by Nicola Marsh
“I’m surprised you had the guts to stay behind.” He handed me a cup of chai, his speculative stare sending a jolt of unease through me.
It had been dark on the Ramas’ veranda last night so I hadn’t noticed the incredible color of his eyes, a startling cross between cobalt and sky, a shade that could never be imitated by artists or technicians or any number of digital experts. I had a thing for blue eyes and Drew’s could melt a woman at twenty paces or less, depending how lucky she was in getting close to him.
Blue-schmoo. I was here for one reason and one reason only: get Detective Drew to keep his big mouth shut and keep the heat off Rita in the process.
“I read your email. The old ‘we need to talk’ line didn’t do it for me.”
“What does?”
I fought a rising blush and plowed on, ignoring his innuendo and wondering when I’d become such a party-pooper. In my pre-Toad days, I would’ve lobbed a witty comeback straight at him, continuing the flirtation until one of us capitulated. I hated how Tate had dented my self-confidence, hated how my experience with him had left me wary and suspicious, whereas before I’d confront any situation head-on.
Getting involved with a married guy had been dumb and delusional despite the lies he’d fed me, but the residual self-doubt was what I loathed most. Was my judgment that off? Was I that gullible? The thought alone made my stomach churn, sickening me more than any accusations Drew could hurl my way.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“But you do, Miss Jones.”
“Keep your voice down.”
The brazen bastard had the audacity to chuckle at my panic in possibly causing Rita irrefutable shame and condemnation from the Indian community across two continents.
“You’re in no position to tell me what to do.” He lowered his voice as several bare-chested actors in baggy pants helped themselves to samosas and iced tea before moving away. “Listen up. Rakesh is a good friend as well as my business partner. His family is revered around here and I won’t let you make a laughingstock out of him. He’s engaged to Amrita Muthu and you aren’t her. So why don’t you tell me exactly what game you’re playing?”
The more he pushed for answers, the more I’d clam up. I hated being told what to do. Didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Tate had controlled our relationship and when I’d wised up, I took back the power. I liked being in charge and had no intention of kowtowing to anyone, especially some guy who thought he ruled the world along with a movie studio.
“No game.” That much was true. Impersonating Rita might have started out as a way to escape my problems back home, but the minute I’d met Rakesh and he’d divulged how this plan could affect Rita if it went awry, I knew I had to protect her.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I don’t owe you any explanations.” I tilted my chin up for good measure, trying to stare him down.
Bad move. Boring hazel eyes locked on dazzling blue—and the hazels lost. “I’ll tell Rakesh.”
I laughed. “I’ll tell Rakesh,” I imitated, enjoying his open-mouthed shock. “Na-na-na-na-nah. I’m going to tell on you. Jeez, what are you? A first-grader?”
Emotions warred in his eyes, amusement with anger, frustration with curiosity, and I watched them all, enjoying the show. His high and mighty attitude irked, his supreme confidence rankled, and he was way too good-looking for comfort. But right then I came close to liking this guy for sticking up for his friend, even if he had my motivation all wrong.
I waggled my finger under his nose. “Stay out of my business. This has nothing to do with you.”
“This is insane.” He backed away from me as if I’d developed a case of leprosy. “Rakesh is one of this country’s top businessmen and is known for his intelligence. Why can’t he see past you?”
“Because love is blind.” I gave a little shrug, grateful when an actress in a stunning chartreuse sari edged between us for a cup, mumbling an apology.
This couldn’t go on for much longer. I couldn’t keep from laughing at his absolute outrage. He acted like some stuck-up English lord with nothing better to do than harass his poor serfs. I couldn’t wait to see his expression when he learned the truth.
The actress moved away, casting us a curious glance, and we waited until she’d rejoined a group at the far end of the marquee before resuming our conversation. I’d been so caught up in our private drama I hadn’t noticed the swarming mass moving around the marquee: makeup artists, costume changers, techies, and hangers-on. I’d love to chat to them, get the lowdown on moviemaking Bollywood-style, if I didn’t have to deal with an uptight, nosy, know-it-all.
