This time, she tugged at my hand and forced me to stop.
“You can’t leave now,” she yelped.
“Who’s leaving?” demanded Isha, turning up behind her, looking gorgeous in an organza sari. “I didn’t dress up like a Christmas tree for you bitches to bounce on me!”
“Language,” snapped Diya, joining the conversation. She scowled at her bestie. “Do not give my mother another reason to be mad at me, you foul-mouthed ghoul! She thinks I’m a bad influence on you.”
I snorted loudly at that because Isha was the worst influence on us all, and it was a bit rich for Diya’s own mother to think herdaughter-in-law was a saint and that her daughter was a trouble-maker, when it was the other way around.
“See? This is why you can’t leave,” begged Shivina. “Don’t leave me alone with Laurel and Hardy. They drive me nuts with the constant bickering.”
“And think about your business, Meher. It’s almost safari season. Do you want to send all these fat wallets to Corbett when you could pocket their money?” demanded Diya, who had more business sense than all of us put together. “Come along, now. It’s time to make nice with some aunties.”
They dragged me around the room, and I followed them reluctantly, while my mother kept a stern eye on me from her comfortable perch on a sofa on the balcony above us. The aunties were keeping vigil on the younger royals from above.
An hour later, I was exhausted and completely disheartened. While most people were polite enough to my face, I could sense the whispers that followed me around the room. The sly glances. The judgmental glares that questioned my right to be in this room.
“Guys, I don’t think this is working,” I said desperately as we wandered onto one of the many terraces at Mirpur Palace.
Isha waved a waiter over, and we grabbed flutes of champagne with little strawberries floating in them. Meanwhile, Shivina beckoned over another waiter who was carrying a trayful of hors d’oeuvres. I popped a tiny pineapple and cheese skewer topped with a fancy lavender-coloured flower into my mouth, and my eyes almost rolled back into my head in pleasure as the flavours burst on my tongue.
“Leave the tray,” ordered Diya, as she pointed to a comfortable circle of plush chairs and a small table.
We kicked off our heels and sank into the chairs with a collective groan.
“The jumpsuit looks divine, Meher,” said Shivina. “Isn’t it from Diya’s latest collection?”
“It is,” I replied.
“Meher, have you ever thought of having a small boutique in your hotel that stocks exclusive resortwear? I could design a line just for your hotel, and it wouldn’t be available anywhere else for the first six months,” said Diya.
“That would definitely funnel some traffic to our resort,” I replied, mulling it over.
Diya’s luxury brand, House of Trikhera, was very popular, and the people who could afford her outfits wouldn’t flinch at the prices of our packages.
“But it’s not enough to establish us as a reputable brand,” I went on. “We need much more footfall, and that looks quite difficult right now. Didn’t you see how the Ma Sa of Panesar made a face when I told her about my luxury safaris?”
“To hell with the oldies, Meher. You need to trend with the younger crowd. You could start with that group of PYTs who look like they are barely out of diapers, but call themselves royal lifestyle influencers,” said Isha.
“The girls might be cool, but their mums are very conservative,” warned Shivina. “They barely acknowledge me because I used to be a domestic worker.”
“Damn it! How am I going to make this work?” I wailed.
“It’s funny how you and Samrat have the same problem,” said Shivina slowly, and we all turned to stare at her.
Isha made frantic throat-slashing signs at her, telling her to shut up, and Shivina threw her hands into the air.
“Whaaat? It’s not a big secret that Samrat is trying to reclaim his old life. Just like Meher. I’m sure he has his reasons, just like she does.”
“You cannot talk about Samrat in front of Meher. What is wrong with you?” hissed Diya.
“Really? Then, please explain why they walked into the party hand-in-hand?” asked Shivina sceptically.
Isha and Diya turned to me with loud, dramatic gasps of horror, while Shivina shot me an evil grin.
“You know why we walked in together,” I yelped. “He literally drove into me when I was on my way here. And we had to ask RV to send a car to fetch us.”
“That doesn’t explain the hand-in-hand bit,” said Diya severely.
