Page 89 of The Encore’s Crown

“How long have we been on their property?”

He glanced at me through the mirror. “Several minutes.”

A fountain appeared ahead of us, large enough to belong in front of a government building. Beyond it stood the house. No. Not a house. Calling it a house would have been offensive to architecture. The Malhotra estate spread across the rise in pale sandstone and carved white marble, with long colonnades, arched windows, balconies, terraces, and an entrance wide enough to admit a royal procession. Domes rose above the central structure. Courtyards opened through enormous carved doors. Gardens stretched away on either side in geometric paths broken by fountains, flowering trees, and lawns so perfect they looked painted. There were peacocks on the grass.

Fucking peacocks.

One opened its tail as the car passed, like even the wildlife had been trained to perform for arriving guests. I stared at the estate. I had been inside mansions. I had attended parties in houses worth more than entire neighborhoods. I had watched billionaires lose obscene amounts of money over poker tables and musicians buy islands because they were bored. This was different. This wasn’t new money trying to prove itself; it was generations of wealth settled into stone. My phone vibrated in my hand.

Radhika.

“Exactly how much money does your family have?” Her laugh filled my ear.

“Hello to you too.”

“Are we talking Rockefeller levels or is that an insult to your family? There are peacocks. One just posed for the car.”

“They don’t pose; they live there.”

“That bird knew its angles.” She laughed again. “Where are you?” I asked.

“Almost home. Filming ran late, so I had to catch a later flight.”

“You’re not here?”

“I told you I might not arrive before you. My parents will welcome you. Try not to antagonize my father before I get there.”

“Your father is going to bury me beneath one of these fountains.”

The car stopped beneath a covered entrance supported by carved pillars. Staff came down the steps before the driver opened my door. Someone collected my duffel. Another man greeted me by name. I climbed out and became immediately aware of every inch of my clothing. My boots looked rough and worn. My jeans looked like I had bought them from a gas station. The cut collar of my shirt, which had felt like a good idea when I left Los Angeles, now made me feel like a peasant who had wandered onto the estate carrying news from the western fields.

“Radhika,” I said quietly into the phone. “I’m underdressed.”

“My mother will think you’re handsome.” Her voice softened. “I’ll be there soon. Twenty minutes at the most.”

“You’re leaving me alone with them for twenty minutes?”

I looked up at the enormous carved doors opening before my eyes. A woman in a pale green sari embroidered with gold and dark brown hair swept into a knot made her way toward me. I saw Radhika in her immediately. The eyes, the mouth, the stillness that made everyone else seem to be moving too much. Beside her stood a tall man with silver at his temples and the expression of someone prepared to identify every one of my weaknesses. Radhika’s parents.

“Your parent’s are coming,” I whispered.

“My mother likes you already. She trusts my judgment.”

“Your father looks like he doesn’t.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone’s judgment but his own. Be yourself; you’ll be fine.”

I watched her father’s gaze travel over me.

“That advice may kill me.”

She laughed softly. Then her mother reached me, both hands already extended in welcome.

I slipped the phone into my pocket and stepped forward to meet the family of the woman I loved, dressed like I had taken a wrong turn on the way to soundcheck.

“Welcome,” she said. “You must be Kiri.”

“Yes, ma’am.”