“Love?” He raised an eyebrow in a classic scoff. “You’ve only just met the guy. How could you possibly love him?”
Biting my inner cheek to keep from laughing, I clasped my hands to my heart. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Just because it hasn’t happened to you doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
“This isn’t a movie.”
On the contrary, this charade I was perpetuating on behalf of Rita and Rakesh was fast turning into a movie for me. Who would’ve thought I’d star in my very own rom-com? Sadly, circumstances were heavy on the com and not enough rom.
“Rakesh is a big boy. He can look after himself. Why don’t you butt out and make life easier on all of us?”
He had the penetrating stare down pat, the kind that left me wishing I hadn’t had dhosai for lunch so my stomach wasn’t pushing up against my diaphragm and making me slightly breathless.
In reality, the dhosai had digested hours ago and the out-of-breath sensation had everything to do with Drew and little to do with my atrocious diet.
“Easier on you, don’t you mean? Isn’t that what this is all about? You come here, try to get one of India’s richest men to fall for you, and once he’s smitten announce you’re not his betrothed but you love him anyway?”
“Is that what you think?”
Not a bad plan… if I’d been living in the dark ages. No amount of money would be worth putting up with an arranged marriage, though I guess Drew didn’t know that. He lived in a country surrounded by such marriages on a daily basis and though I’d hazard a guess he didn’t agree with the concept, he’d obviously grown to accept it as the norm.
How ironic. He thought I was here to marry for money when in fact I was here to break the bind between the betrothed.
He shook his head. “It’s the only reason that makes any sense. You’re a scam artist. An opportunist who’s taken a calculated risk in the hope it pays off. Well, guess what, Miss Jones? To quote your fellow countrymen, it ain’t gonna happen.”
He did a lousy imitation of a New York accent, sounding like a cross between Big from Sex and the City and The Godfather. Cute.
I stepped into his personal space in a deliberate taunt. “Seeing as you’re so smart, what are you going to do to stop me?”
“Don’t push your luck or you’ll be sorry.” His voice had dropped low and if it hadn’t held such menace, I could’ve really dug its husky timbre.
“Ooh, scary.” I covered my eyes with my hands, peeping out from between my fingers, wondering how long I could keep this up before I laughed my ass off.
A faint red stained his cheeks and I felt sorry for the guy. Lame, getting my thrills teasing some guy genuinely concerned for his friend.
“There’s a name for women like you.”
My amusement faded, replaced by insidious anger, making my fingers convulse, my manicure digging into my palms. The Toad had used that same line when he dumped me, though the bastard had gone the extra yard and told me exactly what that name was. I’d wanted to kill him for judging me when he’d been the scumbag doing the dirty on his wife. I’d been guilty of
naïvete—he’d been guilty of adultery and he’d called me names? Prick.
Having Bollywood Boy echo the Toad’s words… not so great if he wanted to walk out of here rather than hobble.
“And there’s a name for guys like you, but I’m too polite to use it, so I’ll settle for pompous jerk.” I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Stop jumping to conclusions and leave me the hell alone.”
Shock widened his eyes, vindicating my outburst. I’d matched it with Bollywood Boy and then some.
To his credit, he calmed with effort. “I’ve got two words for you. Tell him.”
“Or what?”
“I will.”
“Buzzzzz. Wrong answer. Besides, that’s four words.”
He muttered under his breath and I’m sure I caught a posh version of ‘fuck’ but before I could bait him further Rakesh rushed into the marquee.
“Amrita, come quick. You’ve got to see this.”
chapter five
My heart seized at the shock widening his eyes and pinching his lips.
“What’s up?”
“It’s Anjali.” Rakesh grabbed my hand and I barely had a chance to see Drew’s reaction to our cozy hand-holding before Rakesh pulled me into the harsh afternoon sunshine. “She’s gone stark, raving mad.”
