Maybe I should buy a stack tomorrow and share with Anjali. Reading risque romance would surely distract her from fattening me up. I could live in hope.

To: Shari.J@yahoo.com From: Amrita.M@hotmail.com Subject: Mumbai makeover Hey girlfriend, You sound like a new woman, embracing all Mumbai has to offer: the food, the people, the clothes. Wish I could see you in that salwar kameez.

About Auntie, she's had this vendetta with Anu Rama for as long as I can remember. When I've spent time with her she's called her everything from a thieving slut to the Bombay Bitch but she's never said much beyond the name-calling. No surprise she agreed to help me pull this stunt.

Good luck at the party. Bet it'll be a blast. NOT!

As for your stipulations regarding payment, Leo says his calendar's full 'til 2015 but he'll squeeze you in after that. (Stop watching Titanic endlessly with Anjali. I forgot she's a fellow Leo aficionado!) The Fifth Avenue apartment might be a toughie but I'll see what I can do. The Valentino dress and the Manolos? Too easy. Increase your demands next time, why don't you?

Why the mojito withdrawal? What happened to the duty-free stash? Our Mojito Mondays are a tradition. In fact, I'm raising a glass to you as we speak (shh... don't tell Mom).

To Mojito Mondays in Mumbai!

Thinking of you.

Love you.

Rita xx P.S. I know India is a bit of a culture shock at first, but when in India, do as the Indians do... Eat a few jalebis for me!

I chuckled at Rita's email the next evening and tried not to salivate at the thought of a mojito being raised in my direction. Of all the cultures I chose to impersonate, I had to choose an alcohol-free one.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no lush, but Rita was right about one thing: Mojito Mondays had become a tradition. Men had come and gone, friends had drifted in and out of our circle, but nothing and no one came between us and our mojitos. Until now.

Slicking a final coat of gloss over my cherry-coated lips, I pouted at the mirror, ran a fingertip along my eyebrows, and stared at my reflection. With my hair in an elaborate bun, enough borrowed gold dripping from my ears, wrists, and fingers to rival Fort Knox, and the emerald salwar kameez skimming my curves, I looked like an authentic Indian. Being here, surrounded by the bamboozling culture, I actually felt my Indian roots reaching out and anchoring me to the soil of my birthplace.

I descended the stairs, smiling at Anjali's wide-eyed surprise when she first caught sight of me. "Come here, child. You look positively... positively-"

"Indian?" I braced when she threw her arms around me and squeezed the air out of my lungs, sniffling into my kameez.

"Oh my. Stunning." Her head wobbled from side to side, which had me wondering if she was agreeing or disagreeing.

"Shouldn't we get going?" I glanced at my watch, wanting to get this ordeal over and done with. In particular, facing my ridiculous fear that Anu would flay me alive if she discovered my deception. The sooner I met the Rama clan and scared off their son, the happier I'd be.

"Of course." Anjali clapped her hands twice, her usual sign to summon Buddy. Amazingly, he always came running, no matter in which part of the house he was hiding from her ladyship. "Let's wait on the veranda while Buddy starts the car."

I smothered a smile at Anjali's reference to the 'veranda,' a dirty, two-foot square of cracked concrete stained red from years of servants spitting paan juice, the tobacco stuff they chewed here for kicks.

We'd been in the car on the way to the Rama roost less than five minutes when she cast me a sly glance. "You're beautiful, my girl. Perhaps you'll find a nice Indian boy here and get married?"

Uh-oh, here she goes again. My fingers flexed, creasing the chiffon of my pants and I deliberately relaxed, taking several calming breaths before responding, not wanting my voice to come out an indignant yelp.

"I'm supposed to be betrothed, remember? Besides, I'm not interested in marriage right now, Auntie." I'd wished a pox on the entire male species three months ago. Now my new, improved motto was 'Like, lust, leave 'em for dust.'

"Ah-ya-ya." Anjali's hands flew to her mouth while her eyes widened in shock. "Don't say such rubbish. Every woman needs a good man."

"When you find one, let me know." Poor comeback. For Indian moms, matchmaking ranked right up there with force-feeding their kids.

"I can make some inquiries?" She rubbed her hands together at the prospect of finding me a boyfriend.

I didn't like the cunning glint in Anjali's eyes, not one bit. "No."

"No?"

"No." I waggled my finger under her nose for emphasis and she batted it away.

"Silly girl."

Thankfully, the car slowed at that moment and I craned my neck for the first glimpse of the Rama place. Between Anjali's sniping at the family and Rita's dossier, I gathered the Ramas were rich. Very rich. And by the size of their newly whitewashed two-story house, they were loaded. In a country where real estate was at a premium, these guys had a monopoly on space, their house taking up a quarter of the block.

