Spotlight & Giveaway: How Simi Got Her Groom Back by Sonali Dev

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Sonali Dev’s new release: How Simi Got Her Groom Back

Two sisters face the real consequences of a fake marriage scheme in an emotional yet hilarious novel about immigration, healing, and family from USA Today bestselling author Sonali Dev.

Two sisters. One fake marriage. Zero chance of keeping the truth hidden.

The Naik sisters escaped their traumatic past in Mumbai to come to the States, but their journeys have been vastly different. Simi is working toward a bright future as a pediatric nurse in a small town in Kentucky when Rupi―a brooding tattoo artist―shows up at her door in distress, on the run, and as always, dragging trouble in her wake.

With Rupi’s safety in jeopardy, the sisters hatch a desperate plan to keep her in the country: Rupi must get married―and fast―even if it means Simi recruiting the man she’s been secretly dating as her sister’s groom. A perfect plan? Not quite. But there aren’t many alternatives.

As the big day inches closer, Simi and Rupi face a storm of wedding shenanigans and romantic surprises, not to mention sisterly jealousies. As the stakes and tensions rise, will their secrets tear them apart or will they find a way to risk everything for love?

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from How Simi Got Her Groom Back 

EXCERPT from HOW SIMI GOT HER GROOM BACK by Sonali Dev
Chapter 3 – SIMI

“Can you believe my stupid brother wants to serve pizza at the triplets’ birthday!” Preeti Gupta Johnson says.

Preeti is the closest thing to a fairy-tale princess I’ve ever met in real life. It’s not just the fact that she has everything a person could ever want: grace, beauty, and a family that’s considered royalty in the community. She also has that inherent diamond-cut strength that only characters in books seem to have, proven by the fact that she was the first Indian child in town to fall in love with and marry a white man. That, too, with minimal drama, from what Prem tells me.

I’m surprised that her brother has chosen to argue with her.

“I don’t mean regular off-the-menu pizza. It can be the entertainment, something people can put together themselves. Something that celebrates the family business and the girls,” he tries to explain.

Food is Prem’s favorite topic, his zone of expertise. He grew up doing homework at his parents’ pizza place. He started doing deliveries at sixteen as soon as he had his license. He was managing the staff and the kitchens before he finished high school.

Prem is the only Gupta sibling who never went to college—despite getting into Ross, the Business School at the University of Michigan (a tidbit Preeti loves to share). He was about to leave for Ann Arbor when his father had a stroke. Preeti was in college in California, and their oldest brother, Pawan, had just started his MBA at Duke. There was no one else around to run the business, which ran the family. So, the youngest Gupta child had derailed his life plan without a second thought.

Prem insists he only ever wanted to work in his parents’ business anyway, so it was an easy decision.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Dr. Johnson says recklessly. He once told me getting in the middle of the Gupta siblings meant you had to be prepared to either be ignored or steamrolled.

“What do you think, Simi?” Preeti asks, ignoring her husband. The look she throws Prem is loaded with meaning. “At this point you’re practically family.” Her gaze slides suggestively between Prem and me, and color kisses the tops of his cheeks.

I focus hard on Anya, Shanya, and Tanya. I guess Preeti and Dr. Johnson didn’t have the energy to come up with three names after their birth, so they came up with one and then resorted to rhyming. “I’m sure TASha will be thrilled no matter what you decide.”
Prem and I came up with that nickname for the trifecta of cuteness, and now everyone calls them that. I roll a squishy ball to Tanya, who reaches for it with all the concentration her tiny existence is capable of. Shanya has had her fill of tummy time and flips over and gurgles with satisfaction. Anya ignores all the offerings laid out around her and makes her way to her uncle and starts chewing on his knee.

“That’s my girl. Look at those teeth.” Prem encourages her ambitious undertaking of fitting his rather large kneecap into her tiny mouth.

My heart does the thing it does when Prem is like this—his heart in his eyes as he gazes upon his niece as she uses him for a teething toy. I’m destroyed by the purity of the feeling that fills my heart. I usually avoid his gaze when we’re around Preeti and Dr. Johnson. It must be the fact that we’re so close to telling them, but I slip up and let our gazes connect for one charged second. An electric spark splits down my chest into my belly.

Preeti clears her throat, and we both jump.

