The Man Ban - Nicola Marsh Page 0,99
horoscope predicted for him on a daily basis.
“And for the record, I love you too, but you already knew that,” she said, lifting her head to eyeball him. “I love you, you big, infuriating, gorgeous man. So multiply that.”
“I will, after you prove how much you love me.”
Her eyes widened in faux innocence. “Any ideas how I can do that?”
“I’ll show you,” he said, a second before he kissed her.
EPILOGUE
“It seems rather fitting that our last date mirrors our first,” Manny said, sliding his arms around Harper from behind. “Have you ever seen such chaos?”
Harper leaned back against her fiancé and surveyed the dance floor at the Springvale Town Hall, where roughly four hundred people wearing colorful saris and kurtas were currently engaged in some kind of flash mob, Bollywood-style.
“This is the sixth Indian dance I’ve been to in the last six months, so I’m used to the festivities by now.”
“Yeah, but this is the first one you haven’t been working.” He snuggled her, something she’d never get tired of. “Who knew you’d become the queen of styling Indian food?”
“It was inevitable, because I like eating it so much.”
“We are talking about Indian food, right?” he murmured in her ear, and she elbowed him, earning a loud oomph.
“Stop being so naughty in public.” She spun in the circle of his arms. “Besides, you’re Anglo-Indian, so does that mean I only get to eat half of you?”
“Now who’s being naughty?”
They laughed, something they’d been doing a lot of since they’d got back together seven months ago, and engaged a month later. Turns out, when it’s right, you don’t wait.
“Uh-oh, my grandmother is beckoning us over.”
“Is it too late to hide?”
“You’re the one who insists we eat with her twice a week, so don’t blame me if you’re her new favorite person.”
“We’ve got a lot in common,” she said, brushing a kiss across his lips. “We both love you.”
“Women with exquisite taste.” He snagged her hand. “Come on, let’s go see Izzy.”
Harper knew how much it meant to Manny to have his grandmother here tonight. It was the first function of this size she’d felt well enough to attend. While her heart valves were now functioning, she hadn’t fully recovered from the surgery, and her frailty terrified Manny.
He’d confided so much to Harper since they’d reunited, and it had been a no-brainer when he’d proposed again, while the two of them were snuggled on the sofa at her place, drinking masala chai. There hadn’t been a kiwi fruit in sight, and she’d been glad. She didn’t need grand gestures. She just needed him.
Izzy beamed as they joined her and patted a vacant seat either side of her. “Sit, you two, quickly. I see three of the aunties eyeing me off, and I don’t need another person to ask me how I am or can they drop off a pot of chicken curry.”
“Everyone cares about you, Izzy.” Manny pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s nice.”
“There’s nothing nice about those aunties.” Izzy shuddered. “I have nightmares about them smothering me with their saris or force-feeding me their ghee-laden laddoos.”
“Good to see you sticking to the dietician’s meal plans,” Manny said, with a wink over Izzy’s head that had Harper stifling a laugh.
The dietician had nothing do with Izzy’s new strict eating routine and everything to do with Harper revealing they wanted to start having kids sooner rather than later. Turns out the prospect of being a great-grandmother was a more powerful motivator than seeing Manny married or any empty threats from a dragon dietician.
“And how’s my favorite granddaughter-to-be?” Izzy clasped Harper’s hand between hers, a gesture she’d done many times over the months since she’d apologized for her behavior the night of the first engagement party.
Harper had never been excessively touchy-feely, but Izzy had welcomed her into her heart—the least she could do was hold her hand every now and then.
“I’m fine, though please tell your grandson I prefer aloo chops as one of the mains at our wedding rather than roast beef.”
If it was Harper’s choice, she’d have the Anglo-Indian patties— spicy beef mince wrapped in mashed potato then fried—for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She’d grown addicted to them and had learned the authentic way to make them from Izzy.
“You don’t play fair,” Manny grumbled. “Enlisting the help of Izzy so you two can gang up on me.”
“Get used to it, buddy,” Harper said, smiling when Izzy leaned into her in a show of solidarity. “Sisters before misters.”
Izzy bumped her. “I heard