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That should have made me feel better, but it didn’t because it sounded like the kind of drivel people spouted when they were trying to make you feel good about a bad situation.
“You’re just saying that because I’m your sister. Be honest, Bhai Sa. Have you ever dated a fat girl?” I shot back.
It was fun to watch him floundering for a reply. It almost made up for the fact that he had proved my point. I might be beautiful in the eyes of my family, but that didn’t mean anyone else was ever going to fall head over heels in love with me. Not the way Bhai Sa worshipped Diya.
I didn’t begrudge my best friend the love she had found, but seeing them together sent a pang through my heart because it represented something I’d never have. Never mind, I’d soon have something even better. I would have Gulab Mahal. By hook or by crook.
“What’s going to happen to Dadi Sa’s personal properties that aren’t part of the family trust?” I asked, hating that I was asking this before she was even cremated, but I had to know. I just had to know!
“I guess she drew up a will at some point. We’ll know soon enough,” replied Bhai Sa. “Don’t worry, Isha. We’re her only heirs. If she didn’t already will it to you, she would have left it to me.”
“I’ll buy it from you,” I declared.
“As if I’d take your money,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll just gift it to you for your next birthday.”
I couldn’t let him do that because I didn’t want to be indebted to anyone for my freedom, not even my brother who had always been firmly on my side. But my plans would have to wait because my mother called Bhai Sa to discuss Dadi Sa’s funeral. He put her on speakerphone.
“Beta, this funeral is going to turn into quite a circus,” she announced.
“Why, Ma?”
“Because the Chief Minister feels that one of the last crowned Maharanis of Rajputana and someone who was known for her philanthropy deserves a state funeral,” she replied.
“Philanthropy? The Trikhera Foundation was just a cover for all their illegal activities until Bhai Sa took over,” I remarked with a snort.
“Well, we have to maintain that cover unless we want the government blasting it right out into the open, Isha. We can’t allow their actions to tarnish our family name,” scolded Ma.
"Our family name is mud anyway, Ma! Everyone knows Baba was an arms dealer. The whole city remembers his cruelty. Bhai sa might have made amends for the past, but the memory of our family's brutality lingers on."
“Well, the government seems to disagree," said Ma drily. “Let's not rock the boat now, Isha. I just want to get through the funeral without any drama."
So did I! I was so close to my dream.
For the first time since Dadi Sa started playing her matchmaking games, it felt as if a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I was finally on the path to stability and peace. My biggest bully was dead and my dreams were about to come true. Nothing could shake the quiet joy that suffused my being.
Or so I thought, as Bhai Sa and I promised to help Ma organise a formal state funeral.
My joy was unfortunately short-lived because the car drew to a smooth halt in the courtyard of our palace, and the first person I saw was the man whose only aim in life was to make me miserable. The man who snarled at me every time he opened his mouth. The man who made me feel about as attractive as a three-headed rakshasi with big, fat warts on the end of my three noses. The man who had shown me that my shape and size made me unworthy of love. The cause of my eating disorder. The reason I starved myself for years trying to erase the contempt and disgust in his eyes every time he looked at me.
Diya’s older brother. Bhai Sa’s erstwhile best friend.
The man I had once loved with all my heart until he ground said heart to dust.
His Highness Ranveer Singh Sisodia, Yuvarajkumar of Jadhwal.
CHAPTER 2
VEER
Diya and Dheer’s mother swarmed towards him, full of questions about his grandmother’s condition, but I had eyes only for the woman standing next to him. The bane of my life. The thorn in my side. And the woman who drove me to madness with lust, anger and guilt in equal proportions. His sister, Isha.
By rights, she should have looked gutted. Her grandmother had collapsed right next to her in the middle of a restaurant. Any other woman would have thrown a hysterical fit. Not her, though. Isha had arranged for a doctor before she called her brother.
I’d often wondered what she was made of. She put up with all the hatred I shot at her without batting an eyelid. I used to feel like an ogre for lashing out at a woman who was all soft curves and an even softer heart. Well, she shattered that illusion nicely when she began to give it back to me in spades, and I realised that all her softness hid a titanium-plated core. That still didn’t explain why Isha looked as if she was walking on air.
This was supposed to be a grieving household, but I had yet to encounter a single grieving soul. If anything, they all looked relieved. Which spoke a lot more about the deceased than the living.
“You’re here again?” asked Isha, her face souring at the sight of me.