Hell, hope she hadn’t muscled in on an executive producer’s Michelin-starred lunch.
“Where is she—oh.”
As we dodged a guy in a cowboy hat and pushed through a throng of people congregating on the outskirts of a set, the crowd parted and I caught a glimpse of Anjali. Not as bad as first thought, though I agreed with Rakesh’s earlier assessment of the situation. Anjali had gone mad.
She towered over a scrawny old man, yelling ‘you know nothing about lost loves and rekindling affairs of the heart, you heathen,’ brandishing her fists in his face as a crowd of onlookers gathered around. This wouldn’t have been a catastrophe if her sari hadn’t loosened and now hung around her waist, on the verge of unraveling completely.
She shrieked, she gestured, and she wobbled, oblivious to her near-naked state and the crowd swelling to movie premiere proportions.
“Quick, do something.” Rakesh shoved me none too gently in Anjali’s direction and I planted both feet firmly in the dirt.
“And add to the spectacle? No way. She’s not my aunt.”
“Oh yes, she is,” he muttered, with a pointed glare.
“Shit.” I had to take care of this debacle? Rita’s debt to me was growing by the minute. I chuckled at his horrified expression as his disbelieving stare returned to Anjali. “As my fiancé it’s your duty to protect me from scandal, so I think it’s your job to break up that little melee.”
“Melee? It’s turning into a circus and about to get worse.”
“Why?”
Rakesh cringed. “She just threatened to turn that soothsayer into a eunuch.”
“Soothsayer? As in fortune-teller?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s a fortune-teller doing on a movie set?”
“Damned if I know. Are you going to do something about this or not?”
“Okay, okay. Settle, petal.”
Calming an angry Anjali couldn’t be any worse than facing the Toad when I’d tried a eunuch trick using my knee. Besides, surrounded by a bunch of people I’d never see again come next week, I didn’t care.
I shouldered my way through the onlookers and headed straight for Anjali. “What seems to be the problem, Auntie?”
Anjali turned toward me and I resisted the urge to jump back. With her black eyes blazing, kohl bleeding into the corners, and perspiration rolling down her face, she looked like a deranged asylum escapee.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can settle this somewhere more private?” I dropped my voice and used my eyes as an indication to our growing audience, hoping it would work.
“This… this… charlatan,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “has the audacity to talk about my past and predict my future when he wouldn’t know a prophecy from a paratha!”
She’d lost it over a lousy prediction? If I got this upset with every horoscope I’d read, especially the ones forecasting riches and TDH—tall, dark, and handsome men—I’d be a basket case. Predictions were hooey. Now I had to convince Anjali.
Before I could open my mouth the toothless old man, who resembled a shrunken monkey, turned his rheumy eyes on me and beckoned with a twisted, arthritic finger.
Great. I didn’t need some shriveled guy to predict my future: the TDH man, the fortune, the holiday, the house. Generic crap believed by gullible women the world over, but no longer applied to wised-up me.
“Leave my niece alone, you hypocrite.” Anjali latched onto my arm in one of her famous death grips, the same one she’d used when Anu had welcomed me to her house.
“It’s okay, I’ll handle this.” I pried her claw-like fingers off one by one and bent closer to the soothsayer. “I’m sorry, my aunt hasn’t been well lately. Please forgive her.”
I tried my best dazzling smile, the same one I intended using on Drew when I told him the truth.
The old man’s eyes narrowed, his mouth opened, and his hand rose to hover in front of my face, knobbly finger extended. “You. Be. Famous. Soon. Very soon.”
Considering I stood in the lot of one of the world’s biggest moviemaking meccas, I guessed this was his standard prediction, like my generic weekly online horoscope forecasting a surprise influx of wealth.
I nodded and maintained the smile. “Thanks, but we really must be going.”
“Rich man follow you. Bad man follow you, too.”