Preeti’s face goes into high alert. Prem picks up Anya with enough nonchalance that his sister has to know he’s hamming it. Anya screams in protest, then discovers her uncle’s shoulder and starts chewing on it with renewed fervor.

“Why can’t we just have regular pizza?” Dr. Johnson says. “It’s a first birthday, after all.”

Prem slides his brother-in-law an uh-oh look.

Preeti looks exasperated. “You married into an Indian family, John. We can’t serve pizza at a milestone party! A first birthday party isn’t for the girls, it’s for the family. We’re celebrating life and inviting our community to share in our joy. I can hear my mom now: Do you want people to think you don’t care?”

“Makes sense,” her husband says with a grin that says it makes absolutely no sense.

Preeti turns to her brother again. “We can only do pizza if it’s your family version.” Her loaded gaze pings from Prem to me again. “Has Simi tried your only-for-loved-ones pizzas yet?”

Indeed I have. Prem loves to experiment with Indian flavors in pizza. Chicken tikka with cumin-infused feta. Saag with crumbled paneer. He even kneads spices into the crust: garlic, chilies, fennel, and caraway seeds. His family thinks it’s the most delicious thing ever, but I’m entirely nonexperimental with food. I want Indian food to be Indian food, and I want pizza to taste like pizza. Or I want it to taste like the pizza from the pizza place in Mumbai my sister used to take me to for the rarest special treat. The memory makes an ache gather in my stomach.

Prem’s response takes a second too long. He’s been really excited about making the announcement about us to his family, but he wants to tell the entire family together so no one feels left out. The plan is to do it this weekend at his mom’s weekly Sunday lunch, when the family gathers to watch the latest Hindi film over aloo parathas and rajma rice.

Preeti has asked me to go several times to help with the girls. Fortunately, I work at the pediatric urgent care on Sundays, so I’ve been able to avoid it. Now the thought of my work life and personal life colliding brings on the usual panic.
I throw a glance at Dr. Johnson. He’s studying his phone. There must be an emergency. The room’s focus shifts to him. He throws the oddest look at me and stands. “I need to make a call.” He leaves the room, but that look stays with me like lingering discomfort.

“So,” Preeti says, attention back on Prem and me. Recently she’s obviously suspected her brother’s feelings for me, but she’s never pushed like this before. “Simi, have you tried my brother’s wildly delicious desi pizzas or not?”

I say no just as Prem says yes, and Preeti’s mood cartwheels from gentle teasing into rampant suspicion. A delighted gleam lights up her eyes.

Fortunately, Tanya is done with the squishy ball and is looking hopefully at me to provide further challenges. I pick her up and kiss her tummy, and she wraps her arms around my head and giggles. Preeti waits, the curiosity on her face showing no sign of fading.

“I only ever see Prem here at your place,” I say, setting Tanya on my lap. “I might have tried it when he made it for you.”

Prem looks like a deer in headlights. He’s realized that his sister has smelled blood and moved in for the kill. If Preeti finds out before his mother or his sister-in-law, he will never be able to live it down.

“It’s been a while since Prem made them for us,” Preeti says. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him much except when he’s here to help with the girls.” She narrows her eyes, giving up on subtlety, and turns to Prem. “And oddly, you only seem to come help when I already have help.” Just as her eyes do the slide between us again, Dr. Johnson comes back into the room.

“Can I have a word,” he says to me.

My heartbeat speeds up. Did he pick up on Preeti’s suspicions? Is he angry? I know dating within the office and hospital is an absolute no-no, but does Prem count?

“Is something wrong?” My voice wobbles as I follow him into the kitchen.

He gives me the most sympathetic of looks. “That depends.”

I press my hands into my cheeks. “Oh god.”

“Simi, calm down. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that we got some paperwork from the USCIS asking for information for your green card application.”

My rioting emotions sharpen. This is worse than any drama with Prem. Much worse. The green card process is so long and arduous that it’s felt like holding my breath ever since I applied two years ago. I’m so close to the stage where all the major hoops are done. I cannot let anything go wrong.

“What kind of paperwork?”

“They need us to prove that we can’t find a US citizen to do the job.”
“We’ve been looking for more nursing staff for six months and can’t find anyone,” I say. “I didn’t know we were at that point in the process yet. I would have told you if I’d known. I would never blindside you.”