"Nice place," I said, smoothing the chiffon of my kameez and hoping all the drama training at high school would count for something in the hours ahead.

"All pomp and show." Anjali's glare at the house would've exploded bricks if she'd had superhuman powers. "A fat cow needs a big barn."

Smothering a laugh in case Anjali's evil eye turned on me, I followed her toward the front door, which flew open as we approached.

"Greetings, Anjali. And this must be our little Amrita." A tall guy in his fifties wearing what looked like white PJs opened his arms to us. I gritted my teeth, smiled, and stepped to the plate, wishing I could pick up my bat and ball and go home.

"Senthil, lovely to see you." I watched, transfixed as she turned on the charm like a coquette. Probably to annoy Anu more than anything. "You're looking younger every time I see you. How's the music business? Have those nearsighted producers snapped you up to act rather than play tabla?"

Senthil twirled the ends of his ludicrous black handlebar moustache and grinned. "Still the sweet talker, Anjali. Just seeing you again makes my heart beat faster than any tabla I could play."

Give me a break.

If Rakesh was anything like his father, I was in for an absolute treat-yeah, right.

Anjali giggled like a schoolgirl. "You're incorrigible."

Bracing myself for another corny line from Suave Senthil, he surprised me by winking at Anjali and turning to me. "Come, child. Step into the light. Let me see you."

Taking a steadying breath, I did as he instructed, wondering if this sham would fall apart right then, confused as to why everyone over here kept calling me child. And a tad annoyed. Being involved with a married man who happened to be my boss had been immature, but I'd grown up since then. Impersonating my best friend, playing dress-up in fancy Indian gear, and about to tell a host of fabulous lies. See? Totally grown up.

The extent of the charade I had to perpetuate sunk in and the insecurities niggled. What if someone had snuck a pic of Amrita to Rakesh? What if I was banished from old Bombay in disgrace? What if I made a mess of this the same way I'd mucked up with Tate?

"Beautiful." Senthil sighed, and I could've sworn his bulging black eyes misted over.

Rita, you are soooo going to pay for this...

"Nice to meet you." I dropped my eyes in the show of respect Rita had advised and pressed my palms together. "Namaste."

No amount of rehearsing with Rita could've prepared me for the sight when I raised my eyes.

Unbe-freaking-lievable.

The guy standing behind Senthil's left shoulder had melted chocolate eyes, chiseled cheekbones, a cut-glass jaw, and a smile that could make a nun reevaluate her vocation. He stepped around his father and held out a hand, his smile sincere rather than sleazy. "Hi, I'm Rakesh."

Shit. This was going to be hard. Very hard.

I had a radar for judging people straight up-in my defense, it developed after I'd met Tate-and right now I suspected Rakesh was a good guy.

And I was the one who had to dump him.

I'd been all psyched up to despise him, to pity him, to laugh at him. A spineless guy being shoved into an arranged marriage with a total stranger. Didn't he have any balls?

Bedazzled by his smile, I couldn't tear my eyes away long enough to look down and check.

"Nice to meet you." I shook his hand, half expecting a little zing from a hottie like him, yet relieved there were no sparks. That's all I needed, to fall for my best friend's soon-to-be-ex-arranged-husband. Rakesh might be a babe to look at-a babe in freaky white PJs that matched his dad's-but that's where it ended.

I couldn't fathom his odd glance as he dropped my hand and stepped back. "Welcome to our home."

Trepidation tiptoed down my spine. Why had Rakesh stared at me like that? Like he knew. Impossible, according to Rita, but she wasn't the one about to step into a houseful of Ramas and their hundred closest friends, judging by the rising decibel levels spilling from behind the door. Too late to balk now; I had to go through with it. But I hesitated, my hands trembling. Fearing they'd set my gold bangles jingling, I clasped them behind my back and silently wished I'd get through tonight unscathed. I'd had enough drama in my life-no way did I want to add to it.

Anjali gripped my arm and strode forward, her verdigris shot-gold sari billowing in her wake as I stepped into the house and stifled a gasp. There were people everywhere. Filling the foyer, spilling out of rooms, draped over the elaborate staircase, and every pair of eyes was trained on me.

My mouth went dry as I tried a polite smile that must've come across as inane considering my rigid facial muscles bordered on rigor mortis.

Silence reigned for five seconds before the cacophony resumed, as a rotund woman waddled toward me dressed in an ornate silver sari resembling floating space debris.

"Amrita!" she shouted, and I resisted the urge to cover my ears with my hands lest it offend-though wasn't that my aim here tonight? "Give your new mommy a hug."

Anu. Anjali's archenemy. And by Auntie's death grip on my arm, I was about to get caught in the crossfire.

