His lips stretched into a scary smile, underscoring the fanatical glint in his eyes. "You don't have to pretend with me. The minute I spotted you at the airport, I knew who you were. I saw that you've left your husband and are staying with some relative, doing your best to act poor, but I've seen you've reverted to taking limos, as you should. You deserve the best and hopefully, someday soon, you'll realize I can give you that."

The guy was seriously loco, and, worse, he'd been watching me. At the airport, at Anjali's place. I knew I'd seen him when I'd entered the limo. And what about the other times I'd glimpsed that hat... yikes! I remembered: the guy who'd bumped into me near the terminal when I'd first arrived, then again when I'd visited Film City first time around and rushed to Anjali's aid.

Shit, the guy had Stalking 101 down pat. A thousand bizarre scenarios ranging from kidnapping to chloroform flashed through my mind, and I knew I had to end this right here, right now.

"Listen, buster. You're way off base. I'm not Aishwarya Rai Bachan." I stressed the star's married name, which he'd probably deleted deliberately in his delusional state. "And if you want proof, hang around 'til my aunt gets back. She'll set you straight."

Knowing Anjali, she'd probably take one look at the Lone Ranger's body and start interviewing him as prospective husband material.

For the first time since we'd started talking, his dazed, starstruck expression gave way to fear mingled with admiration. "I saw what she did to Kapil. She's quite a woman."

My panic bordered on hysteria and I calmed my voice with effort. "You were stalking me the other day, too?"

"Stalking? This isn't stalking. This is destiny." He drew out the last word, the apparent fear at what Anjali might do to him replaced by a hopeful expression.

"Destiny my ass," I muttered, tired, grumpy, and craving New York like I never had. At least the psychos there settled for mugging you, not pledging their undying love. "Does Miss Rai star in films made here?"

I used her well-known single name so I wouldn't rile him un-necessarily.

"Yes, you do. I've worshipped you from afar for too long so when fate intervened and I saw you at the airport without that stupid husband of yours, I knew I had to make my declaration. Being so close to you, yet not having contact, has acted like an arrow through my heart."

Nice. He was taking the Western theme to poetic extremes now. Being so close... uh-oh. "You work here?"

Didn't places like this have screening tests for psychos?

He nodded, puffing out his pecs with pride. "I'm an extra. I play bad guys because of my body. I'm very good."

Risking a quick glance at his broad chest, I took his word for it.

Inspiration struck. "I'm filming today?"

He looked at me like I'd sprouted horns. "Of course, that's why you're here. Luckily, I'm in the same sequence, too, and we get to be onscreen together for the first time. Told you it was destiny."

I had two options. Wait for Anjali and Desiree to return and go through the rigmarole of convincing him I wasn't Aishwarya-which he probably wouldn't believe because he thought Anjali was in on the hide-my-identity thing-or go with him to the set and show him the real actress.

No-brainer.

"Speaking of filming, you better hurry," he said. "You need to get into costume. I'd be honored if you accompanied me to the set."

Nodding, I stood before he could offer me a hand and tried not to look too indecisive. Knowing the Ranger's one-track mind, he'd probably take it as another red herring I was throwing to my adoring public.

Thankfully, the set wasn't far and we reached it without incident. This guy must be seriously blind not to realize I wasn't the stunning actress. Apart from the occasional smile from people who passed, no one fell at my feet, thrust an autograph book in my face, or begged for a photo.

"It has been a privilege."

Before I could react, he'd taken hold of my hand and bowed over it, the rim of his Stetson colliding with my fake Fendi, which I hung onto for grim death. If nothing inside it was weapon-worthy, the gold clasp might prove useful to take out an eye if swung in the right trajectory.

With further protests wasted, I waited for him to release my hand, then spied a woman exit a nearby tent, followed by an entourage that would've done the president proud. I couldn't see her face, cloaked in a chiffon veil. Or her body covered in a billowing cerise sari. But the phalanx of foot soldiers around her was a dead giveaway.

I turned to the Lone Ranger. "You still think I'm Ms. Rai?"

He nodded, his guilty expression indicating he was tiring fast of me refusing to acknowledge the truth. I'd give him the freaking truth.

"Then who's that?"

He followed my line of vision and, thank you God, his eyes bulged as he registered his object of lust and computed it wasn't me. "B-but-but-"

"Butt is right," I muttered. Butthead. "Now do you believe me?"

Eyes wide and stricken, he stared at the movie star and her entourage disappearing onto a set. "I've made a terrible mistake. Sorry. Please don't report me. I'll atone for my mistake. I'll offer up many prayers. Please, I beg you."

I should've kicked his sorry ass to the studio gates for being an obsessive weirdo, but I knew what it was like to lust after someone only to have the veil ripped from your eyes. I frowned, putting on my best disgruntled face. "Next time a woman tells you something, believe her. As for Ms. Rai, quit stalking her. She'd be less forgiving than me and have you arrested, capish?"

