by Farah Heron
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Farah Heron
Cover design by Daniela Medina. Cover illustration by Diraratri HG. Cover lettering by Lauren Hom. Cover copyright © 2021 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Heron, Farah, author.
Title: Accidentally engaged / Farah Heron.
Description: First edition. | New York : Forever, 2021.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020042919 | ISBN 9781538734988 (trade paperback) | ISBN
9781538734964 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PR9199.4.H4695 A63 2021 | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020042919
ISBNs: 978-1-5387-3498-8 (trade paperback), 978-1-5387-3496-4 (ebook)
E3-20210112-DA-NF-ORI
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
PRESS RELEASE
Nadim’s Zanzibar Egg Curry
Reena’s Plain Parathas
Discover More
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To my parents.
Thank you for teaching me to hope, to love, and to always be empathetic. And most importantly, thank you for teaching me to laugh.
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CHAPTER ONE
For most urban dwellers, Sundays were a day of rest and relaxation. Not for Reena Manji. For her, Sundays required vigilance and a thick skin. She had long ago learned that the only way to survive the so-called fun-day was to erect a proverbial steel wall around herself. But today’s wall hadn’t prevented her deep sense of disappointment when she woke up to see Brian’s betrayal. She approached him slowly in her kitchen. Three days of headway meant nothing. Today, Brian the Rye, her temperamental sourdough starter, hadn’t risen at all.
Her shoulders fell. “Seriously, Bri?”
Her first mistake had been naming the starter after a man. After a dozen failed relationships, Reena felt confident that she knew next to nothing about the male segment of the species, except maybe that they sometimes needed tender coaxing to get them to behave. But she didn’t have the time or energy to coddle Brian through his histrionics now.
So she parked him in the fridge, dressed quickly, and downed a cup of cold brew coffee. Sunday brunch with her family was nonnegotiable and would start in less than half an hour. A slight hangover from last night’s nachos and rosé wine upstairs had Reena hitting snooze on her alarm one too many times, and she was now dangerously close to being late.
As she dropped her keys into her purse to head out, she noticed an unfamiliar man lugging a bike backward up the exterior stairs to her building, while struggling with a six-pack of what looked to be imported beer.
Her head tilted as the mystery man reached the top of the stairs and attempted to wedge the bike on the narrow porch before opening the door into the building. He wore shiny black athletic shorts and a gray muscle shirt. No dreaded Lycra, which told Reena either he didn’t take riding too seriously or had enough fashion sense to avoid those sorts of monstrosities. As he bent to put the beer on the porch she was treated to a peek of toned thighs and…yum, a spectacular ass. Ripped arm muscles flexed as he lifted the bike to rest it on the railing around the porch.
A brown Captain America. Nice.
She stepped closer to the door—outwardly to help the man, but really to get a better look. Plus, Reena had questions.
How did he ride a bike while holding a six-pack?
Did he live here, or (perish the thought) was he just visiting someone?
And most importantly, did his front come anywhere close to matching that fine back view?
Reena pushed the door open for him and finally got a glimpse of his face: smallish eyes, thick brows, and dark, floppy hair. Plus, a meticulously trimmed douche-beard a touch too trendy for her tastes. What a shame. He did have that nice sweaty-man smell, though. God, it had been too long.
“Thank you,” he said as he passed through the door into the tiny hallway, leaving his bike outside. “I’m not sure I could have managed that on my own.”
Mystery man had a British accent! And a deep, almost aristocratic voice. Totally unexpected. He put down the case of beer in front of the door across from hers and took a key out of his pocket before turning to Reena. He stared wide-eyed for several seconds before speaking.
“Oh, shit. It’s you. You’re my neighbor. You live here?” he said, pointing toward her door.
“Yes…why?”
“You’re the one.” Dark brows raised as his mouth widened to a grin. “The goddess who makes my apartment smell like a bloody French boulangerie!”
Reena’s eyes widened. Goddess? She’d been called elfish, pixie, and even a sprite once by a Renaissance fair-type boyfriend, but Reena Manji was never a goddess.
“It’s driving me fucking mad!” Sexy-voice continued, tilting his head and winking. Kind of flirty, this one.