“You didn’t blindside me. But you know that I have to handle Karina with care. She isn’t a fan of you nannying for us on the side. She thinks there’s conflict of interest. She got to the paperwork before I could intercept it. Don’t worry, I can handle her. I just wanted you to know. You know I would do anything not to lose you. You’re like family.”

Dr. Karina Rai is a pain in my behind. To be fair she’s a pain in everyone’s behind. She’s one of the partners at the practice and a close friend of the Guptas, so she’s a pain that isn’t going away anytime soon.

“Karina knows we can’t lose you.”

Karina knows no such thing. She’d be more than happy to lose me. She hates the fact that I’m the girls’ nanny. I don’t think it’s about conflict of interest with my work at the practice. I have the oddest sense that she doesn’t like me being in the Gupta circle, as though I’m infiltrating some sort of hallowed space I’m unworthy of.

“Dr. Johnson,” I say. “I . . . I just want you to know that I’m very grateful to be able to take care of the girls, but . . .”

He studies me. “Go ahead and say it, Simi. Don’t be afraid.”

Easy for him to say. How can I not be terrified when my entire life hangs in the balance?

“If Dr. Rai will be less of a problem if I don’t nanny for you . . . maybe . . .”

“Do you not want to babysit for us anymore, Simi?”

Gosh, want is such a complicated word. “I want nothing more than to spend time with TASha. You know how much I love them. But I can’t lose my job at the practice. I’ve worked really hard to get here.”

“I know. Let me talk to Karina. She’s not unreasonable. Also Preeti will kill me if you lose your job and have to leave the country.” He smiles kindly, oblivious of my racing thoughts.

I force myself to return his smile, and he heads back to the living room.

I don’t follow. I need a minute. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

It’s been four years since I left home. Since I lost Rupi. One mistake, and I had destroyed everything. Ugly memories and the danger that awaits me if I ever go back spin around me.

“Simi?” Prem finds me. One look at my face, and he knows something is wrong.

“Please go back out, Prem. Already Preeti suspects something.”

“So? She’s going to find out in a few days anyway. What did John say?”

I can’t talk about it right now. I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. I started the day with a four-hour night shift at the urgent care, then did twelve hours at the clinic, and then I’ve been here with
the triplets.

These work hours aren’t a rarity for me. I’m lucky enough to love my work enough that my energy never falters, but right now I feel like I’ve been squeezed dry from the inside out. The exhaustion is paralyzing. My feelings are all over the place, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.

“Please, Prem. I can’t talk about it right now. Can you just go home and let me get the girls in bed? I promise we can talk about it tomorrow.”

His pause is barely a breath before he pulls me close and holds me tight. “Don’t ever forget how much I love you.” Before I can protest, he drops a kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” Then with another kiss that melts my knees and breaks my heart, he does as I asked and leaves.

After putting the girls to bed, I head home. I love my apartment. As soon as I step inside, a sense of safety finds me. It’s barely five hundred square feet, but it’s airy, and sunlight streams in through the windows in the morning. And it’s mine. Something I’ve made for myself, by myself, without anyone’s help. I’m surprised at the enormity of how important that is to me.

I make myself some turmeric milk and take it to my bedroom. My little tropical garden of five planters in the corner seems to brighten at my presence, and I brighten in response. A fern, a palm, a climbing money plant, a rubber plant, and one kadi patta plant that’s turned into a veritable tree. I’ve named them after the five Pandavas from the epic Mahabharata. Yudishthir, Bheem, Arjun, Nakul, and Sahadev. Bheem, obviously, is the kadi patta, which explains why it has grown into a giant. Names have power. Their power comes from their meaning.

Prem’s name means “love.” My sister Rupi’s means “beauty.” Both accurate. As for mine, Simi has no meaning in any Indian language as far as I know. I asked Rupi once why my name didn’t have a meaning. She’s the one who named me. Apparently, it sounded cute, and it just came out when she saw me.

One of Ma’s husbands once told me that traditionally it was short for Simran, and that meant “meditating upon the divine,” so there was nothing more meaningful than my name. My sister scoffed (scoffing at our parade of stepdads was her favorite thing to do). She said that having a name that had no meaning was like having no blueprint, no predestined purpose. It meant I could be anyone I wanted to be.

