She didn't disappoint.

"Not bad?" Anjali shoved away a plate of half-eaten sweets in distress. "Not bad? The woman's a curse. She's a lying, thieving slut and I'll not have you say one good word about her, not in my house."

"Did she steal from you, Auntie?"

"Steal? Steal?"

By now, Anjali's voice had reached record levels and I doubted the neighbors appreciated the ear-splitting symphony at two in the morning.

"I'll never forgive her. Ever!"

O-kay. Curiosity urged me to discover the rest but her eyes misted over and I couldn't do it. Not when her lower lip wobbled, too.

I patted her hand. "I'm sorry."

Inadequate, but I had to say something to soothe the wildness in her eyes. "She'll be sorry, too, once we pull this scam over her." Anjali's maniacal laughter made me shrink into my chair. Everything in this city involved noise and it would take months for my eardrums to recover.

Now that she'd mentioned it, that's something else I'd been dying to know. Her real reason for helping Rita perpetuate this sham, beyond the brush-off answer she'd given me during our tour. "You mentioned supporting our scheme so Rita can choose her own happiness. What did you mean by that?"

She wrinkled her nose, her mouth twisted in disgust. "Because I don't want my darling Amrita ending up trapped like me."

Clueless, I raised a brow and she cast an evil eye at the photos on the mantle behind me. "My arranged marriage was a disaster. My husband?" She made a horrific hawking noise in the back of her throat. "We argued day and night. Totally incompatible. My parents made a terrible mistake in arranging my marriage."

She tore her bitter gaze away from the photos. "I don't blame Amrita wanting to make her own choices, and I'll do whatever it takes to support her."

Wow, for a Hindu woman I had pegged as traditional, Anjali sure knew how to surprise.

Smiling, I nodded. "I think it's great you're helping her."

"You too, my dear." Her gaze flitted to the photos again and I stood, eager to make an exit before I heard any more tales of her dreadful marriage.

"I'm tired, Auntie. Think I'll head to bed."

"Good night." Anjali said, though I could tell her mind was elsewhere, lost in memories best left forgotten.

I slipped from the room and padded upstairs, craving a mojito. After the night I'd had I deserved a drink. Hell, I deserved a whole damn bar.

I settled for a cyber drink with my long lost pal, the same one I'd personally kill when I returned to New York for inviting me into this mess in the first place. Though that wasn't entirely true. I'd made my cliched bed. I had to lie in it. Complete with geckos falling from the ceiling, mosquitoes eating me alive, and the five a.m. wake-up call from the sitar-playing beggar next door.

The mail icon blinked as I powered up the computer. I clicked on Outlook, eager to get a taste of New York via my ex-best friend, but as I registered the sender, my heart sank.

TO: Shari.J@yahoo.com FROM: DrewLansford@Eye-on-I.com Subject: Robbie Dear Ms. Jones, Who knew I'd have the honor of meeting another star in the making tonight? You would do justice to a role in the next Bollywood movie I'm backing so if you'd like to audition for a part, please present yourself at the studios tomorrow at three sharp. I'll send a car for you, and feel free to invite your 'fiance.'

I'm positive we'll have much to talk about, what with our mutual regard for Robbie Williams and his music.

We have another thing in common and that's my friend, Rakesh. I don't like game-playing so make sure you turn up at the studio.

We need to talk.

At your service, Drew Lansford I read the email twice before stabbing at the delete key, breaking a nail in the process.

Who the hell did this guy think he was? At your service, my ass. Considering his business resources, made sense he'd figured out my identity and email address.

First Rakesh, now Drew. Regular Sherlock and Watson, those two.

Drew thought I was actress material?

Come tomorrow at three, I'd give him a performance he'd never forget.

chapter four.

I woke to the sounds of the Punjabi sweetshop owner abusing a customer in rapid Hindi, a squawking rooster losing a fight with a rabid dog, and Anjali berating Buddy for missing a spot while polishing the car. Gotta love Mumbai mornings.

I stretched and rolled out of bed, tangled in the mosquito net like every morning since I'd arrived. Damn useless thing if the number of angry red splotches on my legs were any indication. Like Anjali, the mosquitoes had a tendency toward feeding frenzies, too.

Heading for the computer, I sat and typed as fast as my fingers could fly before I changed my mind. Last night I'd contemplated giving Rita an edited version or blurting the truth.

I decided on the latter.

TO: Amrita.M@hotmail.com FROM: Shari.J@yahoo.com SUBJECT: Mix up a batch Hey Rita, Guess you're dying to hear how last night went, huh?

Before we get to that, I suggest you mix up a batch in that exquisite Villaroy & Boch pitcher I bought for your b-day last year, take a seat, and pour yourself a large glass. You're going to need it.

Okay, where to start? Firstly, Rakesh is a nice guy. I know, I know, sounds corny but it's true. He's gorgeous, funny, sweet, and blackmailing me. Oops! Did I actually write that last part?

Now it's out, I may as well explain.

Your fiance knows. Everything.