"Leave the poor girl alone, Anu. Can't you see she's shell-shocked?" Anjali placed a protective arm around my shoulder and I flexed the arm she must've bruised.

"Shut up, Anjali. She may be your niece but she's going to be my new daughter!" Another ear-piercing shout. Anu was seriously scary.

Anjali stiffened. "You dare tell me to shut up? You vile, stupid-"

"These must be your daughters." I raised my voice, desperate to avoid becoming a referee between these two.

Anu's attention diverted, though she managed one last evil glare in Anjali's direction. "Yes, these are my beautiful girls. Come meet your sisters."

Anu latched onto my arm, and with Anjali's protectively draped around my shoulders, I'd become a human tug-o-war rope. By some slick maneuvering I'd honed to a fine art at the annual Saks sale, I stepped forward and shrugged off both ladies-and I use the term loosely-to meet Anu's daughters.

"Hi, I'm Pooja." The eldest, a miniature rotund Anu, had a shy smile and my predilection for nicknames instantly dubbed her Pooh: round, soft-spoken, cuddly.

"Divya." The middle one flicked a dismissive glance over me and gave an imperceptible shrug, more intent on patting her sleek hair and studying her nails. Definitely Diva.

The youngest enveloped me in a brief hug. "I'm so thrilled to meet you, Sister. I'm Shruti and if there's anything you need during your stay here, don't hesitate to ask."

I might've been impressed by such an effusive welcome if I hadn't caught the furtive glance she shot her mother, seeking approval. Her expression begged 'have I done well, Mommy?' Shrewd Shruti, knowing who controlled the family and how to stay on her good side: she became Shrew.

I'd met the three stepsisters and the fairy godmother-of my nightmares. Before I could beg a drink from the nearest servant, who moved among the guests with a fancy gold tray bearing goblets filled with fresh lime juice, Rakesh appeared and I blinked at his beauty all over again.

"Could we talk?" His soulful brown eyes reminded me of a beagle puppy I'd once found as a kid: docile, trusting, and eager to find a good home. In this case, I hoped Rakesh didn't have his sights set on the Big Apple. New York wasn't big enough for the both of us, considering one of us was a big, fat phony.

I glanced around, wondering about protocol. Could the betrothed slip away?

Damn, why hadn't Rita drilled me on every last detail? If I botched it now, she'd be the one to pay, though it'd serve her right.

Amazingly, both Anjali and Anu nodded in agreement and I followed Rakesh down several polished marble steps into a separate foyer. A hundred pairs of eyes stared as we left the room, the eerie hush soon broken by raucous shouts, cheers, and laughter as he closed the door.

"Guess you're glad that's over." He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, drawing my attention to a great set of biceps. Did Rita know what she was doing? Arranged marriages had been happening for centuries. Surely a hot bod and sensational smile could be grounds for 'I do.'

Aiming for cool, I nodded. "When Anjali said there'd be a welcoming party, I didn't expect so many people."

He shrugged. "This is India. Get used to it."

I don't think so, Lover Boy. "About that-"

"I know."

Huh?

"You're not Amrita."

The dhosai I'd snacked on before arriving roiled in my stomach and I would've staggered without the wall behind me.

I could've bluffed, uhmed and ahed and generally made more of an ass of myself than I already had, but there didn't seem to be anything sinister about Rakesh, so I opted for honesty. "How'd you know?"

A glimmer of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth-this guy was seriously sexy. "Contrary to what you may think, I'm not some Indian hick waiting to be shoved into marriage with a woman I've never seen or met. This is the twenty-first century. I value my parents' opinion and respect their choices but that doesn't make me an idiot."

No, I was idiot enough for both of us, thinking I could pull off this ridiculous charade as I belatedly wondered if the crowd waiting beyond the door would stone me on the way out.

"I'm sorry," I said, ready to tear off my fake finery and grovel at his feet.

No mojitos, no cheesecake, and the proverbial egg all over my face-what ever happened to the hip NY girl I used to be?

"Who are you?"

I sighed. "Shari Jones. Amrita's best friend."

"Where are you from?"

"New York City." Duh, maybe he wasn't so bright after all.

"Originally, I meant." He rolled his eyes. "You look like Amrita so you must be part Indian."

"My mom's Indian. I was born in Arnala."

He nodded, satisfied. "Knew you had to be from these parts."

I expected his interrogation to continue. Instead, he frowned as if mulling this disastrous situation. The silence unnerved me more than his disapproving stare.

I tried not to squirm. "This is kind of weird for me, so if you skip to where I can get out of here and nurse my humiliation in peace, I'd be eternally grateful."

"How grateful?" He hadn't come across as sleazy, but maybe I'd misjudged him. Maybe he had only half a brain like the rest of the Neanderthals in his species.