Rupi is an artist. Even before she learned how to wield a tattoo gun, she was an artist. She doodled nonstop. But it was her thoughts that were the real art, her own creations. Most people, myself included, take other people’s thoughts and internalize them as our own, but my sister was always entirely nonderivative in her thinking. Probably a factor of having parented herself.

Rupi is my last thought before I fall asleep.

I wake up to my alarm and my doorbell ringing at the same time.

This makes me smile, because only one person knows that I have an alarm set for 6 a.m. every day. Then I remember my conversation with Dr. Johnson, and my smile disappears.

I love that Prem understands my tangled-up need for both space and connection. He’s respected my wish to sleep on it, and now I can bet my left kidney that he is standing outside my door.

I push myself out of bed. I’m in my auntie-style block print nightie. Prem has never seen me like this, and I’m not ready for him to.

My phone rings.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“I know. My cell phone told me.”

I can hear his smile. “I meant at the door. The person at your door is me.”

“I know that too. I’m coming. But you have to close your eyes when you come in so I can change.”

I’m standing in front of my closed front door.

“That makes me very curious about what you’re wearing.” His voice is rough with longing, and I can hear it on my phone and outside my door at once—an echo that wraps around me like the sweetest hug.

“You’re going to be very disappointed.”

“Never.” I hear a bump and imagine him with his forehead against my door. “But I’ll close my eyes.”

I open the door only a crack. I’m hiding behind it. All he can see is a sliver of my face. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be just a minute.”

With that, I run into the bedroom and put myself together. Brush my teeth, twist my waist-length hair into a bun, cleanse my face. Then finish things up with some tinted moisturizer, a touch of kohl, a dab of lip gloss, and a simple but pretty white eyelet summer dress. When I come out, I find coffee sitting on the kitchen counter.

He walks up to me and pulls me close. There are shadows under his usually bright eyes. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept well. Guilt grips me, and I squeeze tighter into him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He rests his chin on my head. “What happened yesterday? Was it Preeti being nosy? Or did John say something?”

“I don’t think Preeti was being nosy, but she definitely suspects something. And, Prem . . . well . . . I don’t think I want her to know yet.”

His body registers surprise. “I thought you were excited about making things official.”

No, he was the one excited about making things official. “Things are already official between the two of us. Aren’t they?”

“You know what I mean. We have to tell the family, Simi. I don’t want to sneak around anymore. I love you. I want you at Mom’s Sunday lunches. I don’t want to suffer those awful movies my family picks by myself.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I feel lost at those family events without you. I feel lonely even when I’m surrounded by my family. I want to be with you all the time.”

“I want to be with you all the time too.” I pull away and pick up the coffee, hating how my hand trembles.

I hand him his cup and go to the cushions I’ve strewn on a rug in place of a couch. The sun streams in through the east-facing windows.

“How can we be together all the time if we don’t tell people? It’s a small town. I’m surprised one of the aunties or uncles hasn’t seen us somewhere and taken the news back to my family.”

It’s not that surprising, because I’ve made sure that we only meet at Preeti’s house while babysitting or here in my apartment. The few times we’ve met anywhere else have been all the way in Nashville. Even so, this past year I’ve felt like a bunny crossing the highway, in constant danger of getting hit.

“I work for Dr. Johnson, Prem.”

He joins me on the floor. This rug is where I lost my virginity to him. My cheeks warm at the memory.

He wraps an arm around me. I squeeze into him, but it’s not enough, so I crawl into his lap.

He strokes my hair. “What did John say?”

I fill him in on how my future hangs on the whims of Dr. Karina Rai.

“It’s just paperwork,” he says, not registering even a fraction of my panic.

“It’s not. They have to advertise the position and interview anyone who applies and provide justification for why they aren’t hiring that person.” When I applied for the green card three years ago, I knew this was part of the process. I just didn’t anticipate that one of my bosses would be pissed off about the other boss giving me a side gig as a nanny. I certainly didn’t anticipate being in love with a close family member of said boss.

I get up off Prem’s lap and start pacing. “I already work for Dr. Johnson outside of the practice. When everyone finds out that I’m involved with you, the optics are going to be terrible. And Dr. Rai already hates me.”

“She does not. No one can hate you, Simi.”

Hah. If only that were true. He should have seen the loathing on the faces of our neighbors in Mumbai.

