She lifted up her chef’s jacket and reapplied deodorant, then touched a dot of rosewater behind her ears. There wasn’t actually going to be any kind of real cooking happening today as far as she knew, so a hint of perfume wouldn’t hurt. Plus, the special rosewater that was extracted at the Sripore palace was designed specifically to not interfere with your normal olfactory functioning like the oil-based perfumes they sold in stores.

Finally done, she found Nisha and Trisha standing at the bottom of the stairs, obviously contemplating having to go up and drag her down.

“We should be at Curried Dreams by now,” Nisha said in her big-sister voice. She was Mina Kaki’s mini-me. Poised to a fault but somehow also incredibly warm.

Both sisters tucked strands of Ashna’s hair that had come loose from her bun behind her ear, a favorite Raje gesture for showing affection.

“Stop it! Stop acting like it’s my wedding day. You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re wearing trousers and chef’s robes. I think Aji and Ma might have a coronary if you even thought about getting married in that,” Trisha said.

Since Ashna was never, ever planning to marry—given her genetic predisposition for failure—she’d never have to think about what kind of wedding dress would not give her aunt and grandmother joint coronaries.

“You look lovely,” Nisha said.

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Trisha added with the confidence of someone who wasn’t about to make a complete ass of herself on camera.

“I let you talk me into going on television and competing with some of the best chefs in the country with an unknown and possibly crazy celebrity. Why on earth would I be nervous?” Ashna said.

Trisha looked not the least bit guilty. “Stop it. You’re going to rock this, and DJ will be on the set with you.”

Ashna laughed. “In that case how can it be anything but amazing? I mean, who would not embrace public humiliation just to spend time with your DJ?” Never in a million years would Ashna have imagined that her impatient, entirely too self-sufficient cousin would be so moony over someone. Honestly, though, Trisha was right; having DJ on set was the only comforting thing in this entire nerve-racking mess.

“I’m dying to know who your celebrity is,” Nisha said, heading to the back door. “Do you think it will be one of those NFL players? They’re my favorites on Dancing with the Stars.”

“Yes! There’s nothing quite like a big man being dainty,” Trisha said as all three Raje girls picked their shoes off the shelf and slid them on.