“You’re already acting like you own the house, ha?” Bram said, infusing his words with all sorts of meaning as he leaned closer to her.

“No!” She jumped up. “I was just being polite. This is your house.” All yours. God, she wanted nothing to do with it.

There was an awkward beat of silence.

Bram sat up and Shoban tried to smile. Awkwardness could ruin everything. She had to remind him of their friendship. Friends helped each other.

She sat back down next to him. “You’re not going to believe what my father said today.”

Yes, this approach would work. If she turned it into a joke, he’d have no choice but to laugh it off too. The trick was to not hurt his ego. Bram was proud. He would never want to marry someone who wasn’t interested in him.

He grinned again and pressed a hand into his bulky chest where it pushed at his shirt buttons.

“Daddy said . . . well . . . he said you had said . . .”

He burst into laughter. “Who would have thought a firecracker like Shoban Gaikwad would be reduced to stuttering.” He reached out and took her hand. “Yes, darling, you can say it, we’re getting married.”

She snatched her hand away and stood. Her knees wobbled, but she locked them in place. “What are you talking about, Bram? What about Selma . . . your girlfriend? I thought you were with her.”

He stood too, and despite herself Shoban stepped back, because he really was so much larger than her.

“Don’t be absurd, Shobz. Why would I marry a woman who sleeps around?”

“But you’re the one she was sleeping with!” She spun around and went to the balcony. The sun was on its way to the horizon, ready to be swallowed up by the waves. The oncoming darkness made her desperate to cling to the leftover light.

This was good. Shoban hadn’t slept with Omar, but she was in love with him. If Bram didn’t want to marry a woman who had slept with other men, surely he wouldn’t want to marry a woman whose heart belonged to another man.

“Are you jealous?” he asked too close behind her, far too much glee in his voice.

Shoban felt like someone had thrown a bag over her head.

She tried to move, but her back hit his body and she froze. Maniacal laughter rose up her throat and she slammed it down.

“I don’t mind you being jealous, though. Your fieriness is what I love most about you.”

Somehow she maneuvered herself sideways and stepped away from him. “I’m not jealous at all, I promise you. And you don’t mean that. You don’t love me. I have nothing at all that someone like you would have any interest in. Truly. I can’t do one single thing that you enjoy doing. Remember how much I hated going hunting in Switzerland? I hated it.”