“Well,” Mom says, softening as I knew she would, “I can certainly see why she couldn’t resist.”

Dad steps up beside her and smiles. I feel ten again at the sight of him in his typical dress pants and suit jacket, his dark hair parted to the side. I favor my father—the olive skin, and full lips, the build that leans more brickhouse than ballerina. Dad offers Carter his hand. “I’m Kamal. You must be Carter,” he says, his words still curled with shades of the accent that hasn’t quite disappeared in his thirty-some years in the U.S.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Don’t mind my wife. She likes to worry.” He turns to me and opens his arms. “How’s my beautiful girl?”

I step into his warm embrace, letting him hug me and wrap me in the scent of the cologne he’s worn since I was a little girl. “I’m fine, Daddy. How was your flight?”

“Oh, fine, but I’m glad to finally be here. I don’t get to spend enough time with both of my girls under one roof anymore.” He kisses the top of my head before pulling away.

“Kamal, we need to meet with the wedding planner,” Mom says. “She has a few items to run by us.”

Dad huffs good-naturedly and tells Carter, “She means checks she needs me to write.”

Carter laughs. “I won’t keep you. It was nice to meet you both.”

“Likewise, Carter. We’ll all talk more at dinner, I’m sure.” Mom looks me over and frowns at the décolletage exposed by my V-neck sweater. “Try to dress appropriately, darling. It’s not at some wild dance club.”

Carter doesn’t bother disguising his snort of amusement, but I sigh. “Yes, Mother.” And we both watch them go before Carter turns to me and examines my jeans and sweater.

“Am I supposed to believe your mother thinks that sweater is scandalous?”

I shake my head. “Like I said, conservative.”

“Wow.” His gaze dips to the same V my mom disapproved of. “I hope you won’t be taking her fashion advice anytime soon.”

I open my mouth to respond but am cut off by a shrieked “Tea-Tea!” and I turn to see my sister rushing toward me, her arms wide.

I can’t help but smile when I see her. In my mind, Saanvi will always be the baby sister I got for Christmas. Many people told little-girl me that she wasn’t mine, but I didn’t believe them. When you ask Santa for a baby for Christmas and he delivers, she’s yours. So Saanvi was and always has been. Since I moved to Jackson Harbor, I haven’t gotten to visit her nearly as often as I’d like, but that hasn’t changed the surge of love that fills me every time I see her.

She wraps her arms around me, and I hug her right back. “You’re glowing,” she says as she pulls away. Her gaze shifts to Carter as she gives a coy smile. “I think I know why.”