The Man Ban - Nicola Marsh Page 0,85

she’d ridden to Nishi’s house to show off her new bike without telling her folks where she was going, she nodded. “I should’ve told you, but you both had enough to handle, and there wasn’t anything you could do, really. I just had to get on with it and do the treatment.”

Lydia tut-tutted. “You still should have told us.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Alec reinforced, slipping his arm around her waist again. “You’re our girl, and we love you. We’re always here for you, whatever is going on in our self-absorbed lives, okay?”

“I know,” Harper said, relieved she’d finally told her folks— though not the part where stress could trigger it—and happy to be part of another group hug.

When they disengaged, she said, “I should head back in. I think Manny’s gran wants to interrogate me.”

Her mom hesitated, before saying, “She seems like a lovely woman, but I get the feeling she’s very protective of Manny.”

“Why, did she say something?”

“Not really, just a general feeling,” Lydia said. “But you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re amazing, and she’ll love you.”

If only Harper had her mom’s confidence.

60

Harper should’ve been floating.

She’d just celebrated her engagement to a lovely guy with her folks and closest friends, and had revealed the truth about her vitiligo to her parents. While she did feel lighter about the latter, the moment she spied Isadora sitting on the sofa, patting the empty space next to her, that familiar feeling of doubt was back.

Manny’s grandmother didn’t like her.

She usually had an inkling for these things and tended to overcompensate by trying to make the other person like her. It always ended badly. At thirty, she was too old to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and if a person didn’t like her, they could go screw themselves.

She couldn’t take that attitude in this instance.

“Manish had to take a call from one of the residents at the hospital,” Izzy said, beckoning her over. “He’s taking it in his old bedroom for privacy.”

“Okay. I better start cleaning up—”

“Leave it. Sit. Let’s talk.”

Great, so much for escaping. Harper had no desire to wash platters and glasses, but anything to dodge the incoming inquisition. She’d seen Izzy talking to Lydia and Alec earlier, and by the intent expressions on her parents’ faces, Izzy had been grilling them too. And for her mom to mention a feeling about Izzy’s overprotectiveness . . . Harper braced for an interrogation.

“Is there anything I can get you? A cup of tea?”

“Can you make masala chai?”

Her first test, and by the glint in Izzy’s eyes, she’d asked her deliberately, knowing she’d fail.

“No, but I’m happy to take instruction. I’m a fast learner.”

Izzy shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll make it later. Let’s talk, just the two of us, while Manish is busy.”

Unable to come up with any other reasons to avoid this, Harper reluctantly sat next to Izzy.

“Did you enjoy the party?”

Izzy’s eyes narrowed and fixed on her with unerring precision. “More to the point, did you?”

Feeling like the older woman was setting a trap again, Harper nodded. “It was a lovely celebration.”

“If you can call it that.”

Izzy made a dismissive sound that had Harper on edge in an instant.

“What would you call it?”

“A farce.” Izzy eyeballed her, daring her to disagree, as Harper tried to mask her shock.

There was a huge difference between Izzy not liking her and being so blatantly rude.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because this engagement can’t be real. My grandson has eschewed many choices of a more suitable bride, then he meets you and asks you to marry him in a rush?”

Izzy pointedly glared at Harper’s belly. “Either you’re pregnant and he’s living up to his rescue complex, or he’s doing this for me.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Harper said, keeping a tentative hold on her temper. This woman meant everything to Manny, and she’d never get in the way of their relationship. But Harper expected civility, not these blunt proclamations like the older woman knew more than she did.

“Then my first supposition is right.” Izzy had the audacity to lay a comforting hand over hers. “I hate to tell you, my dear, but my grandson is only doing this because I’m seriously ill and he knows my dying wish is to see him married.”

“You’re wrong,” Harper blurted, snatching her hand out from under Izzy’s, appalled by the older woman’s rudeness.

Izzy arched an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Harper studied Izzy, looking for some sign of hatred, of intense dislike, for her to say something so outrageous. But all she saw