Page 1 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

E ldest daughters deserved compensation for keeping the world afloat.

Celene Vale kneaded her neck with warm fingertips, much of it exposed in her sleeveless not-quite-a-bridesmaid dress.

If she’d been born into a conscientious family, Celene would be sipping caipirinhas, appreciating Day Two of her sister’s summer wedding.

Or as the newlyweds unofficially named it: Elise and Big J’s Lovefest Spectacular .

Celene balked at referring to anything as a “lovefest,” doubly so if it meant calling Ajay, her new brother-in-law, “Big J.”

Floors above the evening reception underway, Ajay’s mother and sister helped fit Elise into a red lehenga.

Its gold sequins twinkled in the bridal suite’s lights.

A display of intricacy, richness, and drama that powered Elise.

For the massive Indian-Brazilian-American fusion event, every outfit change centered her, flanked by her closest friends in their chiffon bridesmaids’ dresses.

On the suite’s damask couch, Celene crossed an impatient leg, flashing an entire thigh from a slit Elise required for her aesthetic.

Actual bridesmaid or not, Celene had to match.

Elise nibbled a crispy pastéis hand-fed by her maid of honor, standing stock-still while Ajay’s mother safety-pinned her into a dupatta. An undeniably elegant, bold look on a woman who lived for attention.

Really, Elise was a dazzling bride, but Celene couldn’t wait to go home and decompress. Thank god her sister chose to stuff her mouth because her voice grated what remained of Celene’s nerves.

“ Sister ,” an equally grating voice drawled into Celene’s earpiece, intermingled with blaring music and static. “Is our bride ready?”

Out of habit, she checked her wrist for the time. Except, unapproved not-gold accessories were a no-no, so she eyed her phone set aside on a mirror-top table. Celene swore at the earpiece cord curling at her side, as it had all day. “She’s eating, but she’ll be out soon.”

Brenda, the Vale side’s wedding planner, insisted on naming Celene “Sister,” despite the first twenty corrections. However, this wasn’t Celene’s wedding—she’d wince past it for the sake of keeping things running as painlessly as possible.

That meant when Brenda arrived one assistant short of her five-person team, Celene filled in.

It’d begun yesterday morning, and Brenda wasted no time, giving a rundown on efficient communication.

And doing so, she’d unearthed a tangled wad of cords worthy of inexperienced wedding support. An absurd situation from the beginning.

Wearing an earpiece and a radio cinched at her waist, Celene could only suppress her irritation through deep breathing.

Sisterly duties. Two days of them.

As much as Celene had contributed in the months leading up to the weekend wedding, nothing prepared her for these nonstop responsibilities. Like Brenda’s orders:

“Sister, our bride needs electrolytes.”

“Sister, tell the bridesmaids in the bathroom to hurry up.”

“Sister, the samosas are too spicy for our bride. Water, stat!”

“Sister, smile more!”

Two of the four demands were honored; the final one earned Brenda a scowl that could curdle the reception’s Mehta Mango Lassis. She glanced at an empty copper goblet abandoned on a table, longing for not only a drink, but respite with it.

Thirsty or not, Celene would cope with family appearances. She’d tend to wardrobe malfunctions and miss out on bursts of communal laughter.

But she’d stick herself with Elise’s safety pins before she’d smile on demand.

Anita Mehta, the groom’s mother, sighed deeply, pleased as Elise swished the vibrant fabric in a well-practiced spin.

Though only two years younger than Celene, Elise often caved to juvenile tendencies, even well into their thirties.

To see her make such a grand impression on the Mehtas built a small piece of respect Celene hadn’t foreseen.

Celene rose to her feet, slipping her heels back on with a concealed groan. If this wedding had been five days like Ajay’s Gujarati cousins’, she would’ve reconsidered volunteering altogether.

She spoke into her dangling mic, her diction clear and steady. “Elise is leaving her suite now.”

Brenda replied at the end of her last syllable, “Thanks, Sister!”

“It’s Celene.”

This swanky Manhattan hotel’s staff went all out for the celebration.

Floral decorations, dynamic lighting, professional sound—accommodating every whim of a theatrical couple.

Especially when Elise and Ajay starred in four performances yesterday, backed up by bridesmaids, groomsmen, and a host of hired dancers.

As expected, when people with degrees in Drama and Music fall in love.

Guests still raved over the couple’s samba routine they’d perfected for the past year. And their Bollywood-style rendition of Xanadu ’s title song had the whole ballroom on their feet.

