Busted in Bollywood by Nicola Marsh Read Free Book Online Page B

from the shadows of the Ramas’ sprawling veranda while I waited for Buddy to bring the car around.
    “Hey, Drew. You’re late. Come meet Amrita.” Rakesh didn’t stumble at my name, earning him further brownie points.
    He’d been the consummate performer all night, the adoring fiancé without crossing boundaries. I’d been a mess. My jaws ached from smiling, my head ached from my hair pulled into a tight bun, and I couldn’t wait to drop the charade and head back to Anjali’s, but I fixed one more polite, fake smile on my face and turned to meet Rakesh’s business partner.
    “I’ve heard so much about you.” Drew Lansford moved into the light and my smile faltered as I stepped back in time.
    High School. Brad Stoddard, first love. The guy had stolen my heart at the cafeteria checkout and proceeded to toy with it for months. He’d teased me, sleazed me, and almost pleased me, but I’d chickened out before he could round third base and our one brief, passionate night had ended there. Brad had never spoken to me again.
    Facing his adult doppelganger transported me back to that night in Manhattan. We’d made out in the back of Brad’s grungy wagon, surrounded by McDonald’s wrappers and Coke cans. I’d been high on the fumes of his dad’s Old Spice he’d slathered on, oblivious to the stale pizza crusts lying in scrunched boxes on the floor. The joys of youth.
    “Hi.” One syllable more than I thought I’d manage considering Drew’s uncanny resemblance to Brad, while registering the intelligent blue eyes, the messy brown hair tumbling over his forehead, and the slight dimple in his right cheek.
    He had a serious Hugh Grant thing going on, complete with British accent. Super hot. I’d sat through Four Weddings and a Funeral; Notting Hill; Bridget Jones’s Diary; and Love, Actually several times, wondering why the oddly foppish guy who talked with a plum in his mouth had me salivating.
    “Congratulations.” He thrust his hands into designer denim pockets while I tried not to ogle the charcoal T-shirt clinging to a chest that could hold its own in a roomful of GQ models.
    I gaped at him like an idiot—blame it on my recall, which had me almost sniffing for a hint of Old Spice—wondering what I’d done to deserve congrats.
    “Yeah, Amrita is thrilled about our engagement .” Rakesh’s pointed glare reminded me of our bizarre pact. The fake engagement to limit his dad’s stress and keep the Indian community grapevine happy until he visited New York in a few weeks and met his real fiancée. Riiiight…
    He wasn’t asking much, to continue what I’d set out to do without dumping him or alienating his family. I’d asked him what would happen if the unthinkable happened, and he hit it off with Rita and they fell for each other. He’d glossed over it with a ‘my folks will be so thrilled to see their only son married they won’t worry. Besides, I’ll say you were Amrita’s lovesick friend who went behind her back and tried to win me over for yourself.’ All very logical, except for what Anu would do to me if she believed her golden boy’s little white lie. I had a feeling Mama Rama wouldn’t take kindly to thieving best friends or the deception I’d tried to perpetuate.
    I did a ‘right back at you, Rakesh,’ complete with faux smile. “Thanks. Are you coming to the wedding?”
    “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Drew sounded genuine but the way he stared at me, intense, brooding, like I’d make off with the Rama valuables, set my spidey senses on high alert. Why did I get the feeling he wasn’t entirely happy with his friend’s pending nuptials? Or worse, the reason behind his reluctance had something to do with me?
    It might’ve been the lack of warmth behind his smile, the lack of emotion in his eyes, but I knew I’d have to watch him. Or he’d be watching me.
    I hated being painted as a deceiving desperado but Rakesh was so glib, so assured, I didn’t want to rattle his