She thrust the box under my nose-which trembled at the decadently sweet smell like a rabbit scenting a juicy carrot-and I took the smallest piece to pacify her. I hadn't said a word since opening the door but she hadn't noticed, keeping up a steady stream as always.

"Isn't it wonderful news about Amrita and Rakesh? I'm thrilled they flew me out for the wedding. It's going to be something special." Her eyes misted as she stuffed a piece of halwa into her mouth, licking crumbs off her fingers.

I had to agree with her about the wedding. The happy couple had pulled off the coup of the century. They'd convinced their parents the wedding would take place in New York. The wedding would be a small, intimate affair. And soon-much to the horror of Mama Rama, who'd thrown a classic hissy fit before ungraciously capitulating.

I was thrilled for the lovebirds and looking forward to attending my first Hindu wedding.

"What about you, Shari dear? Have you and young Drew got it on yet?"

Anjali grinned like a benevolent god and sat on the couch as I choked on the last bite of halwa, shocked that: a) she knew I had a thing for Drew and it had been obvious in Mumbai, and b) she knew a phrase like 'get it on.'

Tossing the end of her ochre sari over one shoulder, she fired a glare that meant business. "You thought I didn't notice the way you two looked at each other? I may be old but I'm not blind. I remember that feeling. The spark, the electricity... "

I had to interject before I got the unabridged version of Anjali Does Mumbai.

"Have you been talking to Rita?"

Her shifty sideways glance was a dead giveaway she'd probably heard the entire sorry tale from my best friend and wanted to voice her opinion. "No."

"It's complicated," I said, a small part of me admiring Drew's patience in waiting until I contacted him, impressed he'd respected my wishes. While the rest of me wavered between being downright peeved he hadn't continued to bombard me with calls and convinced his mom had been correct. About everything.

"What a load of nonsense. When a handsome young man is chasing you, why hold him at bay? A week is long enough to make him sweat."

"How'd you know it was a week?"

Anjali rolled her eyes. "Maybe some of that charlatan soothsayer's powers rubbed off on me."

"You said he was phony, so how could he have powers?"

"Stop being so pedantic." She tsk-tsked. "If this is your attitude, no wonder you're having problems with Mr. Drew."

"Lord Drew," I corrected, instantly wanting to slice out my tongue as Anjali leaned so far forward she almost toppled off the couch.

"He's a Lord? Like Lord Louis Mountbatten?"

"Louis who?"

"The royal photographer. Loved India. Amazing man." Her eyes glazed for a second, lost in a golden memory before clearing and refocusing on me. She clapped her hands, her excitement almost infectious. "You're going to be a Lady!"

"Drew and I are friends, and that's as far as it goes, so quit it. You're as bad as Rita. And do you actually know the meaning of 'get it on'?"

"I'm not some hick from Mumbai." Anjali tilted her nose in the air as if affronted, and I grinned.

I'd missed this more than I thought; Anjali's consistently one-sided chats, her unwavering focus on guys, our banter. We'd connected in India like a real niece and aunt, something I didn't have, considering both my folks were only kids.

"Furthermore, you're going to listen to me." She took a deep breath, puffing out her chest like the cocky bantam rooster that used to wander into her yard every morning and scratch around for scraps. "You young people of today are clueless. You waste your time pretending not to like each other, trying to get out of relationships as hard as you try to get into them, dancing around the truth, and then complaining when it all falls apart."

"That's not true. Drew and I-"

"Let me finish." She made a zipping motion across her lips. Yeah, like that'd shut me up. "In my day, it wasn't so different. I wasted my one opportunity at true happiness and spent the rest of my life wishing I'd done things differently. Anu might be a bitch but she's smart, and in matters of the heart being nice gets you nowhere."

Confused by her backhanded reference to Anu's intelligence, I waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't and popped another piece of halwa into her mouth, I decided to confront the Anu mystery head on.

"What is it with you and Anu?"

Anjali's lips clamped tighter as she chewed.

Undeterred, I plowed on. "You said she stole from you?"

Halwa gone, Anjali sighed and nodded. "She stole the man I loved with her conniving lies and I'll never forgive her for it."

Definite grounds for an ongoing vendetta: broken heart, two women fighting over some stud. Another scene straight out of Bollywood.

"I loved Senthil with all my heart."

