“Last year he attended a UN summit on agriculture dressed as a banana. As in, wearing a full-body banana suit.”
I laughed. “He did not.”
“Time to go,” came a voice at the door, and I got final prods and pins and then one of the girls set a sparkling golden chain on my head. Finally, they let me see myself in the mirror.
The silk of the sari shimmered, dark purple set off against my pale skin, and gold and jewels shone on my hands, at my throat, in my hair. The eyes were dramatic, but with the outfit, they worked. Lydia came up beside me, just as elegant and glittering.
I watched our reflections and was surprised when she took my hand. Hers was small and cool, and our bangle bracelets clinked together prettily. Her mouth curved up at the corners, like we were in on a secret together. “You look like a princess,” she said.
? ? ?
I’d expected my first meeting with another family of the Circle to be like meeting the Dauphins, complete with either thinly veiled scorn or obsequious praise, but the Rajesh family wasn’t like that at all. Lydia and I joined them, plus my father and Cole and Jack, in a room filled with dancing candlelight and brightly colored wall hangings and a human-sized statue of Ganesh, the elephant god.
Dev’s mother, Indra Rajesh, had a soft smile. She clasped my hand warmly in hers and asked me about my life and my family, assuring me how easily I’d fit into theirs. His father, Arjun, had a thick mustache and a thicker midsection, and must have had a dozen cups of coffee before dinner because he talked a mile a minute, about everything from the art in their home to the weather, all in a posh British accent.
Dev himself had dark purple eyes that crinkled when he smiled in a way that made me want to smile back. He’d poured me a steaming, fragrant cup of tea when we’d first entered the sitting room, and now he sat next to me as we listened to his father.
“And of course, we’ve implemented new security measures since the attacks began,” Mr. Rajesh went on. “Horrible. I spoke with George Frederick yesterday. They are, understandably, having a hard time recovering from Liam’s death . . .” They were talking about Liam Blackstone, who was a famous actor and member of the American Circle family, and Colette LeGrand’s late boyfriend. I’d hung out with both of them just before he was killed.
The conversation faded as my father and Mr. Rajesh moved toward the dining room. I stood to follow, and Dev offered me his arm. I took it.
“Well then,” Dev said, his voice low and smooth, “we’ve made the conversational jump from awkward to depressing, so I’d say the evening is on track so far, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh.” I tried to rearrange my face into a smile. “No. Everything’s great. I—”
Dev chuckled. I looked up, and his eyes were sparkling. He really was attractive—was anyone in the Circle not?—with longish, wavy dark hair, a smattering of stubble across his cheeks, and an easy smile.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend the whole thing’s not wildly uncomfortable.” Dev gestured ahead of us. On the floor of the dining room, there was a tile mosaic in the shape of a wheel with twelve spokes. It must be the Rajesh symbol. “My parents are not usually like this. They’re nervous. About the attacks and about . . . well . . . you.”
I watched Mrs. Rajesh hover anxiously at the dinner table, her eyes darting over the place settings as if a mismatched napkin could ruin their chances at the union.
“They’re nice,” I said, actually relaxing for the first time. “I appreciate your family going to all this trouble for me.”
“We appreciate your visit, and I hope you’ll appreciate the paneer makhani masala we’re having with supper.” He guided me to a chair near the head of the table. “The tandoori lamb is meant to be the main dish, but the paneer is my favorite. It’s a recipe my mother made as a girl. She insisted on the best for you.”
I caught Mrs. Rajesh staring at us, then making a show of pretending she hadn’t been. I hid a smile.
By the third course, I was stuffed, but there was no way I was going to stop. The lamb had more flavor than I realized meat could have. The paneer—which looked like chunks of tofu, but was actually cheese—was savory and sweet and buttery and spicy all at once.
“What’s in this?” I said to Dev as I wiped up every last bit of the sauce with a piece of soft flat bread called naan. “How can it possibly taste this good?”
“It’s a secret.” He winked. “And that secret is a massive spice cupboard and hours of simmering. But let’s pretend it’s magic.”