His chest tightened at the question. He was usually the one asking it. “Ah, there are a couple of nut allergies. One of my younger cousins and the CrossFit guy—you know the one with orange hair who kept scratching his nuts during the ceremony?”
“Check. And double check.” She turned in a circle, nodding her approval over the decorations. “You want me to speak with the kitchen staff about what they shouldn’t eat?”
“Please.”
“What else?”
“Isn’t there supposed to be seating cards at a wedding reception?”
Jiya winced. “I don’t know half of their names.”
“Then we drink and hope for the best, sweetheart.”
“Andrew?”
He stopped adjusting a place setting and looked up, his breath catching at her appearance for the ninth time in under an hour. “Yeah?”
“No one could have pulled this off but you. It’s going to be great.”
He had to glance away. It was that or kiss her. “Thanks.”
She leaned down to admire the floral centerpiece and Andrew greedily gobbled up the smooth line of her neck, the heavy fall of her hair, the swell of her hips. “If we sense something going wrong, we’ll give each other the signal.” She straightened and he quickly schooled his features. “Classic ear tug strategy.”
They both demonstrated.
“Cool.”
His hands itched to touch her so he curled them into fists. “Cool.”
The door opened and guests started to arrive. Loudly. Andrew and Jiya gave each other a conspiratorial look as she floated off to consult with the kitchen and he advanced toward the door to shake the hands of their first arrivals. But he couldn’t help a quick glance back over his shoulder to watch Jiya vanish into the kitchen.
She was looking back at him, too.
Enough. You can’t have her.
For the thirty minutes, Andrew ignored the twist of need in his gut every time Jiya passed through his peripheral vision and greeted guests, including his mother who insisted on dancing with him as soon as Jamie and Marcus were finished with their first. He was more than happy to oblige her and couldn’t help marveling at how easy she smiled now. How quick she was to laugh.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Andrew made sure everyone had a drink and if they didn’t, he signaled one of the waiters. Finally, Jamie and Marcus deigned to make their entrance and brought the house down with a slightly pornographic kiss—not that he was judging. Music started and everything fell into the familiar rhythm that lived in Andrew’s bones. Laughter, food, drinks, the hum of small talk that eventually turned to deeper topics with the aid of alcohol. Lowered lighting. These were things he’d perfected over the years to transform The Castle Gate from a dusty relic into a Long Beach destination.
As the oldest, Andrew had grown up helping his mother clean the house, cook, make sure Rory and Jamie’s homework was done. On those days she’d spent resting in bed, too hurt from a run-in with their father to make meals, Andrew had stepped in. He’d kept stepping in until he’d taken over those duties from his mother completely, whether she was physically capable of performing them or not.
With their father gone now, his responsibilities were a lot different and had far bigger consequences when they weren’t done right. So he didn’t let a ball drop.
He spent a lot of time exhausted, a lot of time worrying about payments on the credit card debt their father had left behind. But working himself to the bone was preferable to sitting around and remembering why the responsibilities of his father were now resting on his shoulders. When he slowed down, that’s when the guilt crept in.
Andrew forced his dark thoughts to change direction. Another fifteen minutes of the cocktail reception and they’d be sitting down for dinner and he wouldn’t relax until everyone gave their verdict on the food. He’d just taken a sip from his first and only beer of the evening when someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Andrew.”
He turned to find Jiya’s mother watching him with a serene smile. There was a particular kind of tension that struck him when he spoke to Mrs. Dalal. She’d been a constant in their lives as children, having them over for dinner on nights Andrew couldn’t scrounge up enough money for groceries. In the Dalal household, the Prince brothers had been introduced to the world of Indian cuisine and Jiya’s mother had always made a plate for them to bring home to their mother. Andrew would forever be grateful to this woman for her compassion. Not to mention, she’d brought Jiya into the world.
But he couldn’t pretend she didn’t make him nervous as fuck.
It was in the way she watched him, like she knew every thought in his head.
Considering his mental fantasy land starred her daughter, God help him if that was true.