Chapter 3 

Even with a painful hard-on, I still couldn't shake the nagging feeling of where have I seen her. Then it hit me like a truck of bricks...oh fuck this is Amara, Eva's best friend that she couldn't shut up about. Who was in all her pictures, and who we all thought was Eva when her pictures initially came for Arman to see his tentative future Bride? Arman had said yes to her immediately. Mother had been drooling on her but became rigid against her once she learned she was a regular girl without any Pedigree or family gains to add to the Singh household. We were wealthy enough, not new money, but we weren't old vintage-stinking-farting-rainbows rich. I mean, my father and all his brothers were well to do, but slowly, when they married for political gain or with strategic alliances.... call them what you may, they were all arranged, and all came with some advantages. Our family became what it is today: considered one of the wealthiest in America. Now my generation, including me, was supposed to have arranged marriages which bought some gain to our empire, which was already flourishing. My sister Sami would also have an arranged marriage with one of our family friend's sons, whom we all grew up with; at least she wasn't marrying a total asshole. Their engagement had been fixed since they were in pre-k. Even if we fell in love, it had to be with a girl of more or equal social standing. Amara's beauty and intelligence weren't even a consideration for them. Lost in my thought, I suddenly felt Amara go rigid and avert he gaze from me and realized: society chick had taken it upon herself to get situated in my lap, trying to get my attention from Amara to herself.

I could've easily shoved her off. Instead, I snaked my Arm around her. Why? Because I'm a cocky asshole and knew guys would throw themselves at Amara, I wouldn't be like them because I wasn't like them. I was Vik Singh, and it was Amara's turn to Fawn over me.

I locked my gaze with Amara and started gently caressing the Society girl's Arm, There was a visible shiver that ran down Amara, like a ghost limb sensation, and I could see goosebumps on her arms. My every-so-knowing smirk was what she got. She looked so pure as the red blush kept creeping on her cheeks, and she looked away when I was fiddling with Society girl's boobs imagining it was Amara. I was treading on dangerous territory; I couldn't get carried away in public. What if someone clicked a picture and sold it to a gossip blog or magazine?

My cousins and I were well-known in SFO. Of course, Amara recognized me.