Sagar Mahal, the Sripore palace that had been the Raje ancestral home for centuries, was one of those places that time never seemed to touch. Not that Esha remembered much about it from her childhood. When Sid and she had moved to the Sagar Mahal a year ago, everything had felt shockingly new and yet as familiar as breathing. Since then, Esha had let new memories—her own memories—fill in the spaces left by a lifetime of other people’s thoughts and feelings. It felt good to have her own. And she’d found the perfect thing to do with them: write stories.

Thus far only Sid had read her stories. He’d already jumped ahead to her publishing them and then planned out all the book signings she’d do around the world. It was nice to see him excited about the future. Everyone deserved to have that.

Sid had started a bird sanctuary on the palace grounds, working to replant a hundred acres of land with vegetation that provided safe haven to native birds. So, he was also excited about the present. Which might be the only thing better than being excited about the future.

“The red is absolutely gorgeous on you,” Naina said, pinning the heavy pallu of the bridal sari that kept slipping off Esha’s shoulder back in place.

Yes, Esha had chosen to get married in her aie’s wedding sari. Every time she thought about it, tears threatened to ruin her makeup, and her sisters and sisters-in-law scolded her. So she was trying not to cry. She often joked that she’d liked it better when they had treated her like she was fragile. But having her family fight with her was the best thing ever.

“Should we all just take this makeup off and have a good cry?” Trisha asked, because she’d been sniffling so much that the false eyelashes on one of her eyes was hanging loose. “I hate that DJ has turned me into a watering can.”

“Is that your way of telling us you’re pregnant?” Ashna asked.

“God no!” Trisha said. “It just means that the man cries every time he feels something. And I think I’ve caught his feelings, which are contagious, by the way. Unlike being pregnant, fortunately. No offense.”

“None taken,” Ashna said. She was adorable with her baby bump in her sari. “You might be right, because Rico’s kinda weepy too these days. Especially if you say the word ‘twins’ around him. I do it sometimes just to see him cry, because it’s adorable.”

They were all wearing saris from their grandmother’s trousseau. Brocaded silks in a rainbow of colors. Nine yards instead of the modern six.