Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(70)

Today was not a day for hugs. But calm embraced Trisha as Esha moved her hand to the center of her chest, pressing into Trisha’s heart.

“How beautiful you look, Shasha,” she said. “My soft warrior. War is a violent thing but its purpose is often to protect your own, and to ultimately bring peace. Sometimes you have to go to war to move forward and past suffering, to get closer to our natural state as humans. That of equilibrium and well-being.”

Trisha simply nodded. The only time Esha ever lectured was when she’d seen something and she was trying to tell you what she’d seen.

“When it’s time to fight, it’s okay to fight,” Esha said. “Even if sometimes your biggest enemies may be hiding inside you. Not everyone who fights you is your enemy.”

Finally Esha nodded and Trisha touched the hand Esha had pressed into her chest.

“Thanks, Esha.” She never asked Esha for details. She never wanted to know. Every single time Esha had warned against something it had come true. Your loyalty is to blood, she’d told Trisha when the thing with Yash had happened. Trisha had ignored her and look how that had ended up.

Suddenly Esha frowned. “Where is Nisha?”

Trisha stepped away from her. Keeping Nisha’s secret around Esha was impossible.

“I have to go, Esha; I just came by to check Aji’s stomachache because Dad’s in LA.”

Esha smiled at her. They both knew Aji was perfectly fine. She just hadn’t seen Trisha in a few days and had wanted her to come over.

“Do you want me to write you a prescription for Zantac, Aji? Or will your pudin hara work?”

“Yes yes, I got it. But at least eat a ladoo before you go? I put a few aside for you. Here.” Her grandmother handed her a box full of her delicious sweet cream-of-wheat balls. “Eat one now. You know how you get when you get hungry.”

Trisha was about to open the box when her phone buzzed. A text from Bicep-chef—she’d put his name down as that in her contacts the day Nisha had stuck her with the fund-raising dinner.

“I’m almost there.” How did even his texts sound pissed off? And why was he texting while driving?

Trisha frowned at the text, then frowned even harder at the ladoos. “I’ll eat them in the car,” she said to Aji before giving her another quick hug.

Before she got away, Esha caught her hand. “Be careful,” she said, her eyes somber.

“Always am.”

“Some things require more care than you’re giving them, Shasha.”

How she hated these nebulous prophetic declarations.

“Tell Nisha to—”

“Really, Esha, I have to go!” She practically ran from the room before Esha could finish.

She remembered the horror on Esha’s face every time Nisha got pregnant. After the first two miscarriages, Nisha had refused to meet Esha, but Trisha somehow was the conduit between the cousins. She’d transferred the unease between the two and she hated it.

Tell Nisha some things can’t be made through force of will.

Yeah, no. No way had Trisha been able to tell Nisha that. And when she had refused to ferry Esha’s messages to Nisha like a carrier pigeon, Esha had suffered seizure after seizure from whatever it was that built up inside her.

Remembering that made Trisha stop. Reluctantly, she turned around and went back to Esha. But Esha only smiled. “I’m fine. Go on.”

That was all Trisha needed to hear. She ran down the stairs, ladoo box in hand. Sometimes she hated Esha. Guilt blasted through her at that thought, hard and sharp. No. No, she didn’t hate Esha. She loved her more than anything, but she hated her visions, hated that she could not keep them to herself. She also hated having to keep Nisha’s secret.

As much as she loved her sister, sleeping in the same bed as her right now was nerve-racking. Every time Nisha moved, Trisha skipped a heartbeat. She’d woken up again this morning to Nisha crying in her sleep. She’d wiped her cheeks, mumbled reassurances, and fallen back to sleep feeling incredibly alone. Being the only person in the family who knew about the baby felt too heavy, a crushing weight on her chest.

The last time Esha had asked her to be careful, Trisha had learned that she couldn’t trust her own judgment and she’d lost Yash, HRH, and even Ma, a little bit. A horrible exhaustion rose inside her. Suddenly three hours of sleep and two surgeries descended on her like a crumbling ceiling.

Groaning, she pulled the heavy front door open and slammed straight into the big body of DJ Caine.

His hands gripped her upper arms as he steadied her; they were warm and gentle and reminded her of the solidity of his chest when she’d pressed her hand into it at Green Acres. She could still feel his heart beating a frantic rhythm against her palm.

“Hey, you all right?” His expression was so kind, she almost let the choked-up feeling welling inside her turn into tears. It was a horrifying thought. Just as horrifying as the fact that she hadn’t been able to get the feel of his chest off her hand. And now she had the feel of his fingers on her arms to deal with.

She pushed him away with both hands and swept past him down the steps. “I’m fine.”

“All right then.” He stretched the words out in a weirdly British way and fell in step next to her.

“Whose car is that?” A beast of a yellow Porsche stood to one side of the sweeping driveway. “You don’t own that thing, do you?” Where was the adorable pink Beetle?