Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(22)

The door to Aji’s room cracked open and sounds spilled out. Trisha heard her father’s voice say, “We can discuss the rest later. I have to be at the hospital.”

She dived behind the leather sectional.

Holy shit, why had she done that?

HRH strode across the sitting room in his signature trample-little-animals-in-his-way style and Trisha scrambled around the couch on all fours as silently as she could. If he heard her, she would die of mortification. Die.

He stopped. Shit shit shit. Ma followed him out of Aji’s room. Trisha drew herself around the corner of the couch where she begged the paintings of the goddesses to keep her hidden.

“It’s not like the girl is stupid,” HRH said with enough disdain that Trisha had no doubt who the “girl” in question was. “We all know her brain is not the problem. It’s just utter selfishness.”

“She’s busy,” Ma said placatingly. “You know how brutal hospital hours are. And she’s trying now.”

He huffed—well, not really, he was HRH—but his tone was huffing as hell. “I’m here. Yash is here. Nisha called even though she couldn’t make it. Ashna has a restaurant to run and she made it. What she’s trying to do is make some sort of point. She’s just being vindictive. We were better off with her out of things. She’s hurt him enough already. You and Ma-saheb have to stop coddling her.”

Ma made a sound that Trisha didn’t hear because her ears were ringing. The elevator slid open and her parents disappeared into it.

“Shasha?”

Great. Just great! The last person she needed to see right now.

“Hi, Yash.” She blinked up at him, trying to push the tears back.

“Can I help you find something?” He squatted down next to her.

“I thought I had lost a contact lens. But I think it just moved around.” More blinking ensued.

“Contacts trouble again, ha?” he said, giving her a smile that commemorated every incident of her stupid lenses popping out at inopportune moments. It was a kind smile. And it set off a horrid sense of loss inside her. She would never be vindictive with Yash.

“I thought the meeting was at two. I’m so sorry I missed it.”

The kind smile disappeared. “Ma always does these at noon.” His look turned sad, as though he’d just realized that there was no reason for her to know that.

“You’re the one who never wanted me to be here,” she wanted to say. But it wasn’t true. He had never asked her not to come. He had never asked her to come, either.

“Is Rob really running against you in the primaries?” Rob Steele had been Yash’s best friend since law school. Trisha couldn’t imagine how betrayed Yash must feel right now. The two of them had the same political platform. Only Steele was white.

Yash’s eyes widened, clearly surprised that she knew anything about his political career. He stood and offered her his hand.

She let him pull her up. That look of surprise made her feel like a piece of shit. The only reason she knew about Steele was because HRH had slapped her head with the information.

“I really wanted to be here today, Yash,” she said tiredly.

“Or you’ve picked this time to stick it to HRH. He’s under a lot of stress, Shasha. Give the man a break.” That was pure Yash, worried about every person on earth . . . except, of course, the sister who had almost ruined him.

Did it strike any of them that she had a life, that her decisions were not based on sticking it to anyone or being vindictive? Why had she thought this was a good idea again?

Getting sucked into this conversation was a bad idea. It would only end with her feeling even more guilty than she already did, or with Yash running out the door toward something more important. “My afternoon opened up, and after yesterday . . . I, well . . . I wanted to be here. But I can’t always get away from work.”

Again, he looked surprised that she had explained herself. “Everything okay at work?” His concern seemed genuine. It was his best expression, also his favorite one. All you had to do was google him and you’d see this face telling you Yes, I care.

He looked at his watch, their oldest uncle’s Rolex, the Raje equivalent of the Crown. Any caring she might have imagined in his eyes got buried under the need to get to the next place he needed to be.

“Peachy!” she said breezily. “Good luck with your meeting.”

He stopped halfway to the stairs. He never took the elevator. It had been installed after the accident that had put him in a wheelchair for two years in high school, but he’d never stepped in there once after he had gotten out of that wheelchair.

“You don’t have to come to these, you know,” he said.

It was like being slapped in the face. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe we could try to . . . I thought you wouldn’t mind me being there.” Despite every effort not to, her voice quivered.

He squeezed his temples over those crystal gray eyes. “Come on, Shasha. All I meant was that I know how much you hate these shindigs. If you really want to be involved”—he didn’t say “suddenly” but she heard it all the same—“you can help in other ways.”

She had the strange urge to laugh. “Do you want to run that by HRH and have your head bitten off, or should I?”

He smiled at that. Then suddenly understanding lit his eyes and she kicked herself for not keeping her mouth shut. He glanced at the spot behind the couch where she’d been hiding. “What did Dad do now?”