Shanti stood on the other side of the bed, her shirt rumpled, the boxers she’d borrowed too big for her. One hand gripped her other arm, which hung prone by her side. Seeing her like this, I felt all my panic tumble into affection. I wiped my hand over my face to smooth out the worry and walked over to her to put my arms around her waist. This was completely alien territory to me—comforting others, feeling the need to comfort others—but the need was so strong right now I barely had to think about it.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out a little. Things with my uncle and aunt are… weird. And generally frustrating. I don’t know how to explain this to them. I don’t really want to.”

“You live with them now? After…?” she asked, straightening out her glasses.

“Yeah…”

She nodded and left it alone, which I massively appreciated. “Well, I could try slipping out without them seeing me. Might make things less weird?”

I hated that my heart leaped at the suggestion, but I really didn’t want to have to introduce Shanti to Priam and Vicki, or worse, navigate any kind of conversation between the four of us. “That might be the best plan right now, but”—I gave her waist a squeeze—“I liked… this.” I meant it. Even though I was scared shitless to mean it.

Her face shifted into surprise and a shy smile. “Me too.” She placed her hands over mine on her hips. “So… you’re okay? With us… last night?”

Fuck if I knew what I was. But I knew that last night had felt way different from any other hookup I’d ever had, and that Shanti made me feel something I wasn’t used to feeling—something like calm. Something like safe. But that didn’t mean I knew how to express any of that in words. So I didn’t.

“Are you?” I asked.

“Definitely.” A wide grin spread across her face, which made me smile too.

Unfortunately, these pleasant moments quickly dissolved into a series of painful ones.

When I tried to guide Shanti down the stairs and out the front door without Priam and Vicki seeing or hearing us, I’d forgotten to tell her to avoid using the banister, which tended to creak when you pushed or pulled too hard on it.

As she pressed a hand onto it and the wood groaned, the next sounds we heard were, “Hellloooooooo!” from the kitchen and then a groan of my own.

Vicki and Priam appeared around the corner, both in their special weekend brunch aprons—custom-made to look like the torsos and legs of showgirls.

Fuck. Me.

“Daya! Daya’s friend! Come, come—brunch is now being served!” Priam sang in an exaggerated baritone, followed by Vicki’s soprano solo of, “Avocado toast, poached eggs, fresh fruit, coffeeeeeee!”