Bharat and Sam had come to see them last weekend, and Bharat, brat that he was, hadn’t been able to stop laughing at how unabashedly smitten Cullie was.
When Cullie got out of the elevator, she was feeling a little bursty with happiness.
She was smiling at the super-cheesy selfie Rishi had texted her of him wearing a shirt that said KNOCK ’EM DEAD, BADASS when she ran into Steve.
Like, actually ran headlong into him. He grabbed her elbows and smoldered at her with what he had to think was sincere concern.
It was hilarious.
She took his hands off her elbows.
“You okay, Cullie?” he said as though he saw something about her that she couldn’t. Oh, and he said her name exactly right.
“I will be as soon as you stop following me.” She started walking away from him.
“I’m so excited about your new project.” He fell in step beside her.
A laugh spurted from her and didn’t stop.
“I get that you’re angry. I should have supported your decision to keep Shloka subscription-free. I messed up. Let me make it up to you. You know we made magic with Shloka.” Had he just made his voice breathy on the word magic? “Let’s do that again. You know I can help you take a project to market better than anyone else.”
Had he always sounded this simpering? “I would love to drag out your miserable groveling. But I’m feeling generous, so I’ll save you the trouble. I just told CJ that I’m not making a deal with NewReal if you’re still working here. So I’d start packing my bags.”
Then, before he could respond, she put a hand up in his face. “This is business, Steve. It’s not personal.” On that note, she went into the conference room and let the door slam on his face.
Cullie and Rishi had flown down to Florida to spend time with family before Rishi went back to Mumbai for a few weeks. They had decided to figure out how to be together one step at a time.
They were having dinner with Binji and Lee and Cullie’s parents. The six of them, comfortable around a table laden with food. Not the extravagant Goan feast Binji had produced before, but just some xacuti and rice. Mom had brought serradura. Ashish, Lee, and Rishi had marinated fish and chicken and were throwing it on a grill Lee had put in the lanai （possibly to get Binji to stop hanging her bras there to annoy the coven）。 Cullie had found Goan port.
They chatted easily as they ate and drank, and then moved the party to the couch.
Mom filled everyone in on the lawsuit. She’d had a great conversation with a YouTube arts and entertainment program that was catching fire. They were courting her pretty hard, and it was a beautiful thing to see her negotiate from a place of power.
“I’m proud of you, Mom,” Cullie said, tucked into Rishi’s side on the couch. She raised her glass. “I’m sorry you lost an opportunity to interview Meryl Streep, but I’m sure there will be another chance.”
Rishi sat up. “Did you say Meryl Streep? What does she have to do with all of this?”
Cullie explained how Mom had almost had and then lost the segment she’d always wanted.
“You’re kidding,” he said, pulling out his phone and starting to tap at the screen. “You do know that Auntie Meryl is my honorary godmother.”
A laugh burst out of Cullie. “Auntie Meryl? Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It didn’t come up. And if you read the tabloids at all, you’d know these things. I just texted her. She would never do the interview with someone else if she knew what had gone down.”
Mom looked like she was going to explode. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I think she has the right to know,” Rishi said.
“What other celebrities are you hiding in your closet?” Cullie asked.
“I mean, you could google it,” Rishi said and then grinned at her with that incredibly hot knowing look he always got when they shared a reference. “But if you must know, Auntie Judi considers me her adoptive grandson.”
“You’re not talking about Dame Judi Dench?” Mom squealed.
Rishi blushed. “They always stay with us when they visit Mumbai. They’ve both done films with Dada and were dear friends of his.”
“Holy shit,” Dad said. “Mom, you’ve done a film with the man who’s made films with Judi Dench and Meryl Streep, on top of every Indian actor of any repute. How are you not out there screaming from rooftops about this?” Especially now that Dad’s parentage wasn’t in question.
Binji hadn’t been herself since the thing with Rishi’s dada had come to light, but she visibly wilted at Dad’s words.
She was still refusing to watch the film she’d done at seventeen. A film Oscar Seth had considered his greatest work. Rishi had described Binji’s film as one of the most beautiful pieces of cinema he’d ever experienced. To be fair, he generally talked about movies in hyperbole, all his Bollywood effusiveness peaking on this thing he lived and breathed for. Even so, Binji’s film was obviously special to him. He’d spent years restoring it and bringing it back to life, and any mention of it tended to move him to tears.
Poornima was the story of a queen being forced to sleep with a stranger for an heir because her king was impotent.
Exactly the kind of thing Cullie would have expected Binji to be proud of. But no, she wouldn’t even talk about it. Evidently, this thing with Rishi’s grandfather had been something intense. It wasn’t every day that an artist destroyed his own work for you and then spent decades trying to restore it. It was the most romantic darned thing Cullie had ever heard. Being embarrassed by it—because obviously she was—was the most un-Binji move ever.
Lee stroked Binji’s back, but it seemed to do nothing to soothe her. “I’m not screaming from rooftops because instead of an acting career, I chose to have a family,” she said, a tremble escaping into her voice.
The mood in the room shifted. Silence stretched.
“You all carry on. I need some fresh air.” Binji went to the door, and everyone stood. “I just need a moment. Please don’t let this spoil the wonderful evening we’ve had.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lee said.
“No. Please.” With that she left.
Cullie tried to follow her, but Mom stopped her. “I’ll go.” And her expression said that she wasn’t in the mood to argue the point.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ALY
If I could have a dying wish: I want people to see Poornima. To know the helplessness and the power that love presents to each of us. In equal parts. And the part we let win is who we really are.
From the journal of Oscar Seth
Aly found Bindu pacing in the garden behind her building.
When she saw Aly, she stiffened. “I guess I would have followed you too if it had been you who left,” she said grudgingly.
“It’s true.” Aly smiled. “And I’m glad it’s true.”
For a while they just walked around the huge artificial pond edged with perfectly trimmed grass. Landscape beds with clusters of birds of paradise and other exotic native and nonnative flowers broke up the rolling lawn. If plants could scream wealth, these did. They were the greener other side, and they knew it. Even the lights lining the walking path were elegantly concealed to create atmosphere as they went over gentle bridges with curvy railings.