Reena reassessed her first impression of his face. When he was smiling, his dark e
yes sparkled under the fluorescent lights of the narrow hallway, and his lips looked wide and expressive. And that voice? Kind of swoony. Couple that with the impressive physique, and Reena started to think today was looking better. Nothing like a little British Isles to spice up this building. Some fun, flirty banter with a sexy Brit to boost her self-esteem each day. Plus, he liked the smell of her bread. Double swoon. And, she glanced at his hand resting casually on his doorknob, he appeared single—no ring.
“Thank you.” Reena beamed. “Baking bread is my hobby. I’ll bring you some one day. I have to head out now, but nice meeting you, neighbor.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” That charming smile again. White, straight teeth. And…a dimple on his left cheek? Mr. Uninspiring quickly advanced to Mr. Pretty Damn Hot. He should never stop talking with that voice. Or smiling with those teeth. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet. “I’d love to take you out for a pint if you’ll share any extra baked goods lying around. Are you free tonight? I’m Nadim.” He held out his right hand to shake.
Ooh, did he just ask her out? “I’m Reena.” She shook his hand, taking note of his firm, confident grip. Nothing worse than a weak handshake.
A moment into their handshake, however, Nadim’s face fell. His smile dissolved and furrowed lines appeared on his forehead. What the hell?
Eyeing her intently, he snatched back his hand and ran it through his sweaty hair. “Bollocks,” he whispered. “You’re Reena Manji?”
She spoke slowly. “Yes.”
“Aziz Manji’s daughter?”
Obviously. “Yes…why?”
“Fuck. You live here?” He tugged at the back of his neck. Finally meeting her eyes again, he smiled sheepishly. “I’ve made a terrible first impression. Any chance we could start over?”
Her eyes widened.
“Forget all my swearing, and pretend I’m showered and dressed respectably. I had this suit picked out for our first meeting,” he continued. “And my hair was supposed to be clean. Also, you didn’t see that beer. And I didn’t call you a goddess…although I meant it…” His voice trailed off, losing power as he seemed to shrink in the hallway.
“Why? How do you know my father?”
He smiled again, but this time the smile looked forced. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am here in Canada to work for him.” He sighed. “Your father and my father just entered a business partnership together. And apparently…you and I are to be married.” He shrugged, one side of his lip raising slightly. “Surprise?”
CHAPTER TWO
Reena closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Crap. Not this again. Her captivating stranger turned out to be just the same as the countless other men her parents had dug out of the Muslim Bachelors “R” Us warehouse. She met his sheepish smile with a blank gaze for several seconds before mumbling something about being late and rushing down the stairs. Cute smile, sexy voice, and strong legs could not even come close to overriding this monstrous problem with the new hottie across the hall: Nadim worked for her father, and his presence in her life had been orchestrated by her parents. That was a great, big no. Yet another thing she couldn’t have because of them.
* * *
There were two things Reena could always count on during her weekly brunches at home. One, there would be soft puri. Puffy, pillowy rounds of fried flatbread ready to sop up spicy channa and yogurt. And two, her overinvolved parents would attempt to insert themselves into every aspect of her life, all while her younger sister, Saira, managed the impossible feat of being both passive-aggressive and self-involved in the same breath. Reena attended these brunches religiously for the puri, not for the quality time with her family.
And, as expected, the heady scent of strong chai and spices eased her annoyance as she walked into the house after driving the ten minutes while fantasizing about being an orphan. She inhaled deeply as she removed her shoes. This. This was why she decided to come today. Nothing like her mother’s cooking to ease stress, even stress induced by her parents themselves.
Of course, Reena knew she was deluding herself. She hadn’t decided to come to brunch for the puri any more than she had decided to come for the family judgments disguised as scintillating conversation. The word decided implied free will. And when it came to family, free will was nothing but a convenient illusion Reena created for her own sanity.
She operated under the assumption that giving in to these insignificant demands on her life would trick them into leaving her alone with the big stuff. It sort of worked. She’d stood her ground on some big decisions. Like her decision not to work in the family real-estate development business. Her decision not to live at home, despite being single. And her controversial decision several months ago to insist her sister move out of her apartment. But it was becoming harder to make her parents understand that she had no interest in any of the approved Muslim men they had been parading in front of her since she reached the age of twenty-five. Including this new overseas model.
But at least the puri helped make up for this emotional torture. She took another from the platter and added it to her plate heaped full of channa masala.
“Reena,” her father said, pouring himself more chai, “I don’t know if I told you, but my friend Shiroz from Tanzania is investing in the Diamond building project. His son Nadim has come from Dar es Salaam to work with me. I’ve put him in your building.”
