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“It’s not a woman, Kaavi. It’s a man.”

I choked.

“You’re bullshitting me.” There was no fucking way.

“I don’t bullshit, Kaavi. You should know that. Not when the stakes are so high.” He pulled out his phone, tapped around, and showed me the screen. It was an image of my father with another man who looked familiar. I think I had seen him before, maybe it was at the office? Yes, it struck me. The interior designer. My father had introduced him to me the other day.

But regardless of who the man was, this was a picture my father would never want getting out. One that could destroy him in a place like Colombo. His reputation, my mother’s, my sisters’, and most of all my own will be dragged through the mud. And this would stick. He’d struggle to live this one down.

“This won’t fly, Spencer, you know that, don’t you? This is Colombo, not the US. We have connections here. Hell, we’re fucking royalty here. You think that you, a nobody who’s not even from here, can just waltz in and threaten us? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He swiped left and kept swiping. The pictures kept getting worse. There was one—it looked, well, if you spun a story just right, it looked quite forceful. Like my dad was hurting him.

“I think this one’s the winner, Kaavi.” Spencer read my mind. “This young man he’s with, I happened to have a chat with him. He’s willing to come forward, you know. To tell everyone and anyone that your father forced him into this. That he was exploiting him. He’s willing, if he had the right support, to hire a lawyer and press charges. Now, I know you lot have your connections, of course. Could probably bribe a judge or do whatever to get this buried, but not before word really gets around. Think of what this would do to your family.”

I stayed quiet. Fuck, did this son of a bitch have me?

“I know you’d never in a million years let that happen. You’d sooner die than let your family’s name and business be ruined. Especially if it risks your father going to jail for assault. Especially if it risks you losing all this.” He swept his arm around, indicating my house. My home. My family.

“So it’s pretty simple, Kaavi. I’m not a total asshole. Our initial agreement still stands. I will be a loving and devoted husband to you, at least in public, just the way you like it. And I get, well, I get the kind of life I could have only ever dreamed about when I was starving, being jostled around foster homes, and working my ass off. There’s no way in hell I’m losing all this just because you had a change of heart.”





28


KAAVI


Three Days before the Wedding


THERE WAS ONLY one person left to speak to, and she wasn’t going to like it one bit.

I’d seen my mother leave the house in a huff, slamming the front door on her way out. When she gets upset, there’s only one place where she takes refuge—the spa. I paced around my room like a wild animal until she returned. One of the newer maids must have been in here earlier because a few things weren’t where they were supposed to be and my bedspread wasn’t smoothed out the way I’d instructed. I straightened it out, restless, and shifted the picture frames back to their usual spots. There was a stray piece of paper on the floor as well—Kaavi, please call me. We need to talk, it read. The handwriting looked familiar, but there was no name. That was weird. I checked my messages to see if any of the girls from Chicago had tried to get in touch, but I honestly didn’t have the energy to deal with any more drama. I was up to my neck in it as it was.

My mother had just gotten back when I knocked on the door of her bedroom (she calls it her “dressing room,” and while it did hold enough clothes to dress a small population of heavyset women who loved all things colorful and sparkly, she wasn’t fooling anyone by pretending she still slept in the same room as my father).

She opened the door, all shiny and smelling of sandalwood, and whatever Zen-like feelings she was able to muster appeared to vanish the moment she saw me.

“What?” she barked, though for once she used her brains and kept her voice low.

“Can I come inside?”

I didn’t wait for her to answer and pushed my way in.

“What’s all this now?” she asked again, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I need your help, Amma, okay?”

“Why don’t you go and ask your father?” Her voice was full of sarcasm. The only thing my mother did better than throwing parties was hold a grudge.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I promise I didn’t know.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I swear! Why the fuck—” She gave me a glare. “Why on earth,” I adjusted, “would I agree to marry someone from a background like that? It’s clear now that he’s using me for my money. For our money. There’s no way he could live a life like this in the US.”

“Are you sure it’s just money he’s after?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because if he joins this family, he gets more than just money. He gets security. He gets support. He gets an entire new life. And normally, people who are in search of a new life do that because they’ve done some bad in their old one.”

Just great.

“So if you feel this way, why did you encourage me to marry him?”