Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(11)

“Super. Destroying rogue cells across the world one skull at a time. How’s my favorite messiah of the masses?”

He frowned at that, hurt flashing in his eyes. His mouth twitched as though he had something to say, as though he almost cared enough to say it. But then someone across the room caught his eye, someone more important than her, and he gave her an apologetic smile so practiced she wanted to punch him.

But then he raised a finger at the person, asking for a minute, and looked at her again. “I’m glad you decided to come today, Trisha,” he said sincerely, striking her speechless with surprise. “Is everything okay?” His eyes flicked briefly to the person who was waiting for him.

Trisha was tempted to grab his arm and apologize for missing years’ worth of his events, apologize for everything, again. She wanted to puke out all the mad highs and lows of her day at his feet the way she used to do back in school. She wanted to tell him that Julia was in town and HRH was hiding it from him. She wanted to do it so badly, she had to press a fist into her belly to hold it inside. In the end all she could say was, “Of course everything’s okay. Go.”

He did his pat and pass-over thing and moved on with a promise to catch up soon.

It was more than she had gotten from him in a very long time. Instead of feeling better, guilt grew spikes inside her. Before the full wallop of it overwhelmed her, she was saved by her sister’s voice.

“Don’t you look lovely!” Nisha said as she strolled over. Finally, a family member who knew exactly what she needed to hear.

Trisha grabbed her sister in a too-tight, too-long hug, then realized how ridiculous she was being and let her go.

Nisha cupped her cheek—always the big sister—and studied her handiwork. “The forest green is great on you. And the ankle straps on those wedges make your legs look endless. How is it fair that you can look this hot without even trying?”

Trisha grinned, because it was a fact universally acknowledged that she was an approval slut when it came to her family. She was about to burst forth with the story of her brilliant funding coup and Emma’s surgery when the wide doors that led to the tiered wooden deck opened and the guests started to pour out into the night for the fireworks display that was about to start. Unlike her, Nisha felt the need to greet every single person who passed by.

“My two favorite Rajes,” a warm and familiar voice said, and both Trisha and Nisha leaned over to give Dorna Matunge a hug. Dorna was one of the first female neurosurgeons in the country and also one of the first African American physician scientists. She had retired years before Trisha joined the neurosurgery department, but she was a dear friend of HRH and Ma’s, and an early supporter of Yash Raje for Governor.

More recently she had also become Trisha’s patient. She was wearing a black-and-gold sari and carrying it off with poise that belied her eighty-five years and the fact that she’d been fighting cancer for the past five of those. “I don’t understand why you Raje women don’t wear these beautiful saris more. Mina bought me this one from India, but if she’s not going to wear hers, I might as well steal all of them!”

Trisha smiled. “I’d wear one if I could carry it as well as you do, Dr. Matunge,” she said worshipfully. But she couldn’t imagine wearing a sari at a dinner like this. It would feel too much like a costume outside of an Indian wedding or a Diwali celebration.

Dorna patted her shoulder. “I’ll see you at my appointment next week.” Then she turned to Nisha. “The food was exquisite. I’m going to need the number of the chef!” And with that she followed the crowd to the patio.

As Trisha watched her walk away, she realized with horror that being this late meant she had arrived after the caterers had cleared out the food.

Her stomach let out a long, incredibly inelegant groan. Nisha’s eyes widened before she broke into giggles exactly the way her daughter, Mishka, did.

It wasn’t funny. Trisha had yet to eat today. “Please tell me the food isn’t entirely gone. I think I’ll die if I don’t eat right now.”

Nisha shook her head. “Not again. How can you wait until you’re dying of hunger before realizing you’re hungry?”

It was annoying as hell, but Nisha was right. Trisha found it impossible to remember to eat—or do anything else—when she got lost in her work. Then when she did remember, her hunger kicked in with such force that she could scarf down an entire pizza without stopping to breathe.

More laughter came from her sister, and no understanding whatsoever of her predicament. “Mishka is exactly like you. But she’s eight, for heaven’s sake!”

Her niece was the world’s most perfect human, so Trisha had no problem with the comparison.

“Did you go upstairs and see her?” her sister asked walking with her toward the kitchen.

“Of course I did.” Trisha had made a quick detour to the upper floor after her disastrous heart-to-heart with HRH. It was a matter of habit; the first thing she always did when she came to the Anchorage was go see their oldest cousin, Esha, and their grandmother. Both Esha and Aji lived here but they never left the upper floor when outsiders were in the house because Esha couldn’t handle the stimulation. Since this was a grown-ups’ party, Mishka got to stay up there with them while the rest of the family did what it did best: awe the good citizens of California.