He nodded, his mouth downturned, and as I walked away I'm sure I heard him mutter, "Destiny is dead."

Only one thing could distract me from my brush with a lunatic. Retail therapy.

In the car on the way to Crawford Market, I listened to Anjali rave about the music scores she'd been privy to for the latest blockbuster thanks to Senthil. She loved showbiz and I waited a while for a lull in conversation to tell her about my stalker.

When she took a breath, I said, "Remember that hand-delivered letter?"

"From the handsome young man?" She held her arms a yard apart. "With shoulders this big?"

I nodded. "That's the one. Turns out he was stalking me. Thought I was Aishwarya Rai Bachan."

She laughed so hard, kohl streaked her cheeks.

I narrowed my eyes. "Glad some crazy guy following me is so amusing."

She patted my hand, the odd chortle escaping. "Men are so stupid."

"Why? Because he mistook me for a gorgeous movie star?"

She shook her head. "No, because if he liked you, why not approach you directly rather than skulk around?"

Not appeased, I mock frowned. "But you laughed at the case of mistaken identity."

She sighed. "Shari, dear, any fool would know you're not Aishwarya. You're living in my house, you're driving around in a battered Beamer, and there's no sign of Aishwarya's gorgeous husband anywhere."

I forgave her for the raucous laughter, considering she hadn't mentioned I was nowhere near as beautiful as the stunning Aishwarya Rai Bachan.

She made odd clucking noises with her tongue. "Shame, though, he could've been good husband material for you-"

"Is that the market?" Happy for the distraction as Buddy stopped the car, I pointed at the huge building, which looked like it'd been transported from Paris to Mumbai.

Anjali nodded. "Not what you were expecting?"

Stunned, I noted the artistic blend of Norman and Flemish architectural styles, the clock tower adorned with beautiful Victorian carvings, and the impressive frieze over the main entrance depicting peasants in wheat fields.

"Wow," I mouthed, as we stepped from the car and Anjali took my elbow, her proud strut making me smile.

As we entered the main pavilion, a heady wave of aromas washed over me. Pungent, freshly ground spices-cumin, coriander and garam masala-interspersed with tangy lime and succulent mango and petite Lady Finger bananas.

I inhaled and my stomach grumbled. Looked like I'd caught Anjali's ravenous disease.

Demonstrating an uncanny ability to read food thoughts, Anjali tugged my arm. "This way. You must try the falooda."

For once she'd get no protest from me. I barely had time to glance at the hundreds of stalls piled high with fresh fruit and vegetables, cheeses and chocolates, plastic flowers, electrical appliances, kitchenware, crockery, and every knickknack known to man before we stopped at a stall and she ordered the sweet drink.

"Do they sell clothes here?"

She looked me up and down. "Not the kind you'd wear. We'll head to Fashion Street and a few malls later."

Unsure whether she'd insulted or praised me, I accepted my soda fountain glass and gratefully drank. The smooth rosewater-flavored milk, tapioca balls, and rose jelly slid over my tastebuds. Delicious.

After I'd spooned the last scrumptious morsel into my mouth, I glanced up to find Anjali staring at me with a wide grin. "What?"

"You're starting to enjoy your food, it's good to see." She patted my cheek, her affection wrapping around me like a cozy duvet. I loved her blunt honesty, her forthrightness, her lust for food. Anjali was genuinely enchanting and I'd miss her when I returned home. "Ready to shop 'til you drop?"

I nodded. "Clothes, shoes, and jewelry are on my hit list."

That little financial problem I had considering my unemployed status? I'd deal with it back in New York. Time enough for a dose of reality. For now, had credit card, would travel. Thankfully, Mumbai loved Visa as much as I did.

A woman after my own heart, Anjali took me to three malls, gushing over my choices and exchanging sizes without complaint.

She didn't question my frenetic pace or my dithering over patent leather or suede. She held up scarves and earrings, pronouncing royal blue to be my color and that lemon leeched my glow. She approved my conservative choices and frowned at skimpy.

Best of all, she complied with a smile, as if her endorphins were flowing as freely as mine. Because that was the real reason behind my shopping frenzy. I needed to do something comforting, something familiar, in the lead-up to my final confrontation with Mama Rama.

In New York, I would've fortified with a mojito or two. Here, I settled for shopping to calm my frazzled nerves.

Three hours later, weighed down by countless bags, we staggered into the house, our feet aching, our souls replenished. Nothing soothed like retail therapy.

And nothing intimidated me more than an upcoming encounter with Anu. My post-shopping glow faded at the thought of facing off Mama Rama one last time.

"Do I have to do this?" I whined the next evening as the Rama house came into view and Buddy drove up to the front door.

