Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(28)

She could ask Ashi the same question.

Meeting her cousin’s curious gaze with a shrug, Trisha leaned on a chair and her pinkie finger found a little rip in the faded upholstery. Ashna’s eyes caught the action and her shoulders did the tiniest slump.

The decor of Curried Dreams hadn’t changed at all since her uncle had opened it when Trisha was in middle school. That’s when Ashna and her father had moved to California from Sripore. Or rather, that’s when HRH had forced his brother to move and open the restaurant to keep him from making more trouble in India.

Brahmanand “Bram” Raje had by all accounts been the quintessential wild young prince. A stereotype of royal debauchery and entitlement with a glamorous public lifestyle, and the debts and arrest warrants to match. What Trisha remembered about her uncle was his larger-than-life personality. His hugs big and tight, his jokes loud and bawdy, his love for food and drink such that you never left his presence without being fed to within an inch of your life.

Unlike his older brothers, Bram had barely made it through high school and had no skills other than knowing how to live large. HRH, in an attempt to fix his brother’s life, had deemed a luxurious fine dining restaurant the most viable enterprise to finally help him grow up. As it often turned out, HRH had been right.

For the five years that Bram had run it, Curried Dreams had been Palo Alto’s hot spot. The original decor of the restaurant had been a replica of the grand durbar hall at the Sagar Mahal. The chairs were hand-carved teakwood. The brocaded cushions and the tapestries hanging from the walls were custom woven and hand embroidered in the local Kashida tradition by artisans in Sripore and then shipped over. Everything had been vibrant shades of turquoise and magenta stippled with coppery gold. Ashna’s father had loved to tell the stories detailing the history of each chair, table, and light fixture. The spirit of this place had once been as large and gregarious as Bram Raje himself.

“I remember when it used to be beautiful,” Ashna said sadly.

Trisha linked arms with her. “It’s still beautiful.” And filled with treasured memories. “Ma wanted me to tell you that there’s a buyer interested,” she said softly.

“No, Shasha!” Ashna stepped away from her. “I know Mina Kaki is only trying to help, but I won’t sell. I can’t sell. Can’t you see that?”

It was such a pain, being unable to separate yourself from your work. As Entoff had tried hard to teach Trisha, keeping your emotions out of your job was so much smarter. “This buyer is willing to keep the name and keep you on to run things. It’s the perfect solution.”

Ashna was about to respond, but Trisha cut her off. “No, it’s not HRH trying to sneakily help you.” At least that’s what Ma had assured her when she had asked Trisha to speak to Ashna. But with HRH there were no guarantees when it came to limiting his meddling. “He knows you won’t forgive him if he tries that again. But listen, if you default on the loan, the bank is going to take this place away, and then you’ll have no say in who gets it.”

“It’s not going to come to that. I have a plan for a revamp. DJ is a master at menus and he’s helping me. We’re going to turn the place around.”

The place had been steadily sinking for ten years. “How is a new menu going to fix the upholstery and the carpet?” Trisha pointed out, feeling like a jerk when she saw Ashna’s eyes dim with worry. Trisha loved the restaurant, too, but even all her nostalgia wasn’t keeping the dank feeling away.

“That’s what brings people in,” Ashna said stubbornly. “This is Palo Alto; everyone loves a little character.”

Only when “character” cost millions of dollars to create. The Disneyland version of character was what had value here. Torn fabric and peeling paint didn’t count unless it was executed by a designer and not by time. But Trisha couldn’t say that to Ashi. Not about Curried Dreams. “Where are you going to find the money to pay this master of menus?”

Ashna sank into a chair. “I’m not paying him. We’re bartering. Like the old days. He gets to use my kitchen during downtime for his private chef business.”

“That’s actually brilliant! Why didn’t we think of that before?” Trisha sat down across from her, grinning.

Ashi grinned back. “I’m glad you think so.”

“No, I mean, renting the kitchen during downtime. With the rent prices here, you could totally make enough to redecorate and pay for revamping the menu!”

“I’m not charging a friend to use my kitchen.” Ashi stuck out her chin. It was her immovable face.

“I’m sure your boyfriend will understand that you’re going to lose Curried Dreams if you don’t charge him, or charge somebody, rent.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Shasha. He’s just a friend. A colleague. We’ve known each other for years.”

Right. And that whole “feed each other with a spoon and then wipe his chin” thing was what everyone did with their “just a friend.” But Ashna was always so damn serious, Trisha wanted nothing more than for her to have someone who could draw her out. Even better if that someone looked the way her chef friend did.

Trisha had the odd urge to fan herself.

“At least consider it. It’s your only choice. I’ll tell Ma to say no to the buyer, but let’s look at renting, okay? You’re going to need this. If he’s a friend, he’ll understand.”