house wherein she’s invited a very eligible Indian bachelor from a very good family to join us.” She sighs. “I eat. He eats. We trade vitals. I feel bored. He eventually leaves. I tell my mummy no. She nods her head and sets up another dinner a few weeks later.”

  “Why don’t you tell her to stop?”

  “What do I have to lose? Maybe—just maybe—one night, my very own Punjabi prince charming will be sitting there across from me. And wouldn’t I hate to miss out on that?”

  She opens the door to Tidewaters, which is unusually packed this evening, and I can’t help it. My eyes zoom to the bar, where I catch a glimpse of Josh’s dark head leaning over the long counter, talking to someone. Goosebumps break out across my arms.

  There you are, my heart whispers.

  I’m dumb struck for a moment, staring in his direction, feeling the corners of my lips turn up as he smiles at a customer, my eyes focused on the small dent of a dimple that appears in his cheek.

  “Come on,” says Dina, yanking on my arm.

  “Where to? It’s packed!”

  “I think I see two seats at the end.”

  She elbows through the crowd, arriving at the end of the bar, where two guys are sitting side by side. Sidling up behind them, Dina lowers her voice and bats her lashes.

  “Saving me and my friend a seat? You two are the sweetest.”

  The guys, whom I’m positive she doesn’t know, turn in unison to look at her, and both smile instantly.

  “Uh…yeah. That’s, uh, exactly what we were doing,” says Guy #1, sliding off his seat to offer it to her.

  Dina giggles at him before turning to me. “Told you.”

  “Can we get you two some drinks?” asks Guy #2, offering me his stool.

  “N—” I start to say, but Dina cuts me off.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Feeling uneasy to be here, let alone to be accepting drinks from random guys, I slide onto the stool, staring down the bar at Josh. He’s wearing a navy-blue T-shirt that hugs his chest and fits snugly over his biceps. Leaning over the bar to take an order, he cups his ear to hear better, then grins and nods. I watch as he picks up a pint glass and pulls down the lever on one of the draught beers, turning his head slowly to check out who else might be looking for service. When he gets to me, I’m waiting.

  His eyes flare wide, and the casual smile on his face disappears. His lips tighten, and he stares at me until the beer he’s pouring overflows onto his hand and he snaps his head back to see what he’s doing. He mouths the word Fuck, then releases the valve and grabs a dishcloth to wipe the sides of the glass. As he puts the beer on a waiting cocktail napkin and slides it to the waiting patron, he glances my way again, his eyes dark and angry.

  That’s when I know.

  I hurt him.

  I hurt him when I left him at the Rum House, and that knowledge squeezes my heart in such a terrible way, I blink away tears as I stare down at the chrome counter.

  A moment later, I hear his voice. “Hey, Hot Stuff. Amstel?”

  “Yes, sir!” says Dina cheerfully, then more softly, “I brought Courts.”

  I look up at Josh, who offers me a cool smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “What can I get for you?” he asks.

  “A gimlet,” I whisper.

  He leans closer to me. “You sure? I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake.”

  My words from last Saturday assault me: This was a mistake.

  I swallow over the lump in my throat. “A gimlet, please.”

  “Their drinks are on me,” says the guy standing next to Dina.

  Josh turns his neck slowly to look at the guy, his eyes narrowing as he straightens up. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “None of your business,” says the guy. “Get the drinks, pal.”

  “I’m not your fucking pal,” Josh growls, crossing his arms over his chest so the muscles on his arms pop.

  The guy looks at his friend and laughs. “Fucking attitude on this guy, huh?”

  “No tip for you!” his friend says to Josh in a singsong voice before winking at me.

  Josh looks back and forth between them before looking back at me, his eyes confused. “Wait. Are you with these guys?”

  “N-No! We just—”

  The guy next to me sighs loudly. “What if she is, man? Seriously, can you just do your fucking job? An Amstel, a gimlet, two IPAs, and four tequila shots. Now.”

  Josh stares at me hard before sliding his eyes to the guy.

  “Be careful,” he says, flicking a mean glance at me before continuing. “This one will lead you on and then decide it’s all a mistake.” His nostrils flare like a bull about to impale a toreador. “I’ll get you that drink, miss.”

  I can’t bear his pain or his meanness; both hurt too much. I close my eyes against the burn of tears about to fall and scramble for my bags. The only thing I can think about is getting out of there as soon as possible. I don’t want to embarrass myself by crying in front of Josh.

  “Hold up!” Dina grabs my arm. “Courts. Courtney! What are you doing?”