He cornered me not long after I arrived at the party. (I forgot to add intelligent to the list.) Apparently, he's some hotshot IT guy and has access to all sorts of 'Net data, including an online PI who investigated you. Knows everything, especially what you look like, so no prizes for guessing he noticed I wasn't you.

Being a good sport, he didn't out me. Nuh-uh. Being the all-around great guy he is, he's blackmailing me instead: he'll keep our little secret (and save your family's reputation) if I orchestrate a real face-to-face meeting between the two of you.

Isn't that sweet? Ain't love grand?

Looks like you've made quite an impression on Romeo Rama.

Had a healthy swig of mojito? Good. See? It's not so bad. I keep up the charade for the remainder of my time here, your family saves face, and all you have to do is meet with Romeo once. Easy-peasy.

Did I mention how gorgeous and funny and sexy he is?

One more thing. Romeo's business partner may be a problem. The guy's invited me to a Bollywood studio today and I'll probably go to get out of the house, but he's got some strange power-trip thing happening so I better check him out. (Oh, did I mention he knows I'm not you, too?) OK, gotta dash.

Have an extra slurp on me!

Hugs, Shari xoxo I'd debated not telling Rita about Drew discovering my identity-the poor girl would probably jump on the next plane out here-but thought better of it. I needed to offload to someone and I had a feeling following my outing this afternoon I was going to need it.

By the time I'd showered and dressed, Rita had sent a response.

TO: Shari.J@yahoo.com FROM: Amrita.M@hotmail.com SUBJECT: WTF?.

Shari, WHAT THE FUCK is going on?????????????

He KNOWS? Rakesh Rama KNOWS?

I'm dead.

My dad will kill me, my mom will help pile the wood on the funeral pyre and light the first match, while the entire Indian community in NYC will pelt me with stones as the fire toasts my tootsies.

I can't believe this. Freaking Internet! Freaking men! Freaking Indians and their arranged marriages!

Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Mmmmmm...............

OK, I've screamed, I've vented, I've downed a glass of the sweetest minty mojito ever put on this earth (hope you're drooling!) and I've calmed down.

Guess it isn't so bad. I'll meet Romeo whenever he pops up in New York. Who knows, it might never happen, right? RIGHT?

As for this other guy knowing, what's the story there? Can he keep his mouth shut? What does he want in exchange for silence?

Shit, a taste of real Bombay bribery at its best.

Keep me posted.

Your friend indebted to you forever, With lots of love and a cherry on top, Rita xx (PS. Did you talk up Romeo to cushion the blow or is he really a hottie? Just curious.) Smiling, I closed Rita's message. All in all, she took the news pretty well.

If only my afternoon could go accordingly.

My trip to the studio known as Film City to the locals was taking on similar importance to Ivana attending the Red Door for a spa treatment, complete with entourage in tow.

Rakesh and Anjali accompanied me, Anjali relishing her role as the dutiful chaperone-I thought I was a movie buff but Anjali put me to shame-and Rakesh going all-out to impress his parents with his devotion to his bride-to-be. Whatever their reasons, I was grateful for the company. Meeting Devious Drew had my insides tied up in knots-or was that the fiery vindaloo I'd toyed with for lunch?

"Are you into movies?" Rakesh turned his head to peer at me, smirking when he noticed my position.

I huddled in a corner of the backseat, trying to put as much distance possible between me and the garlic-infused folds of Anjali's sari.

"Love them," I said, excited at the prospect of seeing how real films were made. Bollywood was mega business over here, producing about a thousand films a year, grossing close to $4 billion. And with releases like Monsoon Wedding, Bride and Prejudice, and Slumdog Millionaire in the States, the whole world had woken up to the razzle-dazzle of Bollywood at its best. (Despite Anjali chastising me those weren't strictly Bollywood movies considering they were made by Westerners.).

I adored the three-hour-long musical extravaganzas complete with songs, dances, love triangles, comedy, melodrama, and daredevil thrills.

"What's your favorite movie?"

"Too many." I deliberately kept my answer vague, knowing he'd laugh his head off if I told him. He'd been playing the devoted fiance to extremes ever since we got in the car, pretending to know all kinds of crazy stuff about me and it'd started to grate.

He wanted to know my favorite movie? Let him sweat.

"I'll guess, then. Pretty Woman?"

"No."

"Titanic?"

I adored Leo and cried buckets every time I watched Titanic but "No."

"How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?"

"Nope."

"Maid in Manhattan?"

"No. JLO's butt just doesn't do it for me."

Anjali chirped up at this point. "Children, please. You're giving me a headache with this bickering."

Rakesh gave me a thumbs-up sign of approval, thinking we were impressing her with our faux closeness. I hadn't told him she was in on the original plan, too, and was enjoying having the upper hand for once.

"When Harry Met Sally?"

"No. I don't fake it."

He raised an eyebrow as if to say 'oh yeah? Then what the hell are you doing here?' before continuing.

"Sleepless in Seattle?"

"Cute, but no cigar."

"Runaway Bride?"

I lowered my voice so only he could hear. "Could be the story of your life, but no."

He made a gun with his thumb and forefinger, cocked it, and mock fired at me.

"Shall We Dance?" He smirked.

"No, thanks."

"You've Got Mail?"