But Reeva couldn’t think about that now. She was too busy trying to process the fact that everything she’d been told up until now was a lie. Her mum hadn’t been tragically widowed at thirty-two; she’d had a husband all along. And he’d been working as an optometrist of all things, just two hours away from London in Leicester—a city Reeva had barely heard of. Had they divorced? Was her mum’s new marriage even legal? And why had her mum kept her dad’s existence a secret from them for all these years? Had her dad played a part in it too—or had it all been a cruel trick of her mother’s?
There were so many questions Reeva needed to find the answers to. Only she had absolutely no idea where to start. There was no way she was calling her sisters, not after everything that had happened. No. She’d let her mum—or, more likely, her mum’s lawyers—handle that. She’d just have to do what she always did and figure things out on her own. Reeva looked into the panicked deep brown eyes of her reflection and reminded herself she could handle this. She’d broken British legal history by getting a wronged billionaire’s wife more than half his worth. And last month she’d managed to get full custody for a man whose wife had tried to kidnap their kids and take them to Utah to become Mormons. She could handle a dead dad.
All she had to do was think of her family situation as though it were a case at work. There was no way she’d have to actually do what her mum wanted and spend thirteen days with her sisters, grieving a man she’d never known. No. She’d simply call the lawyers to find out everything, then use her brains to get herself out of this ridiculous will stipulation in the same way she would for any of her clients: with minimal stress. Even if it meant defying her dead dad’s last wishes.
* * *
—
“Guess you’re going to Leicester!” Lakshmi gave her an apologetic smile as Reeva groaned, theatrically dropping her head into her hands. “Oh, come on, it might not be that bad. At least you get two weeks away from all the fucked-up drama of this place.”
Reeva slumped into the brown armchair in Lakshmi’s office and looked down at the brown carpet and brown furniture. They’d been asking Lee to update the decor for years, but he refused. Apparently the color brown projected an image of trustworthiness. “Are you kidding? I’m going to be surrounded by fucked-up drama. And I won’t be getting paid for any of it. Surely there’s got to be a way out?”
Lakshmi scrolled again through the document on Reeva’s computer that Saraswati’s lawyers had sent over and shook her head. “Sorry. It’s airtight, Reevs. If you—or your sisters—want to get his inheritance, you’ve all got to go. Like, tomorrow, latest. You should probably be there right now.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense! He didn’t even know us. Why would he want us to do his prayers for him?”
“Maybe he was religious?”
“No. None of it makes any sense. If we can’t legally get out of it, then I think I should just leave it and turn down the inheritance.”
“Oh, come on, you heard what the lawyers were hinting! He’d paid off his whole mortgage. You get a third of everything; you can’t turn down money like that. At least give your share to charity.” Lakshmi waved her pen in the air. “And it’s not just about you, remember? You’ve got to be there so your sisters can get their share.”
“I don’t think they need the money either. Sita definitely doesn’t—her house is amazing. And judging from what I’ve seen on Insta, neither does Jaya.”
“You still follow her?” Lakshmi raised an eyebrow. “Is that healthy?”
“Is any of this healthy? How can this be happening, Lux? I don’t understand why Mum told us Dad was dead when he was alive all this time. And why didn’t she tell us before he died so we could actually speak to him?”
“I have no idea, but I cannot wait to find out,” said Lakshmi. “You’re going to have to go to his house to get answers.”
“Uh, I’m not spending thirteen days with them hunting for clues. We’re not the Hardy Boys.”
“Yeah, they actually liked each other. And I’m pretty sure none of them slept with any of the others’ fiancés.”
Reeva shuddered. “Don’t. I can’t bear to think about it. I just . . . I’ve finally moved on. Things with Nick are going well. He likes me. I like him. It’s the miracle I’ve been waiting for. And I hardly ever think about . . .” She took a deep breath. “Rakesh. Or Jaya. They’re dead to me.”
“Apart from when they pop up on your Insta feed.”
“They’re muted. Mainly. I just don’t want to go and lock myself up in a house with them in the middle of Leicester. It’s going to bring it all back up. I want to leave it in the past where it belongs.”
Lakshmi nodded sympathetically and took a swig of her prosecco. “I know. But, Reevs, you can do this.”
Reeva went quiet. “I’m scared,” she said eventually. “To face them again. It’s all so humiliating.”
“Hey!” Lakshmi walked over to Reeva and grabbed her shoulders, crouching down in front of her. “You’ve got nothing to feel bad about. It’s Jaya who should feel awful. She’s the boyfriend-stealing slut; not you.”
“But it’s so embarrassing that he chose her,” whispered Reeva. Just talking about it all made her feel like an awkward teenager again; the tall, gangly girl who was always overlooked in favor of her prettier younger sisters. They’d all gotten on well enough at home—as kids, they’d spent hours rehearsing gory enactments of Pocahontas and Mulan with Reeva directing their performances (“Sita, more ketchup!,” “Jaya, scream louder—you’ve just been murdered!”). Even as teenagers, they’d had a mildly companionable existence during the school holidays, bonding over their mother’s ridiculous behavior and swapping CDs for their Discmans.
But it had been different at school, where Reeva was constantly referred to as “Jaya and Sita’s sister.” It was mortifying. She was the big sister; she should have been breaking rules, gaining a reputation for being cool, and paving the path of rebellion for her younger sisters. But instead, she’d always felt more like a lost middle child—an oddity, with a nine-letter name no one could pronounce compared to her sisters’ cute four-letter ones and dark brown skin that stood out against her sisters’ lighter complexions. It didn’t matter so much in England, but every time they went to India, everyone spent the whole time gasping over how “fair” her sisters were while mouthing their condolences to Saraswati over Reeva’s dark skin. It wasn’t surprising that a young Reeva had internalized their colorism and concluded that she would never be as beautiful as her sisters.