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“He seems nice,” Lucky said, meaning it.

“He is,” Mariam said. Her gaze was roaming the crowd, taking in the bright, colorful outfits, the expensive yet tasteful decor, and Lucky knew she was doing the math, wondering how her own wedding could replicate this exact same look; he contemplated introducing her to Kulsoom, then thought better of it. Samir’s wedding planner looked like she needed a long rest and a vacation after the past week, not a client like Mariam.

“How long have you and Fawaz been together?” Lucky asked instead. His gaze lingered on the ring. It occurred to him that a proposal from another man only a week after she had dumped him was a fast turnaround, even for Mariam.

She sighed. “About a year. You got me, Lucky. I started up with you while I was with Fawaz. I panicked, okay? My parents were putting pressure on me to settle down, wrap things up with him, but I wasn’t ready. You were my last chance to have a little fun. Don’t hate me.” Mariam pouted, her beautiful face luminous in the soft light inside the tent. At one point, Lucky had found her very attractive. Today, she didn’t even warrant a lingering look.

“I don’t hate you,” Lucky said. “I haven’t really thought about you since we broke up.”

“Ouch,” Mariam said. “I think you mean since I dumped you?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of one of the mocktails. It was really very good. He fished inside his pocket to tip the bartender ten dollars with a smile, and she winked at him. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Mariam peered at him. “You seem different, somehow. Happier, but also sadder? I know that’s not because of me.”

Lucky lifted the remaining glasses, preparing to walk away, when she put a hand on his arm.

“You knew who I was when we got together,” she said. A small smile crossed her face, and Lucky remembered one of the surprising things about Mariam: She might resemble a vapid desi princess, but she had surprising self-awareness. “Fawaz knows the score too. I never lied to him about you.”

“You only lied to me about him,” he countered.

“You didn’t care enough to ask,” she said.

He angled his head, not disagreeing with her. “I hope you’re happy too,” he told her, meaning it.

“I’ll be secure,” Mariam said. “When you grow up like I did, always hearing how beautiful I am and that I had to marry a certain type of guy, with all the expectations my parents had for me, stability is the most important thing. At least my parents will get off my back now.”

For the first time since the conversation started, he met her gaze. “Are you sure about that? Or did you just teach them to keep nagging until you do what they want? That you’ll give in if they apply the right pressure?”

She blinked at him, then looked over at Fawaz.

“He seems like a good person,” Lucky said, pushing away from the bar. “Maybe you both deserve better.”

Once more, Mariam stopped him, briefly. Her expression was troubled and thoughtful, as if his words had reached a secret part of herself. “Your uncle is here,” she said. “I heard someone call his name, and I got suspicious. I asked the wedding planner the name of the caterer, and she mentioned your family’s restaurant. Plus, he looks just like your dad. I came over to warn you. I didn’t want you to be surprised.” She squeezed his arm once, gently, before letting go.

Somehow, Lucky returned to his table and distributed drinks, his gaze on the growing crowd. Except this time, instead of Dina, he was looking for his uncle Mansoor.

Mariam knew what had happened between his family and his uncle’s, though not the details. He appreciated the warning. Huma noticed her son’s distraction.

“Who was that fancy woman you were talking with just now?” she asked.

“An old friend. She told me she’s getting married soon,” Lucky said, scanning the crowd. Was the older man in the corner, the one dressed in a maroon shalwar, his uncle? He squinted, trying to focus.

“Don’t forget about your promise, Lucky,” Huma said, clearly not believing his story about his “friend” Mariam. “I expect you to introduce me to Aliyah. In fact, you can point her out to me and I’ll just go over now—”

This captured Lucky’s attention, and he stopped scanning the crowd to look at his mother. “Mom, I told you, we’re keeping it simple; in fact, we both decided not to move forward, so there’s really no reason—”

“Salam, Huma. Salam, Lucky, Saleem.” It was the man dressed in maroon. Lucky stared at Mansoor Uncle, his father’s older brother. Aside from that brief moment outside the restaurant with Dina, Lucky hadn’t seen his uncle in almost four years. Which, for the first three years, had been entirely his uncle’s choice. His fist tightened at his side, and he stood up, seething.

“Get away from my mother,” he said. Lucky felt his entire body trembling with rage, a white-hot anger that coursed through him like a wave that needed somewhere to go. He raised his arm and—

His mother stood beside him; she reached up and gently lowered Lucky’s arm. She turned to face her former brother-in-law. “All right, Mansoor,” she said, deliberately using only his first name, a subtle hint that she no longer viewed him as her brother. “Since you won’t leave us alone, let us talk outside.” She indicated he should lead the way, then followed. Lucky stomped after them, his brother Saleem hurrying behind.

Chapter Thirty-One

Dina was back at Crescent House after mingling with guests, summoned to play her part in her sister and Samir’s grand entrance, complete with horse-drawn carriage. She waited in the expansive foyer for the rest of the wedding party, but everyone else was still getting ready. She settled herself on a padded divan.

Evans wandered by. “You look very nice, Ms. Dina,” the older man said.