Page 5

It had been a foregone conclusion that Dina would enter the law like her father and follow in her parents’ footsteps to become a community leader. To do anything less was unthinkable. Plus, there was the fact that her parents loved Arshad. He had charmed and flattered and wormed his way into their good graces. More than once she had overheard Azeez Haq boasting about his “genius son-in-law” who came from humble roots yet clawed his way to the top of his class.

Dina was well and truly cooked, and she couldn’t think of a way out.

As if she could read her mind, Lisa said, “You know, the best revenge is getting with someone better than Arshad. Why don’t you bring a hot date to Hania’s wedding?”

Dina groaned, falling back on the couch. “My parents don’t even know I’m separated from Arshad, let alone divorced, and you want me to bring arm candy to the nikah?”

Lisa waved away her friend’s objection, warming to her idea. “No, it’s perfect. He can just be your ‘friend,’ but it will drive Arshad crazy. Whatever happened to that guy you crushed on in law school? Luke something?”

“Lucky Latif,” Dina corrected, then flushed. She never should have told Lisa about that whole embarrassing episode in her life. The memory of how badly she had misjudged the situation made her shudder even now, years later. She had been a fool to think Lucky actually thought of her as anything other than a friend. After he had moved to Chicago, he had all but cut her out of his life. He had never even bothered to respond when she had sent him a wedding invite. Arshad had seemed wounded too, by his old friend’s silence.

“Dina gets Lucky!” Lisa crowed. “You should ask him out.”

“Firstly, I haven’t talked to Lucky in six years, not since he ghosted me after law school,” Dina said. “Secondly, he moved with his family to Chicago. Pretty sure I’ll never see him again.”

“Lucky moved to Chicago? Maybe he knows Samir. Maybe he’ll be at the wedding and your paths will cross!” Lisa said. Her friend was a hopeless romantic.

“That’s not the way this works for me,” Dina said. “Or anyone, really, other than you and Rick. I’m pretty sure Lucky blocked me years ago, so there’s really no way to track him down and ask him to fly to Toronto tomorrow—”

Her friend was scrolling on her phone. “Found him!” Lisa said, triumphant. She threw her phone at Dina, who caught it automatically.

Lucky’s face stared back at her from Lisa’s Instagram account, and she nearly dropped the phone in shock. His hair was longer, curling over his ears, and he looked older, his cheekbones more prominent, jawline more defined. She could make out subtle muscle under his plain white T-shirt. His serious expression looked different from the always-joking Lucky she had once known, and his eyes seemed sad. She returned the phone to her friend, shaking her head.

“Your mans is hot,” Lisa said, a note of approval in her voice. “Way better looking than Arshad. I think you should DM him.”

“Definitely not,” Dina said.

“Fine, then I will DM him,” Lisa said, a wicked smile on her face.

“Don’t you dare!” Dina said.

“So you’ll tell Daddy Haq the truth and get the Arshole kicked off the guest list?” Lisa asked innocently.

Dina sighed and stood up. “I hate it when you make me do things that are good for me,” she grumbled.

The Haq family law offices had expanded rapidly in the past four years, ever since Dina and Arshad joined the firm after brief stints in corporate law. Haq Law now spanned three floors of an office building in west Mississauga, with plans to grow into the outer suburbs and eventually open an office downtown. Her father had always dreamed of competing with the Bay Street firms one day—the same firms that had rejected him as a young lawyer. When Dina knocked on the door and entered her father’s office, she found him seated behind the ornate custom table, in front of a wall of plaques, statues, and pictures of her father shaking hands with every municipal, provincial, and federal politician of the last twenty-five years, plus a handful of minor celebrities.

Azeez Haq was a diminutive man with the round, squashed face of a garden gnome. His head was too large for his body, but he moved with the quickness of someone half his age, a crackling energy and vitality in every step, movement, and word. He sprang out of his seat when Dina entered, as if he did not see her every day, before leading her to the small sitting area on the left-hand side of his office.

“Did Hania tell you her big news?” Azeez asked.

In the countdown to her wedding, her sister seemed to have “big news” nearly every day; one of her tactics to keep her million-plus followers engaged, Dina assumed. She remembered when her sister had finally hit the big time three years ago, with a viral video series she called “Muslim girls be like . . .” with jokey punch lines and skits that were a variation on the “day in the life” videos so popular at the time. Hania had since moved on to unboxing reels, glam shopping sprees, and girlboss motivational rants, and had even dipped her toe into skin care and makeup tutorials. Lately, her entire feed was one long wedding commercial, the hype machine running in overdrive as she breathlessly revealed floral design, choices for centerpieces, and sponsors for clothes and jewelry, even holding a popular segment titled, “Vote on what my bridesmaids should wear!” Dina had not enjoyed that particular contest, though thankfully Hania’s followers had settled on a pink lengha that wasn’t Pepto adjacent.

Dina didn’t even pretend to understand what her sister did or why her content was so popular, but there was no denying that Hania’s star was on the rise.

“Let me guess. She’s revealing her honeymoon destination? I know Ambreen set up a poll,” Dina said.

Azeez shook his head. “No, this news is top secret, not to be revealed until After the wedding.”

Dina’s heart sank. Whatever the news was, it was unlikely to help with her plan to tell her father the truth about her current relationship status. “Don’t leave me in suspense,” she said.

“Your sister’s wedding will be featured in Vogue Arabia!” Azeez said, clapping his hands.

“What?” Dina stared at her father. “You mean the magazine? But . . . we’re desi, not Arab.”

Her father waved his hands. “Nobody cares about all that, Dina. What a coup for Hania! And what great advertising for Haq Law! They will want pictures of the whole family. You, Arshad, Mom, me, Hania’s wedding party, and of course the happy couple, as well as Samir’s family and his bharat!” He beamed at her, and Dina managed a weak smile in return. She had never enjoyed the limelight, unlike her extroverted little sister, parents, or ex-husband. The idea of being photographed for a magazine—let alone Vogue Arabia—was terrifying. But if it would make her family happy, she would somehow manage. She pasted a smile on her face. “How wonderful!” she lied.

“They want to include pictures and videos from the wedding. Hania says that millions of people visit the Vogue Arabia website every month,” her father said.