Excerpt
The Matchmaker
One• • •
The bride beams for the cameras against a backdrop of blood-red roses framing the wedding stage. Her newly minted husband stands by her side in a cream sherwani and matching turban. She’s in a golden lengha, hand-stitched with one thousand and one diamonds that shimmer beneath the lights. One could genuinely mistake them for royalty.
She scans the wedding hall. Every detail has been carefully arranged, from the long-stemmed moth orchid centerpieces to the twelve-layer wedding cake designed by Bontemps’s very own head pâtissière. Her eyes land on mine.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as she and her husband make their way toward me.
“You made it!” she exclaims.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I tell her. “Your vows were beautiful, and you look gorgeous.” I gesture to the ballroom. “This is all a dream come true.”
“Because of you.” She pulls me into a tight embrace.
“She’s right. Thanks, Nura.” Her husband smiles at me.
The crowd that’s been edging ever closer gasps. I’ve gone from just another of the seven hundred guests here to Nura Khan, matchmaker.
When the couple moves on, I’m quickly encircled.
“I can’t believe you’re the Nura Khan,” a woman in a pink sari says. “I just read the article about you in Vanity Fair.”
“Ah,” I say neutrally, as though it hasn’t been the bane of my existence since it was published last month. “It wasn’t about me. It’s about—”
“Lena Kamdar raved about you in it. I had no idea you matched Saba and Abid too.”
“I use your Piyar app all the time,” says another woman, gazing wistfully at the groom in the distance. “Still waiting for my Abid.”
“Like she met him on the app,” another retorts. “I’m sure she went the VIP route. Good luck affording it. If they even let you in.”
I clock their stunned expressions and feel a pang of sympathy. “The app is also very effective. It has the highest success rate on the market,” I reassure them. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”
Excusing myself, I head toward my seat and run into the wedding planner. We embrace and exchange pleasantries.
“Always wonderful to see you,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough for the referral.”
“I had a feeling she’d go with you. You’ve really outdone yourself tonight.”
“Saba was a delight to plan for,” she says, her smile shifting to a look of concern. “Tell me, how is your auntie? Is she recovering all right?”
“She’s getting better every day,” I tell her. “They finally discharged her from physical therapy last week.”
“The latest stroke was such a shock. Thank goodness she has you.”
“Well, her daughter is also—”
“Yes, yes, Nina’s finally deigning to visit. But you’re the one keeping it all together, aren’t you?” She adjusts her sari and gives me a knowing look. “I remember when you first arrived all those years ago. You were what, ten?”
“Seven.”
“Now look at you. Running the entire business. She couldn’t have passed things down to a better person. Give her my love?”
I promise her I will. I glance around the wedding hall, missing Khala’s presence all the more. Once upon a time, she would have been here with me. Charming everyone. She had a special eye for the people who needed our help the most. We’d have two dozen requests for matchmaking applications before samosas were served.
In the distance, the emcee announces the first dance for the bride and groom. A romantic ballad fills the space. I spot Azar at our table and settle down next to him. He’s finally here. And I have to say, my best friend—and pretend fiancé—cleans up nice. No three-day stubble and blue scrubs today. He’s in a gray Armani with a cream tie.
“You’re late.” I elbow him.
“Sorry.” He looks at me bashfully. “Got tied up at the ER.”
“You’ve been pulling a lot of long shifts lately. You doing okay?”
“We’re just about done wrapping up interviews for the open position. Should be fully staffed by the end of the month. No more late arrivals after that, I promise.”
“No worries. I was just networking a little.”
“Any potential VIP clients?” he asks.
“Not VIP, personalized,” I correct him. “Tonight was a slow evening. People were more interested in chatting about Lena’s Vanity Fair article. I’m officially clocking out for the night.”
“It sounds like Lena gave the agency some great word of mouth.”
“There can be too much of a good thing. We’re drowning in both inquiries and hate mail lately. Lesson for me about taking on a cosmetics heiress slash influencer.”
“Lena should have checked with you before talking to the press.”
“She meant well,” I acknowledge. “It’s not her fault the piece called us an ‘arranged marriage throwback.’ That’s the line getting the trolls all worked up.” I adjust the beaded embroidery on my sleeve. “Honestly, if I’d known I could wear scrubs to work, I’d have followed you to medical school instead.”
“You sure about that?” He furrows his brows. “Because you’d also have to be equipped to grab a needle to suture a bloody—”
“Okay! Stop!” I squeeze his arm. “You win!”
He grins. “You know you love this work.”
“I do.” I return his smile. “And it’s even better when you’re here.”
Azar’s return to Atlanta from New York City three years ago was a game changer. I love matchmaking. Helping people find love is what I was put on this earth to do. But there’s one catch in my line of work. A woman who matchmakes for a living and is thirty-one (going on thirty-two) years old and very much single? That raises eyebrows. Early on, I’d argued with Khala it wasn’t necessary to pretend I was spoken for. Those who don’t, teach—isn’t that the saying? Besides, I got the desired results. As the years have gone by, though, I’ve had to face the fact that no matter how progressive the world gets, an unmatched matchmaker prompts whispers. To look the part, I need a partner by my side. Long live the patriarchy. Luckily, Azar doesn’t mind filling in as my date, and with our busy schedules, weddings double as our chance to spend time together while eating delicious food.
“Are these wedding favors?” Azar lifts a Tiffany & Co. gold-plated clock next to his place setting.
“Engraved with their initials and today’s date.”
He eyes the tables stretched out in seemingly endless rows and lets out a low whistle. “How much did all of this cost?”
Azar’s an old pro at lavish weddings, but he still can’t quite process the wealth of some of my clients.
“Whatever these favors cost is nothing compared to the gift Saba got her blushing groom: a Bentley Batur.”
“That car goes for two million dollars!”
“Two point five,” I correct him. “It’s completely electric, though. So good for the planet.”
“Diamond heiress weds high school soccer coach. If Saba wasn’t so private, the press would’ve nicknamed you a fairy godmother by now.”
“Luckily, the press have their hands full documenting every second of Lena’s wedding prep at the moment.”
He leans back and folds his arms. “Speaking of weddings—”
“No, you can’t get out of any you’ve committed to,” I interrupt.
“Why do you assume that’s what I was going to say?”
“Am I right?”
He laughs. “Good talk.”
I push back a smile. He’s so predictable. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve known someone most of your life.
“I checked the calendar,” he says. “You’re booked nearly every weekend for the next few months.”
“Wedding season is officially here, and I want to make it to as many as possible. It’s how I get my best clients.”
“But there are more weddings on the calendar this year than ever. You’ve got to pace yourself, Nur. How about you call in sick to the next one and play hooky with me? The botanical garden’s got their light show going on—we could get a picnic dinner by good old flowery Medusa for old times’ sake.”
“Azar—”
“Or I can get us a table at Hayakawa? It’s been ages since we’ve been there.” He leans forward. His brown eyes lock into mine. “Downtime is important, Nur.”
“The next event will have hand-carved Brazilian steak. And an oyster bar too. I know you can’t say no to an oyster bar.”
Azar considers this, then raises his palms in mock surrender. “You had me at steak.”
