Vows of Misfortune

9.

I nodded and moved over to his son who I definitely didn't look at; I made sure to stare at his dark blue jeans even as I saw a shift in his movement to grab the coffee from the tray. When it felt lighter in my hands, I moved to place the tray on the table in front of them before heading back over to my parents.

Now that was done I could relax and listen to my parents talk to the uncle.

"Do you live in this house?" the uncle asked.

"No, this is my sister's house," my mum clarified. "We're from England so of course, a month or two after getting married Arshia would prefer to go back."

Why was mum talking about it as if they'd all agreed that this was the guy I was getting married to?

"That sounds fine with m —"

"My uncle comes with me." We all turned in the direction of a deep, commanding voice and even I couldn't help myself. He had spoken for the first time.

The man took my breath away without even trying. His oval face had features that a Greek God couldn't rival; a long nose, full pink mouth, sharp, rectangular jawline - which was currently clenched - and shadowed with stubble that made him seem rugged. It didn't do anything to hide the high cheekbones that looked like they could cut someone if too close.

His thick, lowered dark brows stood out against fair creamy skin and gave way to those very familiar eyes that were staring right back at me. The unusual hazel-green in his sharp orbs looked like it was mostly empty of any emotion. I was sure a flash of familiarity came across his face before it disappeared.

Or was it just in my head?

But one thing was for certain—this guy was beautiful and definitely had the features of someone foreign.

"Romir," his uncle hissed, "that's not how this works."

"If you want me to get married, it is."

My dad forced out a very short chuckle. "That—that should be fine, actually."

"No, no. He's joking around like he always does." 'Romir' didn't look to be joking around, his face as blank as a canvas. "I have no plans whatsoever to move in with a newly wedded couple. What would that say about me?"

Romir leaned back. He turned his head to look out the front door that was half-open. The slight, warm wind brushed through his short, dark and mussed wavy hair that was pushed up just slightly displaying a small forehead.

Varun, whose straight hair only fell into place with carefully constructed gel, would be so jealous of this guy if he could see him.

Now this was a true man.

But what was wrong with him enough that he had to go with someone like me—I mean, I was good-looking and all, but there were rumours all over town.

"So, we're aware that you're not fully Indian," my dad began, tightly clasping his fingers together.

My mum took over. "He means to ask what your background is."

"Oh, that's fine," the uncle said. "My sister and I are both Indian but when our parents split, they each took one of us. She was raised in Bangalore and I was raised in Andhra. She then moved to America where she met Romir's father who was a Polish man."

Part Indian and part Polish?

Again I noted his very sharp, foreign features—given the best of everything from his parent's genetics, clearly— that would make him stand out in this crowd. His light, sandy skin was smooth and free of any blemishes. Even I had to admit, those light-coloured, downturned eyes were the most enticing of them all.