The rich man was more of the same old, same old. As for the bad man, I thought these guys weren’t supposed to elaborate on doom and gloom. Like Anjali said, a real whacko.
“Uh-huh, but—”
“Boss bad man, too. He lie. Make baby with wife. No job for Missy. No house. No life. Missy travel far. Feel better.”
My smile slipped and I tried not to physically recoil. How the hell had he known that stuff about Tate? Nobody here knew and I doubt Rita would’ve informed her aunt. As for Anjali telling this guy, no way.
I backed up, trying not to prompt another scary insight. At least his focus on me had taken the heat off Anjali, and thankfully, she’d quieted. Instead, she stared at me goggle-eyed, her penciled eyebrows raised toward the heavens in a comical WTF.
“Let’s go back inside.” I linked arms with Anjali and smiled at the crowd, signaling ‘show over.’
However, it wasn’t over until the skinny man sang—or soothsayed, in this instance.
“Rich man bring joy. Some pain. You decide.” His final words wavered before he closed his eyes and his head lolled forward. He sat so still I could barely see his chest moving as he breathed.
“He’s not dead, is he?” I muttered to Anjali as we walked away.
“We couldn’t be that lucky,” she said, belatedly realizing her state of undress as she frantically rewrapped her sari.
“What did he say to get you so wound up? Something about an old boyfriend?”
“Stupid old fool. I don’t want to talk about it.” She flung the last corner of the sari over her shoulder and sailed ahead of me before coming to an abrupt stop. “Who’s this boss that ruined your life?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I fired straight back and waved to Rakesh, skulking by the marquee.
“Cheeky girl. Now, where’s that young Drew? I’ll have to tell him the tour’s off. I need to go home and rest after my ordeal.”
“Fine by me.”
Better than fine. I’d had enough for one day: interrogations from fake fiancé’s friends, real-life drama Anjali-style, and scary soothsaying. I liked watching drama being filmed here. Being a central charact
er, not so much.
“We’re leaving,” I said as Rakesh materialized by our sides now the throng had dispersed. “No thanks to you.”
I sniffed and pretended to ignore him, raising my nose in the air. That lasted all of two seconds when he tweaked it. “Didn’t like your fortune, huh?”
“Didn’t like the way you wimped out.”
“Ouch.” He clasped his heart, flashing the boyish smile he used to great effect. Rita had met her match with this one. “I didn’t wimp out. I just discovered Kapil the soothsayer is the grandfather of a lead actor and a permanent fixture around here. Been telling fortunes for years.”
His smile turned sly. “Besides, I have a reputation to uphold. It wouldn’t be good for me to be seen interfering in women’s work.”
“Women’s work? You little worm, you—”
“Gotcha.” He had the audacity to wink and I deflated.
Yep, Rita was in for a fine old time with Rollicking Rakesh.
Anjali cleared her throat, suitably shamed as we discussed her escapade. “Why don’t I thank Drew for his hospitality and meet you by the car?”
“Good idea.” Anything to avoid another confrontation with Bollywood Boy.
As Anjali waddled through the marquee entrance, I turned to Rakesh, now as good a time as any to discuss his friend’s suspicions. “Speaking of Drew, we need to talk.”
“About your little crush?”
“You’re crazy.” The same craziness making my heart pitter-patter at the thought of having a crush on a guy like Drew.
“You like him, I can tell.” He tweaked my nose again and I swatted him away, annoyed by his intuitiveness. “Just remember you’re engaged, otherwise my mother might stone you.”
“I’d like to get stoned all right,” I muttered, mustering a glare I couldn’t maintain when he grinned, a smile between two friends who’d only met recently but clicked anyway.
I hadn’t had a male friend before. Boyfriends, yeah. But platonic? Uh-uh. Yet here was a guy from another continent who I’d known for a few days and we’d become buddies. Go figure.
He squeezed my shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance to make a move on Drew when we’re in New York.”
