Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)(75)

ísa nodded. “I guess it’s not too bad a deal. He gets a happy wife and they get a profit.” She winced. “Oh my God, I just sounded like my mother. Profit and loss, all while I’m about to look at wedding clothes.”

Nayna patted her friend on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen odd flashes of the Dragon in you through the years, but the fire breathing never takes full hold. Read a few romance novels, throw in a lot of poetry, and you’ll come out whole on the other side.”

ísa nodded solemnly at the prescription. The two of them had been swapping novels and poetry books forever. “Did you read that new historical?” ísa began, but then Madhuri squealed and all heads turned toward her.

The store owner had personally wheeled out the first rack of garments. Nayna’s eyes widened at the shimmer and sparkle on display. Each and every one a designer outfit worth thousands upon thousands of dollars. Single pieces of art for Madhuri’s delectation.

Everyone gravitated toward the garments, each of them choosing their favorites for Madhuri to try on. A few pieces, Nayna discarded at once.

“Maddie would never wear this shade of red,” she said to ísa. “Says it makes her look like an old tomato.”

ísa pointed to a dark pink outfit. “Not traditional red, but I think your sister might like it.”

Nayna agreed. “I’m pretty sure Madhuri is going for knockout, not so much traditional as unforgettable.” Her sister had already spoken to a hairstylist about having a “wild” hairstyle—by which she meant something that hadn’t already been done but was stunning. Not a flower bun. With Pinky Mehra added in, they’d already been to four weddings this year where the brides had gone for the elegant look popularized by a Bollywood actress.

Madhuri examined each and every garment with care, cooing over the beadwork or the Swarovski crystals or the expensive fabric before finally deciding which one to try first. Most of the garments the doctor had ordered were skirt-and-tunic combos where the tunic didn’t display too much flesh—if any. Modesty was applauded in brides. However, he—or the shop owner who’d created the order—had also added a number of designer saris.

“I’ll be back soon!” Chosen outfit in hand, Madhuri disappeared into a changing room.

Excited to see her sister all dressed up, Nayna sat down in one of the provided chairs, ísa on her left and her mother next to ísa. Her grandmother sat beside Shilpa Sharma while Anjali and Jaci were on Nayna’s other side. All of them had champagne in hand—the doctor must’ve spent a lot—and snacks nearby.

“Anjali, how are your boys?” Nayna’s mother leaned forward to ask. “Is Avinesh looking after them tonight?”

A curl of Anjali’s lip. “Him?” A snort. “He’s out having a beer with his squash mates. I dropped the boys off at my parents’.” Her smile morphed into intensely real. “Honestly, they are the light of my lives.”

They all cooed over the adorable photos of her boys the other woman showed around.

Anjali then dropped into conversation with Jaci while Nayna’s grandmother and mother chatted. Nayna wasn’t attempting to eavesdrop, but with Anjali and Jaci right next to her, she couldn’t avoid overhearing the other woman’s continued thread on her husband.

Any love Anjali’d once had for Avinesh appeared stone-dead.

Nayna wouldn’t be surprised if she opened the paper one day to find Anjali had murdered her husband using a frypan and a meat tenderizer.

“This is going to be a long haul,” she murmured to ísa, who’d also caught a little of Anjali’s discontent. “Thanks for the company.”

“Are you kidding? All these gorgeous clothes and the yummy food? I’m so in.” Her best friend lowered her voice. “Did she just say her husband eats her head?”

“It makes sense in Hindi,” Nayna reassured her while struggling not to laugh—Anjali was now literally translating animal-related Hindi insults into English but replacing harsh swear words with words she clearly found easier to say, with hilarious results.

“Son of an owl?” ísa repeated, mystified. “Donkey poop?”

Nayna’s stomach ached with the force of holding in her laughter.

It was as well that Madhuri walked out in the first outfit at that moment, or Nayna would’ve lost it. Her sister was ravishing. Everyone gasped and the two store dressers ran forward to arrange the dupatta over her hair, positively astonished by her.

“You look like a movie star!” one of them said. “Madhuri Dixit.”

Her friend disagreed. “No, she’s Aishwarya Rai in Jodhaa Akbar. You know, when she had the brown contact lenses.”

Loving the attention, Madhuri showed off by strutting down the room and back. “What do you think?”

The consensus was that she had a winner.

Madhuri laughed. “It’s just the first one!” Then she went back into the changing room, calling out, “Ma! Can you come help me?”

Their mother got up at once. Nayna didn’t interrupt or offer to assist too. This was important to their mother—she’d missed Madhuri’s first wedding, and it was giving her so much joy to be involved in every aspect of the second.

Ten minutes later, Madhuri appeared in another astoundingly beautiful outfit. The gasps were louder this time.