Senthil? Jeez, Rakesh had been right. Anjali had a thing for his dad. Wow. And I'd thought the flirting and studio visits had been innocent. Looked like I'd stepped into Act One, Scene Two of another drama. At least it took my mind off my personal production unfolding like a Cannes winner.

"What happened?"

Anjali leaned forward and for a second I thought I'd get to hear every last juicy detail. Instead, her lips compressed in a thin, angry line and she shook her head. "That bitch lied, cheated, and wormed her way into Senthil's family. She knew I loved him but it didn't matter. She became Mrs. Senthil Rama and I got the booby prize."

I'd seen photos of Anjali's husband hidden behind a plethora of framed pictures of Rita and her folks back at her place in Mumbai and had to agree. The guy had greasy black hair in a comb-over, crooked teeth, and a nose rivaling the Concorde. Poor Anjali. Senthil's handlebar moustache and expressive eyes would shape up well next to that.

"I already told you we were incompatible in every way. Then he ups and dies six years into our marriage, leaving me widowed and childless."

"I'm so sorry." Trite but true. Anjali deserved better, but before I could comfort her, she snapped her fingers. "If you love Mr. Drew, go out there, grab him with both hands, and don't let go. You do love him, don't you?"

Did I love him? I had no idea. What was love, apart from some nebulous emotion touted by romance writers and exploited by greeting card companies?

I'd thought I loved the Toad. I'd been wrong.

I'd had a few boyfriends, but love would be too strong to describe the attraction-waning-to-like-turning-to-blah of those relationships.

If love involved stomach-churning desire, losing my appetite, and feeling like part of me was missing when he wasn't around then yeah, I guess I was partway to being in love with Drew.

"Well, child? Are you in love with him?"

"I don't know."

Anjali wouldn't settle for blunt honesty. I could tell by the matchmaking gleam in her eyes. "You won't know if you keep ignoring him. Why don't you two talk? You'll see him at the wedding anyway, so the least you can do is clear the air before Amrita's big day. You never know, maybe a bit of matrimonial happiness might rub off on you."

"Not likely." I needed to distract Anjali before she had Drew and me halfway up the aisle. "Do you have any almond barfi? I'd kill for a piece."

Nodding, Anjali pulled out the second box from the bottom and ripped off the sealed wrapper before I could say flee the ghee.

I took a piece and nibbled on the ghee-laden delicacy while Anjali mumbled something sounding suspiciously like 'ring Drew, good husband material' as she tut-tutted under her breath. I pretended not to understand, smiling and nodding as if she spoke Hindi rather than English.

Anjali was right about one thing. I'd have to face Drew at the wedding next week and had scheduled a meeting for tomorrow. He'd be busy brokering a deal until then and I'd be busy plucking up courage for the confrontation.

We were from different worlds, different socioeconomic backgrounds, and as much as I'd like to think my cultural background didn't mean anything, in Drew's world it would. Not immediately, but what if I were to really fall, to love him unequivocally, only to find it meant more to him than me?

I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it.

In a way, hearing about Anjali's failed romance with Senthil only exacerbated my feeling of inevitability. If their grand passion, arranged or otherwise, had failed, what hope did I have of succeeding with so many obstacles?

Maybe I was latching onto excuses to end it, maybe I was giving up without a fight, but I couldn't get in any deeper.

I had to make a clean break, do the 'let's be friends' speech, and act like it wasn't the hardest thing I'd had to do in a long time.

As if reading my mind, Anjali frowned mid-bite. "Call him."

"I will. Now, tell me about the wedding."

Predictably, she launched into an elaborate regaling of Rita's wedding plans as I listened with half an ear, nodding in all the right places, smiling and encouraging, while I mentally rehearsed what the hell I'd say to Drew.

chapter thirteen.

I'd used up my bravado quota in organizing to meet Drew eight days after the Lady Muck showdown but had taken the wuss way out in arranging to rendezvous at the local Starbucks, of all places.

Brave? No.

Immature? Yes.

Hoping the caffeine would give me more of a buzz than seeing him again? Maybe.

I'd chosen neutral meeting ground for several reasons: The apartment held too many memories, most of them involving stripping and canoodling and doing it every which way, and I didn't need a reminder of how hot the guy was when he'd be right in front of me looking way too doable.

