‘Excellent coffee,’ she says, just as I’m about to burst from holding my breath. She then turns to her husband and adds, ‘The best I’ve had in a while!’
Wow! Thankfully, I only exclaimed that in my head. I try to hold back, but the smile slips out anyway.
The senior Rathore returns my sunny expression, while his son grins at his cup. I’m beginning to think he’s human, but I dismiss the thought immediately. I’m not getting reeled in to that narrative.
‘That’s exactly what I was telling Veer,’ the senior Rathore says, shaking his plump index finger.
I like this couple so much at this moment, I’m willing to exchange parents with Vedveer.
Appa’s office had coordinated with the palace staff for the choice of beverages. A couple of days ago, Appa told me GauriElena likes her coffee just the way I drink mine.
That is my cue to ask how Vedveer likes his coffee.
I don’t want to know how Vedveer has his coffee or his protein supplement. Given the size of his wrists, he is into this stuff. But I’m not playing this game.
I take a sip of the coffee Amma has handed me.
The man of the moment, posturing in dark-tan dress shoes, sips his coffee from a teacup. Like his mother, he is sitting square, while Amma and I are logged in a slouching match. I long to pull my legs up, fold them beside me and sip my beverage leisurely, just like I do in my office every morning.
This is my first cup of coffee, the one I enjoy more than the others I consume in the course of the day. I deliberately saved it for later today, for when I needed reinforcements.
Vedveer is looking around the room, perhaps wondering why the walls are bare. He drops his gaze and catches me looking at him. I force a smile.
‘Why don’t the children have a word with each other?’ That is Appa, but why ‘children’?
I study the diminishing mixture in my cup, thinking I’m better off not letting my gaze wander.
The senior Rathore coughs gently. ‘We are leaving today,’ he says, turning to his wife, ‘but Veer will stay on. Perhaps they can meet later in the evening or even in the morning, before he flies out?’
I raise my head in time to catch Vedveer turn to his father and nod.
It feels like I’m in a theatre watching a stage performance. Only, I’m part of the cast.
This evening, I have a date with Lavanya. I’m not about to change that. A quick coffee tomorrow morning works fine. Vedveer and I need to talk. He is going to tell me he isn’t interested in this alliance, and he will convey the same to theking and queen. Why he hasn’t already done that, I have no idea, but I have faith in Yuvraj.
Vedveer is loved on the internet. He is everywhere; the same with his sister and her boyfriend, all great-looking people.TittleTattledoes a piece on Vedveer every time he steps out with a new girl, and he has been stepping out with new and very alluring arm candies.
Social media’s vituperative bite is for me. A rich father’s daughter; what else can she be? Limited.
I’m fully aware that if not for my generous billionaire father, I could still be stuck deep in the Midwest, figuring matrix algebra and linear programming in the arid hope that I could eke out a decent living one day.
According to cyberbullies, my dad is my ATM. The higher the COFFEE Before Books & Bras graph rises, the more convinced the trolls are of my money-sucking, parasitic traits.
Yellamma – bangles clinking, anklets singing – enters the room again to announce, ‘Sir, photographerbandiddare.’ She is addressing Appa.
No one has told me anything about a photographer. I turn to Amma, who is looking at Appa.
Why is there a photographer here? What photo could possibly be needed? It’s not like we’re on a cruise ship in the middle of the Mediterranean.
Gauri Elena is pointing at the decorative fireplace at the far end of the room. The mantelpiece is covered with photographs of the family, including one of Alia’s wedding, a reminder to its residents of how proficient we are in getting this business of arranged matches wrong.
‘We can use the light to suit us,’ she is saying, taking demuresteps and gesturing with her long, delicate fingers.
I’m momentarily distracted by her accent, which is a mix of British and Eastern European.
The men get on their feet belatedly, while I refuse to move. Why am I the only one protesting? Why is Vedveer standing?
I’m opening out my right hand and balling it up. I don’t know how long I do this, but I feel my parents’ gaze on me. My anxiety therapist recommended I take deep breaths. One. Two. Three.
