Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(40)

Ma smiled—it was the smile that had captivated a nation of a billion people since she had been five years old. Mina Raje, or Baby Minu as she’d been called in the child-star years, had been India’s answer to Shirley Temple, jet-black curls framing large twinkling eyes, and a smile bracketed by two dimples that made every woman want to be a mother, and every father want to be a better man.

She had also been one of those rare creatures who had seamlessly made the transition from cherubic child star to beautiful leading lady with a neat leap over any hint of adolescent awkwardness.

But Ma’s story did have an ugly part. Her father had forced her into acting at the age of five, and by the age of twenty she hated everything about being a film star. So, once while shooting in Amsterdam, she had decided to execute a Roman Holiday–style escape. She had jumped over the wall of her hotel and landed right on top of His Royal Highness, Shree Hari Raje, knocking the young prince off his feet literally and figuratively.

Shree, who had been stranded in Amsterdam thanks to a winter storm on his way from Mumbai to San Francisco, never did anything in half measures. He had fallen hard. The drama that ensued had put all of Ma’s rather ridiculously over-the-top films to shame. He’d hidden her from the furious manhunt, missed his flight again, and risked his job to take her on a romp across Western Europe. Because Mina had never traveled without a film crew. Because she had never been on a vacation. Because he hadn’t been able to let her go.

And he hadn’t let her go, not when faced with Mina’s father’s wrath and very Bollywoodsy gangster connections—they’d broken his arm, and he was a surgeon! Not when faced with his own mother’s utter horror at having a Bollywood actress with a history like that defile their royal lineage.

Mina had matched his stubbornness. She, for her part, had ignored gangster threats—that included threats of acid attacks, withstood a virulent smear campaign in the media—that included pregnancy rumors, and faced down her mother-in-law’s disdain. But she had refused to let Shree go, either.

When she married him, Shree had been the very definition of a young blue blood. The world had been his playground, his job his passion. His only ambition had been to “live life king-size”—the motto behind the motto of all royalty across the world.

Then his brother—the maharaja and the bearer of the family’s politics—had died, and Shree had changed. In taking on the guardianship of his niece and his title, Shree Raje had also taken on all the ambition that had driven his brother. Maheshwar had been a public servant born and bred, obsessed with helping his people and also with the political power it took to make things happen in democracies.

Shree had taken on his belief systems with the zeal of a convert. But by the time the transformation happened Shree had already fallen in love with America.

Mina dealt with her husband’s transformation like she dealt with everything else. She acted as though that’s how things had always been. She stood by this new Shree wholeheartedly, became his perfect partner. In all things except his obsession with assimilation. In that one thing Trisha felt like Ma wished she had pushed harder and been less accommodating.

Neel’s mother, Sunita Auntie, who was Ma’s best friend, had once told Trisha that Mina had ruined the lives of many an Indian man and woman by setting up entirely unrealistic standards by playing the idealized dream of the perfect wife, daughter, and daughter-in-law.

When HRH had dug in his heels about marrying Ma, Aji knew her son too well to push her reservations too hard. But she’d held on to them until that plane had gone down and Aji and Esha had moved to the Anchorage three decades ago. It was Ma’s love for Esha, all the nights she stayed up holding her as she trembled with her visions and seizures, all the adjustments she made to the upper floors so Aji and Esha’s lives would not be disrupted any more than they had already been. And then there was their joint love for Indian classical music. That had sealed the deal and now Ma and Aji were as much a unit as Dad and she were.

“I was so proud of you for coming to the dinner the other night.” Ma didn’t mention her lateness or the fact that she had missed the postmortem tea.

In return Trisha didn’t mention the fact that Ma had forgotten to update her about rescheduling the tea.

“Ma-saheb told me that Esha thinks there’s going to be some trouble with you,” Ma said, giving the wheelchair a soulful pat.

Okay. And trouble with her automatically meant that Yash would be under threat? Really, sometimes her family was so infuriating Trisha wanted to shake them. “Ma, Julia has not contacted me. Think about it, why would she ever contact me? I made it very clear that I wanted to have nothing to do with her. I would never hurt Yash. Why is it so hard for Dad to believe that?”

“Don’t take your father’s name in anger, beta! He said she’s been seen around the hospital speaking with your patients.”

“Why does he even know these things?” Trisha said, when she really should not have, because she knew only too well why he had to know.

Ma glared. “Do you really not see what’s at stake here? You’ve heard Steele’s poking around. You know he has that whole ‘working man’s candidate’ advantage. You know Yash has to overcome the ‘West Coast elite’ thing. You know what the party’s looking for right now.”

“They’re looking for Yash, if they have any sense.”