A public forum was a safer option in case he wanted to shout at me for calling Lady Muck nasty names.

I'd be less inclined to cry in public, a distinct possibility if he started spouting all that forever nonsense again.

I had intense cravings for Starbucks chai, a new addiction ranking alongside mojitos and cheesecake (extremely serious).

I sipped at my chai and snuggled into an oversized armchair nearest to the cake counter, people-watching. Students with their book-laden arms and bright-eyed enthusiasm, frazzled moms downing giant cappuccinos in record time while repeatedly glancing at their watches and talking in too-loud voices about lack of sleep and diaper brands, and businessmen sneaking away from the office, hiding behind newspapers, trying to look important but spoiling the effect by reading the funnies rather than the financial news.

Through this melting pot of New York Starbucks culture strode Drew, looking ten times better than I remembered. As he drew closer, his suit fitting like a well-made glove, his blue eyes so much brighter and sharper, his lopsided, uncertain grin made the chai slop sickeningly in my stomach. Make that a hundred times better.

Oh God. I still had it bad.

All my Oprah-like self talk, all the Dr Phil-isms to confront him, demand the truth, do what was right for me, etc.... would mean nothing in the face of Drew's inherent, natural ability to charm the pants off me. Literally.

Dragging in a deep breath, I squared my shoulders. I had to stand strong. I had to do this. For me.

"Thanks for coming," I rushed in, awkward and gauche and out of my depth as he leaned forward and brushed the faintest of kisses on my cheek.

The awkwardness vanished the moment his lips touched my skin, replaced by a surge of lust/like/affection (a startling combination of all three) that blindsided me quicker than Mama Rama's slap.

"You look great," he said, slipping into the armchair opposite-deliberately placed there by moi, not wanting to chance a stray encounter with his thigh brushing mine or his hand touching my arm as we talked.

"Thanks." Mortified, I felt the heat surging up my neck, burning my cheeks, a blazing signal to my utter sappiness when it came to this guy.

I'd aimed for a casual 'I don't care anymore and I'm not trying to impress you' look but pride had prompted me to wear my taupe Stella McCartney ensemble, the one Rita said made me look like a goddess. If I was going out in a blaze of glory, better show the guy what he'd be missing out on.

"Would you like another chai?" He pushed a spike of hair off his forehead in a familiar gesture, making my breath catch and my lungs seize.

Damn, this was going to be tough.

"That'd be great."

He smiled, no doubt amused by my scintillating conversation, which had consisted of 'thanks' and 'great' up to that point. I'd known this'd be hard but seeing Drew in his sexy, slightly mussed glory packed a powerful punch that had me staggering on the ropes.

While I struggled not to check out his butt as he ordered at the counter-and lost-I marshaled my thoughts. I should've been angrier, more confrontational from the get-go. Maybe the weeklong break hadn't been a good idea. All the anger and self-righteous indignation had leeched out of me.

"Here you go." He placed a cup of steaming, fragrant chai in front of me and pulled his chair around next to mine, undoing my carefully constructed no-physical-contact arrangement. Crap.

I smiled my thanks and picked up the tea, hoping to hide behind the cup while thinking of something fabulously witty or clever to say.

"Now we've got past the awkward stage, how about you tell me what the hell is going on?" His words didn't hold rancor and his expression appeared calm, though the shadows shifting and darkening his eyes made me wish I'd stuck to texting for this entire conversation.

"We're past the awkward stage? Could've fooled me."

"This doesn't have to be awkward." He sat back, his relaxed posture belied by the steely glint in his glare.

"You lied to me-"

"You ran out-"

We both stopped and I cringed at the all-around uneasiness. It wasn't getting any better. It would never get any better until I took the plunge and leapt in.

"You first," he said, sipping his Earl Grey. Pity tea, the British panacea for all ills, couldn't fix this situation.

"You lied to me. You're not just an IT magnate, you're a lord."

He didn't blink, didn't flinch, his coolness infuriating. "My title has nothing to do with my everyday life. I've never used it, probably never will unless I retire to Yorkshire and live out my days in a dilapidated old castle."

His attempt at honesty-cum-humor didn't help.

"You own a castle?"

"More like a decrepit pile of rocks that's been in my family for generations. Anyway, what's this got to do with us? We were having a good time, and the next thing I know Mother shows up and you won't speak to me."