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The next woman, Juvaria, was taller than Lucky, and almost as broad shouldered. Her sari was impeccably wrapped, her jewelry muted but clearly expensive. The expression on her face as she slowly perused Lucky’s body made him cringe.

“You’ll do,” she said coolly. “I’m a neurosurgeon. You can quit your job after we marry and take care of our children.”

“I . . . can?” Lucky asked.

“Naturally, I won’t give up my career. You, on the other hand, can do so easily. You’re a contractor,” she said.

“I . . . am?” Lucky asked, having trouble following this conversation.

Juvaria looked at Jiya, who was losing her battle to keep a straight face. “Is he slow? His face and body are acceptable, but I do require a basic intellect, Jiya.”

“Why don’t you get yourself a cup of tea, Juvi, and I’ll talk to Lucky,” Jiya said.

Once she left, Lucky raised an eyebrow at his sister-in-law and Saleem. “You did that one just to mess with me,” he accused.

Jiya laughed, shaking her head. “I know her cousin. Juvaria has been having some trouble finding her perfect match.”

“Has she tried Amazon?” Lucky grumbled. “I think she’s looking for the kind you can order online and then boss around for the rest of your life. I hear robots have come a long way.”

“We’ve got one more person we’d like to introduce you to,” Saleem said, leading him across the banquet hall. There was a repressed air of excitement between Jiya and Saleem that made Lucky nervous, and when they led him to a secluded table and introduced him to a pretty woman dressed in a black silk dress, silver embroidery across the sleeves and neck, his alarm grew. Would this woman start speaking in French? Ask for a DNA sample? Demand to speak to his mother?

“This is Aliyah,” Jiya said. “She’s Samir’s cousin from California.”

“Don’t let the tan fool you—I’m an East Coaster at heart,” Aliyah said, shaking Lucky’s hand.

“You talk,” he blurted out.

Aliyah’s laugh was musical. “And you’re funny, along with being cute.” She raised an eyebrow at Jiya and Saleem, who were definitely hovering. “We’ll take it from here, guys, thanks.”

Lucky watched in astonishment as his brother and Jiya scurried away like recalcitrant children, then turned to meet Aliyah’s assessing gaze.

“Let me guess,” she said, her voice soft and musical. “They introduced you to Mehreen, whose mother hasn’t yet accepted that she’s never going to marry a man, and Juvaria, who likes to cosplay as a Viking princess.” Aliyah leaned closer. “She’s not a neurosurgeon, but she is taking improv classes at Second City.”

Lucky groaned as he took a seat. “They played me. I can’t believe it! My own flesh and blood.”

“I’m sure they had their reasons,” Aliyah said, amused. She looked him up and down. “You’re a good-looking guy. I heard you have your own business, and you don’t seem crazy. Are you toxic?”

“I don’t think so?” Lucky said.

“When was your last relationship, and how long did it last?” she asked.

He appreciated her forthright questions, after days of dancing around with Dina. “I was dating someone in Chicago, but it was casual. We were together for about six months. She dumped me a few days ago. Said she needed to get serious and marry a doctor,” Lucky said.

Aliyah tilted her head, contemplating him. “I respect a girl who knows what she wants. Did she break your heart?”

“No,” Lucky said immediately. He thought about it. “She was honest, and we weren’t serious.”

This time Aliyah’s smile seemed even more genuine. “I think I like you. Let’s see where this goes. What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?” Lucky nearly spit out his water, and Aliyah laughed. “Easy, tiger,” she said. “I mean the meal, not anything that comes before, or after.”

Lucky smiled sheepishly. “I . . . think I’ll be enjoying a relaxing meal with you?”

“Excellent answer,” Aliyah said.

“One question,” Lucky said, settling back in his chair. “Does your name end in a?”

Aliyah shook her head. “It’s ‘Aliyah’ with an h. You’re such a weirdo. I could be into that.”

Lucky settled down and tried not to think about Dina, or wonder where she was in the crowd. It didn’t matter anymore.