“You have to trust me. I’m not being paranoid about her dislike for me. How she feels has a direct impact on my future.” I stop in front of him. “I can’t go public with our relationship yet. I can’t resk everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

Disappointment drains the color from his face. He has eyes that have absolutely no defenses. Lifeboats in a storm. He’s destroyed by my words.

Rising up on his knees, he kneels in front of me. “I can’t live without you, Simi.”

I kneel in front of him, too, and frame his face with my hands. “I’m not breaking up with you, Prem. I can’t live without you either.” I throw a glance around my apartment. “Why can’t we go on like this? Just the two of us in our own world. It won’t be forever. Just until I have my green card.”

Suddenly his eyes light up.

“Or . . .” His hands squeeze mine. “Or, we get married and you don’t need your job to get a green card. I’m a citizen. I was born here. You’ll get a green card when we get married.”

There’s so much hope on his face that for a moment my heart leaps with it too. I yank myself back to earth.

“I don’t want that to be the reason we get married. I don’t want personal gain to be something that taints the start of our marriage. Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

He tips my chin up so I’m looking directly into his eyes. “I think you’re the kind of person who works three jobs to support herself. I think you’re the kind of person who stays late when TASha are being extra fussy and need you, even when you’re so tired you can barely stand. I think you’re the kind of person who could give up that job but won’t because those girls mean something to you, and because you know Preeti won’t trust anyone else. I cannot imagine you ever taking anything from anyone without giving back tenfold.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. What would he think if he knew how wrong he is?

“How can it taint our relationship if we were going to get married anyway?”

“Don’t you see all those things you just said, those are the reasons why I can’t marry you right now. I can’t be dependent on you for my green card. I have to do this on my own.” I know what it feels like to
let someone else do everything for me, and I know how that ends up. “I cannot turn our relationship into a transaction. That would destroy me.”

He cups my cheek, and there’s intense frustration in his eyes, but also pride and respect—two things I’ve hungered for all my life. “Is it so wrong to take the easy path? Does only struggle make you strong?”

“I don’t know. But loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t want to turn it into a struggle.”

The way he looks at me feels like an anchor in a storm. “You’re not going to budge on this, are you?”

I hate how disappointed he is. I want us to have a relationship where we both get our way sometimes, and I know that means one of us will be disappointed sometimes. “Can we wait a little bit? Let’s see how Dr. Rai reacts to this stage in the green card process. I don’t want to give her more ammunition. It’s just a matter of few weeks. Then if all is well, we can tell your family.”

He visibly relaxes. “So, we’re going to have to sneak around at the birthday party?” He pulls me close and pushes a kiss into the edge of my lips.

“Isn’t sneaking around at least a little fun?” Despite the worry gathered inside me, my body loosens and starts to warm.

He smiles against my lips, and it’s the most delicious feeling. “I like how much fun it is for you. Maybe you can make my sacrifices worth my while.”

“Are you bartering sacrifices for sexual favors?” I nip at his lush lower lip, which I love more than is rational.

“One hundred percent.” He stands, picks me up, and takes me to my room, and I realize that relief (and getting my way) really turns me on.

Excerpt. ©Sonali Dev. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

Sonali Dev’s first literary work was a play about mistaken identities performed at her neighborhood Diwali extravaganza in Mumbai. She was eight years old. Despite this early success, Sonali spent the next few decades getting degrees in architecture and writing, migrating across the globe, and starting a family while writing for magazines and websites. With the advent of her first gray hair her mad love for telling stories returned full force, and she now combines it with her insights into Indian culture to conjure up stories that make a mad tangle with her life as supermom, domestic goddess, and world traveler. She lives in Chicagoland with her husband, two visiting adult children, and the world’s most perfect dog.

Sonali Dev and her novels have been featured in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Chicago Tribune, NPR, Marie Claire, Bustle, Shondaland, BookRiot, She Reads, Kirkus Reviews, Booklist, Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and more. She has won the American Library Association’s award for best romance, the RT Reviewer Choice Award for best contemporary romance, multiple RT Seals of Excellence, is a RITA® finalist, and has been listed for the Dublin Literary award. Shelf Awareness calls her “Not only one of the best but one of the bravest romance novelists working today.” To learn more, please visit https://sonalidev.com.

Buy: https://www.amazon.com/How-Simi-Got-Groom-Back/dp/1662524307/