"You've done your best by Rita and Rakesh. Kept her reputation intact while agreeing to a chance meeting between the two." Anjali smiled and patted my hand. "After this farewell dinner you're home free. You can wave the cow good-bye, secure in the knowledge you've pulled the hay over her eyes and the grass out from under her feet."

"If I make it out of the paddock." I shuddered, managing to smile at Anjali's metaphors. "Last time I could hide among a hundred guests. A dinner party with only family present? She'll eat me alive."

"I won't let her." Anjali waved away my concern, her eyes assuming a battle gleam. "You're family to me and I couldn't be prouder. Amrita's lucky to have a friend like you."

"And an aunt like you." I meant it. If it hadn't been for Anjali we could never have pulled off this scam, though it helped having the jilted fiance in on it, too.

"Sweet girl. Ready?"

Buddy opened the door and I took a deep breath as I stepped out, bracing for the onslaught ahead. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Anu waddled out onto the veranda and herded us inside, gushing over me while ignoring Anjali. Moo...

The same welcoming cast had assembled: Senthil beaming, Pooh wiping crumbs from her mouth, Diva studying her lacquered fingernails in boredom, Shrew assessing me before I'd said a word.

I had Anjali protecting my right and Rakesh flanking my left as we headed into the dining room, an elaborate red and gold affair that wouldn't have looked out of place at Buckingham Palace. (I'd seen the pics.) The moment Mama Rama had issued her invitation, Rakesh, Anjali, and I had made contingency plans to protect me. I had a feeling as the evening progressed I'd need those plans to kick in.

Over a starter of sauteed frogs' legs in garlic and chili, Anu tried to interrogate me about my views on children. Rakesh deftly deflected with a rousing rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," his favorite nursery rhyme he planned on singing to his kids every night.

Mama Rama smiled indulgently at her only son and resumed eating.

Strike one. Take that, Anu.

Over main dishes including snake gourd (a long, thin vegetable), aloo gobi (spicy potatoes), bhindi masala (spicy okra), saag bhaji (spinach), chole (chickpeas), parippu (lentils), gajar matar (spiced peas and carrots), and enough parathas to feed the starving people lining Mumbai's streets, Anu tried another attack.

"You'll live with us once you're married, of course." She pronounced it as a fact while I tried not to choke on my mango lassi, a delicious yogurt drink that eased the fire from the chili-rich food.

Senthil frowned, his subtle head shake in Anu's direction ignored.

"This isn't the Nineties, mother. We'll live in our own house, wherever we want," Rakesh said, ignoring Anu's apoplectic face and sending me a surreptitious wink.

Strike two.

The meal progressed to dessert, and though I'd barely swallowed more than a mouthful of each course thanks to the fearful lump lodged in my throat, I made a big show of oohing and ahhing over the food weighing down the table: kulfi (pistachio and rosewater-flavored ice cream), barfi (an almond halwa), Mysore pak (roasted gram and ghee dessert that melted on the tongue), rasgulla (milk curd sponge soaked in syrup), and a myriad of other delicacies.

Almost home free, one more course.

Good-bye Mumbai, hello New York.

"The wedding will be here and I'll arrange the whole thing." Anu slipped that one in with a fake smile tinged with venom as she shoveled another ladoo or ten onto my plate.

My hands fisted under the table as I tried to get a grip on my rising temper. I'd like nothing better than to tell this meddling cow to shut up but I couldn't disgrace Amrita. Not when I'd come this far. Not when I wanted to preserve the relationship with Rakesh now I knew him and wanted Rita to as well. Besides, if by some miracle Rakesh and Rita hit it off, they'd hate me for alienating Anu before their relationship had begun.

While I took calming breaths, Anjali stepped up to the plate and took a swing. "It's customary for the bride's family to prepare the wedding, as I'm sure you know, Anu, being a stickler for tradition."

I could almost see Mama Rama biting her tongue in frustration and I quickly munched the calorie-laden balls to avoid bursting out laughing.

Strike three. Anu's out.

The rest was a cinch, coffee and farewells tame in comparison to the onslaught I'd faced over dinner. I'd done it. Pulled off the scam of the century. I hadn't alienated anyone, a la my first goal, but I'd achieved my second: continue the fake engagement so Rakesh could meet Rita. Win-win all around. I'd survived, Rakesh would get his wish, and Rita could give him the brush-off she wanted in person. Relieved, I slipped into the old Beamer, wishing Buddy would hurry up and finish his cigarette by the front gate so we could get the hell out of here.

Rakesh stuck his head through the window, grinning like a fellow escapee from the gallows. "There's a new bar in town and the Westerners from work are going. Want to check it out?"

My brain honed in on work crowd. Pity I had to act the decorous fiancee to the end.

"You listening? Or did my mother's interrogation hypnotize you?" Rakesh waved a hand in front of my eyes and I blinked, erasing the wishful fantasy of me giving Drew a good-bye kiss he'd never forget.