The Bollywood Bride Read Online Free PDF

how much. I don’t want these pictures to go public. And I do not want him digging around.”
    “You got it.” DJ didn’t even bother to hide his triumph. This was the exact outcome he had been working toward from the very beginning. “I’ll take care of it. You go enjoy your cousin’s wedding. It’s the first time you’re taking time off in ten years, get some rest.” He sank back into the sofa, his body finally relaxed. The disaster averted for now.
    Ria, on the other hand, was too aware of what lay ahead to feel any relief at all.

3
    Chicago
     
    R ia struggled with the zipper on her halter choli blouse. Yet again her designer had ignored her and made the heavily embellished garment far too snug . She sucked in a breath and gave the tiny metal zipper another yank. This time it complied and slid into place under her arm. She adjusted the choli so things weren’t pushed up quite so much, hooked the halter straps around her neck, and then pulled on her ghagra. The full ankle-length skirt of cream silk was much more obliging and slid easily around her hips.
    Another wave of music and laughter seeped in through the door and her already-nervous heartbeat sped up. The party was in full swing downstairs. The celebratory sounds had shaken her awake an hour ago. She must’ve looked really pathetic when she arrived that morning because no one had come up to wake her when the party started.
    She’d almost wept with relief when she’d seen Nikhil at the airport that morning. It had been the journey from hell. Some psycho terrorist had brought all of Heathrow airport to a standstill and it had taken twice the usual eighteen hours to get from Mumbai to Chicago. At home her aunt had fussed and fed her while Nikhil teased her mercilessly about being such a wimpy traveler. The sound of their beloved voices reverberating against these familiar walls had kneaded all the tension out of her and she had fallen asleep right there on the couch.
    She vaguely remembered Nikhil leading her up the stairs. It reminded her of the countless times her uncle had carried her up after she’d fallen asleep in the car driving home from all those weekend dinner parties.
    She blew the hair off her face and threw herself back on her bed.
    Her bed. Uma Atya had gone overboard with the girly furnishings when Ria had first come to spend the summer with them when she was eight years old. Until then Ria had never seen so much pink. The house she had once shared with her father in Pune, the home he had banished her from, was overridingly gray. Her boarding school was grayer still. The color of Ria’s childhood had changed from gray to pink in this house. These brightly colored walls had held within them enough warmth to heal even the most broken child.
    She stared at the frilly canopy that floated above her. Tiny wrinkles crisscrossed the faded pink flowers and Ria knew her aunt had washed and reattached the canopy in preparation for her visit. She crushed the matching comforter against her nose and sucked in a deep, drugging breath—lemons and lavender and sleep.
    She had craved this smell, this bed for so long she never wanted to leave it. But Nikhil was waiting for her downstairs. Today was the engagement ceremony—the kickoff to the wedding celebrations that had reduced her fearless hero of a cousin to a nervous wreck. She remembered the relief in his voice when she’d agreed to come home for the wedding and kicked herself for the hundredth time for having hesitated in the first place.
    “Just come home. Everything will be all right,” he had said on the phone that day.
    She trusted Nikhil with her life. And he worked miracles every day, treating children no one else would go near, in places most people wished didn’t exist. But even he couldn’t pull off a miracle like that.
    She dug her elbows into the mattress, pushed herself off the bed, and dragged herself to the bathroom, ignoring the pull of the bed and her weak-willed legs that wanted