Has Vedveer actually dated all these women? Twenty-two? Is it even possible? Why then does this Collective King want to get into an arranged match?
I open WhatsApp and message Vedveer. I attach theTittleTattlepage and ask:Who is your favourite?
I get a reply in five minutes.
VRS:I was hoping you hadn’t seen that.
Me:Oh please!It is everywhere. So? Any frontrunners? The human rights lawyer? The beauty queen?
VRS:Tempting, but no. I prefer the one who has a thing for matchingmonogrammed towels.
Me:Excuse me??
That damn list!
I’m careful not to contort my face weirdly; I don’t need to entertain bartenders.
VRS:Custom-stitched. Initials perfectly aligned. She pretends it’s not a big deal, but trust me, she’d know if someone swapped the hand towel.
Me:I feel very seen.
VRS:You are!
Me:Haha!
I put down my phone and shut my eyes. I wonder where Vedveer is. I don’t know much about his life, but whatever I learnt from that first conversation we had in my office, he’s probably at Ranibagh.
I ran into Navya at the Conclave. Vedveer’s sister looked like she’d walked out of aVoguespread… That’s her staple.
‘Yours is the only coffee I drink,’ she told me and then leaned over and whispered, ‘Welcome to the family. We’re all so proud of you.’
When we broke from the hug, she added, ‘My brother is lucky, but why isn’t he here?’
Before I could even shrug in response, I got whisked to another part of the room. When I went looking for Navya Mrinalini later on to apologize, I was told that the princess had just left. I used that as an excuse to get away from the cocktails and dinner. I desperately needed some me time.
I swivel around in the high chair, the full 360-degree turn, and notice that the place has filled up.
I feel my face swell with a smile.
I’m finally being acknowledged as more than a rich father’s daughter. At least in circles that count.
The champion of COFFEE Before Books & Bras.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll be in the newspaper. And this time, it won’t be for how plainly I dress or how ordinary I look.
I’ve won an award. A real one. I earned this.
Toddy places a bowl of potato wafers before me. My eyes circle the crystal bowl. My tongue is wet, and my stomach is alive. My eyes shift from the untouched cup of nuts to the chips. I can almost taste them. The salt, the tang, the crunch. I’m so ready for them I giggle.
Toddy turns. ‘Anything you need, ma’am?’
I shake my head. My smile is ear to ear.
I’m not going to eat in an adrenaline rush.
I shift on the barstool, putting a distance between me and the eats. The table of eight that faces the bar counter has one woman in the mix and an empty chair. That particular bunch looks younger than the rest of the crowd; they are about my age, maybe.
My phone lights up. Alia is messaging.
