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her head. “You were just lucky you caught him on the rebound.”
    The venom in her voice had startled me. It was my first experience of being hated because of good fortune. I walked away with what dignity I could muster so Mimi—who had been the closest I’d had to a friend—wouldn’t see how hurt I was. Not just by her words—but also by Rajat’s silence. Over the next month, I waited for him to bring Sonia up, but he said nothing. When I asked about old sweethearts, he kissed me hard and said they weren’t important.
    I can tell that Rajat has noticed Sonia, too. He pulls me closer. Against my forehead, his cheek is hot. I can feel the uneven jerk of a pulse. Should I say something? Is it better to pretend I don’t know what’s going on? I’m saved from making a decision: by the time we swing around again, she is gone. But I know I can’t afford to forget her.
    The party has just begun, but already it is a success. Many celebrities have arrived and seem in no hurry to leave. Maman is pleased, though she is too sophisticated to exhibit this. She beckons to me as soon as the music ends. I can feel the satisfaction in her fingertips as she straightens my diamond necklace. She leads me to a prosperous-bellied man in a Nehru suit.
    “Korobi, I want you to meet Mr. Bhattacharya. He has been a most generous supporter of Barua and Bose Galleries.”
    From her tone I understand how important he is. I keep still as he holds my hand in his fleshy one a little too long.
    “Charming girl. Almost as beautiful as her mother-in-law!”
    “Mr. Bhattacharya! The things you say! But I believe congratulations are in order for you, too. I hear that you’ve been named as a candidate of the Akhil Bharat Hindu Party for the upcoming elections. We must have a celebration.”
    Mr. Bhattacharya gives a deprecatory shrug. “Nothing is official yet. It would be unwise to celebrate prematurely. But tell me more about this lovely young lady. Is she really the great-granddaughter of Judge Tarak Prasad Roy, the one who had a street named after him?”
    “She is, indeed.”
    “Excellent match, Mrs. Bose. So important to create alliances with the right kind of people.”
    I am beginning to feel a little like a prize dog, but I valiantly hold on to my smile.
    “People who uphold our sanaatan Hindu traditions,” Bhattacharya continues with enthusiasm. “Exactly what my party is working to promote. Don’t the Roys have an ancient Durga temple on their property? I heard that Netaji himself is said to have visited it to get the goddess’s blessing in his battle against the British. Oh, Mr. Roy is not here? I must meet him. You will arrange it?”
    “Of course, Mr. Bhattacharya. We’ll do it as soon as possible.”
    They go on to discuss business matters—something about new investments. Mrs. Bhattacharya, a thin woman with darting eyes, reaches out to touch my necklace. Her fingers remind me of pincers.
    “Lovely, lovely. Where did your mother-in-law-to-be get this? . . . Of course. Nothing but the very best for our Mrs. Bose.” She moves closer and speaks in conspiratorial tones. “Mrs. Bose must be so relieved. Our Rajat was getting to be quite a handful. Running around with the wrong crowd. Drinking, gambling, who knows what else! My husband was ready to speak with Mr. Bose about it. He’s an important man, after all. He has to be careful about who he associates with. Now, if I were you, I’d keep close tabs—Oh, here comes your sweetie! Hello, dear Rajat! I was just congratulating your betrothed on her good fortune.”
    Rajat’s smile matches Mrs. Bhattacharya’s in affability, though his eyes, like hers, are cold. “The good fortune is entirely mine.”
    Further pleasantries are exchanged; Mrs. Bhattacharya skitters away in search of more promising bait. Waiters in turbans surround us with silver trays of shish kebabs and samosas and Western delights I don’t recognize. Rajat fills a plate for me, but I can’t eat;