Nikhil inspected himself in the three-way mirror. A Nehru collar didn’t automatically make something Indian, anyway. He thought he looked vaguely sci-fi, which should work for a comic convention, right?
“The pants need to be taken in,” Ernesto said. He was poking and prodding at Nikhil’s waist, which should have tickled, but apparently, he was immune to tickles by grouchy men who didn’t look him in the eye. Nikhil had tried to make a joke about how he expected someone to shove five-dollar bills in his underpants after undressing so many times, and Ernesto had only frowned and pointed him in the direction of the changing room with a new pair of pants.
The tailor, Fernando, shuffled in front of him and started pinning his waist.
Lydia shook her head. “Not too much! He still needs to increase muscle mass before the announcement! Heshouldhave done it by now.” There was no way he could increase his muscle mass that much in a week. Lydia clearly didn’t think Nikhil was working hard enough.
Fernando nodded but still pinned the pants, poking Nikhil in the process. Nikhil wondered if it was on purpose.
“What do you think, Mahreen?” Nikhil asked. Mostly because he wanted to say something to remind the others that he was a human, not a mannequin.
“It’s Marley,” she reminded him, looking at his lower half. She still smelled citrusy… like a fancy lemonade he’d had in LA with lavender and thyme in it. She stepped closer, and the smooth skin of her neck made him swallow.
Nikhil pictured Fernando putting five-dollar bills in his pants. That helped.
Mahreen suddenly pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and made a call.
“Ruby, can you run into menswear and get me the Borealis and Sons sage pants, jacket, and vest? Bring them to the personal shopping suite and text me when you’re at the door. I’ll come out and get them.” She named Nikhil’s size, then also asked for a black satin scarf.
“We said no suit for Comicon. And sage as ingreen?” Lydia questioned.
“I want to try something…” Mahreen frowned, her perfect eyebrows knitting in concentration. She was wearing a black knee-length skirt today that hugged her curves like it had been painted on. Nikhil had no idea how she walked in it, especially in three-inch heels—these in a shade of tan that perfectly matched her warm brown skin. Her cream blouse was looser today, fine silk skimming over her figure. Her hair was up again, this time in a sleek bun at her neck.
He needed to stop staring at Mahreen, but maybe she needed not to be standing half a foot away from him looking like… her.
“I’m all for some color,” Nikhil said. “I’m not sure this emo-vampire look is really me. Unless you can make me sparkle.”
Mahreen finally looked at his face, and there was the faintestrealsmile in her eyes. So faint that Nikhil was sure no one else noticed it, but it was the same smile she used to give him when he showed her the silly doodles he’d drawn in his chemistry textbook. He looked down, flustered. Yeah, this was a mistake. He’d hoped Mahreen would make him feel like himself again, but he forgot that the self Mahreen made him feel like was usually somewhere between mortified, aroused, and sheepish.
Everyone started discussing whether a green suit was appropriate for Comicon, when the door to the personal shopping suite suddenly opened wide. Mahreen immediately rushed to it to prevent Nikhil from being seen.
“Tova,” Mahreen said, “I thought Ruby was bringing…” She was clearly struggling to keep this person from entering the suite. Lydia motioned Nikhil toward the changing room, so he rushed there to hide. After a few minutes, Mahreen came in.
She held out the green suit. “Sorry about that. Apparently, people are gossiping about who this supersecret VIP is.”
“Who do they think I am?”
“Current prediction is either Harry Styles or the Weeknd.”
Nikhil snorted as he took the suit. It was made of the softest buttery fabric, and the green was light and a little washed out. It wasn’t what he expected. “I’ll look like celery in head-to-toe green. Are you hoping someone will hire me as an Indian Hulk?” He made an angry Hulk snarl.
Mahreen almost smiled again. “Put it on, then come out.” She left the changing room.
He put on the suit, then stepped out into the main suite and stood in front of the others on the box facing the three-way mirror.
And holy hell, he was surprised at what he saw. The suit was a touch big, but not that bad. And the color—he would have thought the pale green would make him appear sickly, but the shade made his skin glow. He actually did kind of sparkle. He didn’t look like himself anymore. Not Nik Sharma the chiseled, plastic superhero, and not Nikhil, who preferred loud, bright clothes. He seemed like a whole different person.
Was this the person Mahreen was imagining when she studied him just now with intensity?
Kaelyn stepped closer to the mirror. “That’s unexpected.” She eyed him with narrowed eyes. “It’s pretty good, actually. Still a suit, though. A bit too conservative.”
“I think we can break it up,” Marley said. She called someone again to bring a gray vest. The person brought it without trying to push their way into personal shopping, so that was good.
And the green suit with the pale-gray vest and white shirt—plus, weirdly, a black scarf—all looked amazing. He looked cool and sophisticated. Like Shah Rukh Khan in the nineties. The slim cut of the jacket showed off his superhero physique, but the color prevented him from seeming too alpha-male buff.
And amazingly, even if he didn’t look like himself, hefeltlike himself. Or at least a person he would want to be.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” he said under his breath, mesmerized at his reflection. He was sure he saw the barest hint of a smile on Mahreen’s face behind him. Nikhil felt warmth flow through his body.
