Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(8)

The title meant nothing in America, of course, and HRH worked hard to keep it out of the family’s public narrative here, where assimilation was the word. The title no longer officially meant anything in India, either. Not that the staff at the Sagar Mahal or the media put too much stock in the Indian government’s stand on the matter. They were royalty, and that was a matter of blood and destiny, and Trisha’s grandfather had proven it by reclaiming the family’s power by throwing himself into the freedom struggle and then becoming a democratically elected member of Parliament as soon as India finally overthrew the British Raj in 1947.

Three decades after that, HRH, a second son, had migrated to America hoping for a grand adventure and a little bit of his own independence from all that royal legacy and ambition. Things hadn’t turned out quite the way he had expected and now all he ever seemed to focus on was legacy and ambition.

His summoning her was entirely unexpected because there were currently at least fifty people in the house who needed to be awed and inspired, and the fact that he was spending the time on her was more than a bit disconcerting. Would he throw her out? That wasn’t quite the HRH way. Silent disapproval had so much more gravitas. They had skirted each other for fifteen years, through family gatherings and working at the same hospital. It was amazing how easy it was to shut out problematic parts of your life when your work took up the entirety of your time and attention.

She had even forgotten when exactly she gave up bemoaning the loss of her title as her father’s precious little girl.

Could Dr. Entoff have told him about the grant?

Don’t get excited. Do not.

He had to have heard about the grant. They never interacted at work—they worked in different departments and it was a big hospital. Not too big for a thriving grapevine though. The excitement that bubbled inside her made her a certified idiot. Her grant, no matter how groundbreaking, couldn’t crack the surface of her father’s disapproval. Nothing could. Not after what she had done.

As instructed, she used the outside entrance to his office and took the half flight of stairs that led up to the heavy leaded-glass doors. The night was unusually warm for March but not warm enough to justify the sweat that gathered under her arms. With a cursory knock she let herself into the small mahogany-paneled waiting area. It was empty, as expected. She made her way through the open door of his office.

There he stood, across the pristinely ordered room infused with the smell of the leather-bound books lining the walls: HRH, in all his HRH glory. Perfectly groomed and tailored to highlight his tall, proud bearing. She sent a silent thank-you to her sister for making her look halfway civilized and for these heels that suddenly gave her a modicum of power.

He was staring out the window at the elegantly lit patio with a breathtaking view of the mountains. It was sprinkled with guests, who were no doubt contemplating the beauty of the estate and California’s good fortune that Yash Raje was about to deliver them from all their woes.

“I had told you this wasn’t over.” He opened with that, and without bothering to turn and look at Trisha.

Whatever was in his voice, it certainly wasn’t pride. Strike off Option One. This wasn’t about the grant. Something told her it wasn’t about the fact that she had decided to show up today either.

“What—” she began to ask, but he cut her off.

“That friend of yours is back in town.” The words reached her in slow motion, one clipped syllable at a time.

The sheen of perspiration she’d acquired from the stress of seeing him picked up the chill of his office and froze against her skin.

There was only one person he could be talking about, only one person who would dredge up all his anger at Trisha and trap it in his voice. Julia.

Julia was back in town?

Trisha hadn’t heard from her college roommate since their disastrous friendship ended in their sophomore year at Berkeley. Trisha’s family hadn’t even let her talk to Julia before they ran her out of town. She tried to breathe around the shame. All those years, and yet the kick of betrayal landed hard and swift between her ribs.

“Has she been in touch?” He still didn’t turn around and look at her.

Everything inside Trisha singed at the edges and burned inward. The pride for her grant, the anticipation of trying to make amends. All of it gone as though it had never existed in the first place. All her words were gone too. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There was nothing new about words failing her, especially when it came to her father. At least not since she had allowed Julia Wickham into their lives.

“Now is not the time to withdraw into your shell,” her father snapped impatiently.

“Thanks, Dad, now that you’ve issued the order, I’ll just stop with the withdrawing.” That’s what she wanted to say. But no one spoke to him that way. “Does Yash know?” she whispered instead, working to unlock her jaw.

Finally he turned around, his face flushed with rage. “No one is to tell Yash! Is that clear? He does not need the added stress of this. Steele is considering running against him in the primaries. Steele is a worthy adversary. A viable option for the party who could ruin everything. Our focus has to be making sure that does not happen.”

Trisha had no doubt that between Dad, Yash, and their considerable armaments, they would come up with something.

“You need to make sure she stays away from him.”