“Fine,” he said. “But not the fac— Ugh.”
Jia put Luna’s now empty glass of milk back on the counter. “Sorry, did you say not the face?”
Arjun wiped the milk out of his eyes. “Yes. It’s okay, though.”
“Thank you, that was quite nice.” She paused. “I’d prefer it if you could stay away from dinner tonight while my family’s here, but I am willing to accept your presence in passing otherwise. But you need to be on your best behavior. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you are never, ever to do something like this to another woman.”
“I promise, I will not.”
She waved her hand at him, as regal as any queen. “You may leave.”
Dev waited for Arjun to slink out of the room. “That was beautiful,” he said with great admiration.
Jia preened. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to make an excellent bhabi.”
Jia faltered. She hadn’t thought about that, that she’d be Arjun’s sister-in-law. “I hope so.”
“I know so.” He squeezed her. “Come, let’s get back to our families.”
DEV’S GRANDPARENTS’ HOUSE parties had been legendary events, still talked about decades later. Tigers and magicians and elephants and world-famous musical acts had been the bare minimum for Shweta and Vivek Dixit.
This was a far more muted affair, just his and Jia’s families, but his grandmother was firmly in her charismatic element. She sat at the head of the table like it was a throne. Her silver-shot hair was pulled back in a bun, her red sari vivid and hand embroidered, and a shade brighter than Jia’s.
She’d been beautiful as a young woman, but Shweta was still stunning in her seventies. Her big dark eyes were lined with a touch of kohl, and a subtle blush colored her cheeks. Someone had mastered the no-makeup makeup look, clearly.
And you have watched far too many of Jia’s videos, Dev thought. Then, No such thing as too much.
He’d worried for no reason. Luna had been quiet, but had tolerated the elder Ahmeds fawning over and complimenting her. Adil Uncle had been warm and welcoming. And Shweta had Farzana and Mohammad eating out of the palm of her hand since the second she’d swanned into the room. “Mrs. Dixit,” Farzana began, and Shweta immediately interrupted her.
“Call me Shweta. Mrs. Dixit was my mother-in-law, and Dev can tell you, she was terrible.”
Dev had never met his great-grandparents, but his grandma often bent the truth for a good one-liner.
“Shweta,” Farzana breathed now. “I wasn’t permitted to watch many Bollywood movies as a child, but I always snuck yours. It is an honor to be sitting here.”
“Yes,” Mohammad agreed. Jia’s father was a man of few words, but his distracted air hid a sharp gaze.
Shweta resettled her body. “Thank you both. And thank you for coming. I was dying to meet you . . . and Jia, of course.” Her dark gaze settled on Jia. “I’ve heard much about you, my dear. I have so many questions for you.”
“I’m an open book,” Jia said.
“Your parents and sisters are all physicians. An admirable middle-class profession. Why did you not go this route?”
Dev pressed his lips together, hoping the Ahmeds were fine with being classed as the bourgeoisie. Everything was middle class to his grandmother, he supposed.
Jia took a bite of her potatoes. “I wanted a career in entertainment.”
“In making ten-minute videos, generally about your face or body.”
Dev tensed, ready to intervene if his grandmother got snarky or cruel.
Jia looked amused rather than insulted, like she was quite accustomed to someone mocking her work. “Yes.”
“I have watched some videos on there. One where you show how to wing an eyeliner with a, I believe it was a . . . bobby pin.”
“I went viral for that one,” Jia said good-naturedly.
Shweta raised a thin eyebrow. “And you prefer this to saving lives like your sister?”
Dev opened his mouth to put a stop to the line of questioning, but it was Jia’s mother who jumped in. “We are very proud of all our daughters.” Farzana smiled sweetly. “Are you not also in entertainment? Jia merely forged her career in a new medium.”
“Excellent point. There is something to be said for reaching the public directly. I would have liked to bypass the casting agents and producers when I was young.” Shweta’s mouth twisted.
“You were quite the trailblazer,” Jia said softly.
“Being a trailblazer is hardly fun. You would know that, of course.”
Jia’s eyes widened. “I would?”
“Of course.”
Farzana took a bite of her food. “Adil Bhai, this curry is amazing.”
His uncle looked up from his plate and gave a soft smile. “Thank you, but, uh, Auntie made this one.”
“With Adil’s final approval. He kindly volunteered to make everything else. Jia, do you cook?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then you are lucky to have Dev’s uncle living with him. He is a fine chef.” Shweta took a naan from the basket on the center of the table.
Jia smiled warmly at Adil. “Yes, I can’t wait to sample more of his food.”
“We are, indeed, lucky.” Dev regarded his grandmother. She was being so kind. It wasn’t that she was normally unkind, but he’d never seen her go this far out of her way to be nice. That it was to the brother of the woman her son had run away with made it even more peculiar.
Adil’s shoulders relaxed and his smile grew stronger. “Thank you.”
“Dev, you’re not eating.” Shweta smiled at him. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head and ripped his roti in half. “No.”
“It’s a shame Arjun couldn’t join us,” Farzana said to Shweta.
“Yes, he said he wasn’t feeling well. You will meet him tomorrow. He is a very good boy. He took time off from his movie to come travel here with me.”
Dev hoped his snort of disbelief didn’t reach his grandmother’s ears.
“He’s very talented, as well. He takes after his grandfather,” Shweta added. “He will be cast as a movie hero for many years to come.” Dev didn’t think his grandmother had meant that as a dig on his television career, but he couldn’t be sure.
“This one, on the other hand,” Shweta waved at Dev. “He’s come to America to do more television.”
Oh okay. He was sure now.
“I like television, and some actors in our country would kill to be a crossover star,” Dev said. He ripped his flatbread in half.
“We both know you went into television to be different from the rest of us. And star is the key word. You’re a villain, not the hero.”
He wasn’t surprised at all Shweta knew what his role in Hope Street was. She had influence everywhere.
“Villains are admired in this country,” Mohammad pointed out. “He could be quite the lovable bad guy.”
Not with my one-note story, I can’t. “We shall see. Aji, why don’t you tell us about any new projects you have going on?”
Mohammad’s eyes lit up. “Are you acting?”