Celene had watched every Day One performance from the sidelines, yanking her ear free of Brenda’s buzzing.

Now, their elevator led them to a hallway reflecting the purple and blue light beams from the reception in full swing.

The floor pulsated beneath Celene’s feet, rumbling to the beat of Axé—pure nineties Bahia.

The rest of the wedding party chattered near the ballroom’s double doors, dabbing their faces to look presentable after all the dancing and drinks.

At 6’3”—nearly a foot taller than Elise—Ajay dropped to one knee as soon as he saw her, in full princely manner. Of course, everyone howled in tipsy laughter. Everyone but Celene, who ducked away to pick up on Brenda crackling into her ear, narrating her arrival.

In a black jumpsuit with a flower at her chest, Brenda rounded the bridesmaids and groomsmen into formation, leaving Ajay and Elise last, hand-in-hand.

From the ballroom, their intro music blasted.

The hotel staff parted the doors to the cheers of three hundred lively guests, a number they would’ve easily doubled if not for venue limitations.

Celene shrank a little, though she smiled at her sister.

She held her breath, anticipating the moment Elise would turn around and they could share eye contact.

A smile, even. Some flavor of acknowledgement.

Instead, Elise and Ajay raised their hands high, rushing towards their adoring fans for the night.

Okay, fine. Not shocking.

Flicking at her phone, Celene detached that damned earpiece. She coiled it and the radio into a manageable loop in time for Brenda to approach.

“The assistant you covered for—her water broke two weeks early, so you came through right on time.” Brenda pocketed the devices, effectively re-tangling the cords.

Celene swept black hair behind her ear, stiff from the bridal stylist’s hairspray. “Are your assistant and her baby okay?”

“They are! She sent photos if you want to?—”

“That won’t be necessary,” she demurred as politely as she could. Another minute of hearing Brenda talk was unnecessary, too. “We survived. Now, I’ll enjoy what’s left of this reception.”

Brenda laughed like Celene hadn’t been serious, deep and raspy. “You can live it up until midnight. I’m grateful for your help, Sister, from the bottom of my heart.”

Celene’s sharply contoured brows dropped into place. “Thanks. Enjoy your night.”

A lasting “It’s fucking Celene” would’ve tied their interaction in a satisfying, petty bow, but how could she get so snide when Brenda said what she wanted to hear from her own flesh and blood?

Celene – 8:48 pm

I’m free. Finally.

Nadine – 8:50 pm

So I don’t have to help you bury Brenda’s body?

Celene – 8:51 pm

Something tells me she’d talk underground.

Nadine – 8:53 pm

Her corpse would cry out for you.

Sister

Sister!

SISTER

Weaving through guests mingling and moving to infectious beats, Celene pressed a hand over her first real smile since she’d seen her best friend Nadine yesterday.

Nadine stuck by Celene’s side for the entirety of the day—the Mehndi ceremony, the chá de panela, brunch, and everything between.

For moral support, yes, but mainly because Nadine’s life had gotten ten times busier since her parents began priming her to take more responsibility in their family’s company.

Between that and Celene’s travels around the Northeast, their linkups were practically sacred.

It meant the world since Nadine abhorred weddings; she called them cringe.

While following (some of) Brenda’s protocols, they’d throw short gazes at any attractive women passing by. They’d signal “oh, she’s cute” with a smirk to each other, then get back to rearranging the centerpieces.

Even if they weren’t on Lovefest Spectacular duty, they both took on rather apathetic positions on dating.

No apps, no meetups, no DM responses. Cordial yet firm rejections when women approached, especially at affairs full of the sapphic ilk.

Nonexistent love lives bred productivity, focus, and comfortable solitude.

However. Celene wasn’t na?ve. Nor was she in denial.

Celene found the designated Vale family table blessedly empty, littered with half-empty glasses, gift bags, and cake plates.

Clearing her parched throat, she sat, scoping out the ballroom.

Amidst the festive lights, snippets of cheerful conversations, and screeching from children smacking balloons, Celene zeroed in on her ex-fiancée, Quinn.

Quinn and her girlfriend, entwined by the arm, ordering at the bar.

A year ago, Celene could’ve spit fire when Elise casually asked if she knew Quinn’s new address to send a wedding invitation. Quinn had gotten along well enough with Elise during the two-year relationship with Celene, but their association post-breakup had been cordial at best.

Then, Celene remembered her sister. This wedding was more than an exchange of rings and culture—it was a show, and everyone needed to see Elise shine.

Nadine – 9:05 pm

Have you talked to Quinn again?