“Don’t youdarefinish that sentence.”
“Okay.” He snorted. “But, like, not really, because your father’s reputation is that he’sgood. That he’s ethical as well as shrewd. A good, stable man with a brilliant mind for business.”
“You said your father doesn’t usually get involved in your life?”
He exhaled. “No. Notusually.” He sighed as he ran the comb through her hair again. “My mother died when I was six, and my father never remarried. A series of housekeepers pretty much raised me until Dad sent me to boarding school. I was aproblemchild.”
“I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound like a fun childhood.”
“It didn’t seem terrible at the time. I mean, I had so many friends and we always had fun, but…yeah. I had these two classmates when I was kid—Joseph and Jabari. We used to prank our teachers—you know, like hot sauce in their food, switch the sugar and salt. Harmless stuff.” Nadim laughed. “One time we moved the teachers’ bicycle rack ten centimeters a day for a few weeks. They didn’t notice until the rack was two meters across the field. We werealwaysin trouble. And my father was always punishing me. He had very high expectations for my character but left me on my own to develop that character. I stopped trying to please him a long time ago. And the older I grew, the less he seemed to care about how I was doing.” He shrugged.
“But he cares now, right? He sent you here.” Not to mention planning his son’s marriage.
“Yes, but only because I screwed up. Badly, this time. I take full ownership of my mistakes and am grateful he’s helping me find my footing.”
Typical desi parents. Always taking things to extremes—years of neglect, and then way too much interference. His father’s idea of helping him seemed to not only be planning his entire life for him, but also shipping him off again, this time to Canada instead of England. Why would Nadim even care to please this man?
“So, he sent you off to marry agood girlbecause you messed up?”
“Reena, I’m thirty-two. I wanted to do this. We both decided it would be a fresh start for me.”
“What was your big mistake, anyway?”
Nadim stilled.
This was it. The reason for the bailout. Maybe the truth?
“It sounds ridiculous, and I feel all of fifteen years old, but I fell in with a bad crowd. A situation snowballed, and I needed my father’s help to get out of it.”
Father’s help. Wrong crowd. Hewasone of those troubleddaddy needs to bail me outkids. What had he done?
Nadim knew what she was thinking. “Don’t worry, Reena, it wasn’t illegal or anything. Just a lapse in judgment. Anyway, I promised my father I’d put it behind me,” he continued. “And he helped me do that.”
Reena closed her eyes as the comb scraped behind her ear, causing her to shiver. She didn’t know what to say next. Nadim seemed to have no desire to talk about the details, and maybe for good reason. She could bet his father told him not to tell anyone, especially notherfather. And why should Nadim trust Reena? After all, as Dad said, the business was afamilybusiness—and she was a Manji.
But she wouldn’t betray him. She didn’t work for her father and had no obligation to carry out his corporate espionage. Dad would judge Nadim for his past. Just like he judged Reena for every mistake she made. She couldn’t subject Nadim to that.
“I think I get it,” she said quietly. “I know I’ve made mistakes, before. Lapses in judgment.”
He silently took the hair tie out of the next segment of hair and started combing. They were both silent for a bit while he worked through her hair. As he gently tilted her head to get behind her other ear, he asked, “Reena, are you glad I moved here?”
What a question. Yesterday, she would have said maybe. Probably. But now? After hearing him tell the truth about why he was here? “Yes. I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry things went badly for you in London, but I’m glad you’re getting a second chance.” Her voice quieted. “And I’m glad to have you for company when my life is complete shit.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.” She heard the smile in his voice. After a few more runs of the comb, he straightened her head and ran it down the middle of her now fully loose hair. “You have such soft hair,” he murmured, letting his fingers trail down her neck and behind her ear. She shivered again.
“Thank you.”
“It’s a lot longer wet. I guess because the curls are stretched out. No more bungee jumping.” He scraped the comb through the top of her head with his right hand while his left hand dug into the back, raking his fingers through the wet strands.
The touch made her insides melt. It felt charged somehow. “I thought you had a foot fetish? What’s with the scalp love?”
“I think I may be developing a taste for wet curls, too.” He placed the comb on the coffee table but did not remove his left hand from her hair. Soon his right hand joined in the party, lightly fingering the wet ends. “I think I’m done combing,” he murmured. He leaned closer and brushed his face in her hair.
“Nadim?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you coming on to me?”
