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288 pages, ebook
First published April 17, 2016

A fair debut though lacking in plot and arc. Lachman has written an organic prose that highlights the symbiosis between the very traditional Indian, and British cultures; unfortunately, these lovely insights provided little more than gloss. A gloss that was severely marred by the author's narrative, and simplistic exposition.
A one night stand involving the protagonists; an arranged marriage; an old flame bearing the dreaded oops-I'm-pregnant bomb; antagonistic parents-in-law; seemingly bi-polar male protagonist; throw in the misogynistic and racist father and what we have are the requirements for a solid story but we were given something far more mercurial.
It was a mess. The author lost control of her characters who in turn led us on an escalator ride of misunderstandings, lies, and just plain stupidity.
Samara and Yash met in Yash's bed the morning after a drunken night, with neither having a good grasp on the events that had transpired between them- to the point they did not know each other's names or if they had sex- and sadly, this reader remains unenlightened of said events despite having finished the book.
It seems Lachman needed a gasp-worthy opening but neglected to provide a resolution. I was extremely upset with Samara-not for the one night stand- but for placing herself in such a dangerous situation. That Yash ended up being a beautiful-should-be-a-Calvin-Klein-model-who-drives-a Bugatti, does not excuse her stupidity. She could have been raped or worse, murdered.
Admittedly, for me, this did nothing to endear either of them and their story suddenly was not something I wanted to read and although I finished it, I had never been so glad to read the last word of a book.
Notwithstanding that I disliked this, I'm still willing to read books by this author.