Dar es Salaam, Reena’s parents’ hometown, was the largest city in Tanzania, a country with an active and vibrant minority Gujarati-Indian population. The Diamond project was her father’s biggest real-estate development to date—a large retail/residential building north of Toronto. She knew there were foreign investors from Africa involved but hadn’t heard about the involvement of any flirty beefcakes who sounded more British than Tanzanian.
“I hope you will make Nadim feel welcome. He’s a very smart man. Graduated from the London School of Economics. He’s religious and well-mannered, and has a promising future ahead of him. You two have much in common.”
Proof that Dad knew nothing about his middle child. No one who really knew Reena would call her well-mannered. Her sweetness ran surface-level only. And clearly, her father didn’t know Nadim too well either. The man swore like a Manchester United hooligan and invited her out for a pint upon first meeting, all while holding a six-pack of beer. Reena had nothing against drinking, as evidenced by her low-key hangover most Sunday brunches, but in her religious Muslim father’s opinion, well-mannered and respectful meant no alcohol.
Also, Nadim seemed a bit of a player—winking at her, calling her a goddess, and asking her out before even knowing her name. Reena enjoyed players for a good time every now and then, so long as she recognized what they were. But it was troubling that Nadim asked her out when he knew he was supposed to marry his boss’s daughter (the fact that he unknowingly flirted with his fiancée seemed beside the point).
Saira smirked across the table while stirring a green smoothie. “Sounds a little ambitious a match for Reena, don’t you think? He’s probably completely bald, like that architect guy you dug out for her.”
“Saira!” Dad said, his hand up to quiet his youngest daughter. Wow. Was Dad standing up for Reena?
Reena herself didn’t bother glaring at Saira. Didn’t even glance at her. Just mopped up her channa with that last bit of puri before licking the masala off her fingers. It wasn’t worth it.
Saira was currently smack-dab in the middle of a year from hell, and her coping strategy of taking subtle jabs at her older sister seemed to be working for her, so Reena kept her mouth shut. It was the least she could do after Saira lost her job and came home to cry to her fiancé Joran, only to get an eyeful of Joran’s naked ass above his cousin visiting from his hometown in Holland, or something. Saira wasn’t Reena’s favorite person, but she wouldn’t wish that sequence of events on her worst enemy.
“Reena, I know you will be on your best behavior with Nadim, and make the man feel comfortable at home,” Mum said, smiling.
“Your father has known Shiroz Uncle since primary school. They are already like family.”
Reena tensed. It was impressive the way Mum could say marry this man, without actually saying marry this man. Even if the proposed groom himself hadn’t leaked her parents’ intentions himself, she would have known what they were up to.
“Mum…” Reena groaned. “I just—”
“Na!” Mum snapped. “No more excuses. You’re thirty-one, beti. No more single in the city…it’s time for you to settle down! Look at Khizar! He’s having twins! Even Saira was engaged, and when that didn’t work, she found Ashraf!”
“Seriously, Mum? What do you mean, even?” Saira snapped.
Mum smiled, patting Saira’s hand. “Shush. Reena is older than you. It’s her turn to find someone successful.” Mum looked at Reena with a proud smile. “Ashraf is management!”
Technically. Reena was happy that her sister had put her life back together and was dating again, but managing a mall kiosk selling prepaid cell phone plans hardly made Ashraf upwardly mobile.
“We’re getting older,” Mum continued. “I don’t want to worry about my children anymore. Who will take care of you when we’re gone?”
Reena had no idea if Mum realized how ridiculous she sounded. This wasn’t Regency England and she was no Mrs. Bennett, desperate to marry her children off well to prevent financial ruin. How the hell could a beer-drinking, douche-bearded, bicycle-dragging flirt be the answer to avoiding spinsterhood?
“Promise me, Reena. Don’t be like with the other ones. Promise me you will make an effort with Nadim,” Mum pleaded.
Reena forced a smile. “Anything else going on?” she asked. Deflect and distract. Reena wouldn’t make promises she had no intention of keeping.
“I heard on the Facebook site that Salim Shah lost a small fortune on a hotel deal gone bad,” Dad said.
Holy crap, the Facebook site?
“Dad, since when are you on Facebook?” Reena made a mental note to update her profile’s privacy settings.
“I’ve joined a new group there. Ismaili business networking group.” Keeping tabs on his professional rivals was Dad’s favorite pastime.
