“Roman. Tessa.” Salima’s voice floated up the grand staircase, laced with exhaustion. “The cars are waiting. Let’s go.”

She stood in the foyer, smoothing invisible creases from her deep-burgundy sari, the gold edges catching the chandelier light.

“I swear, I have no idea what those two spend their time doing that they never hear when you call them.”

Nandini, adjusting a diamond choker at the console mirror, laughed softly.

“If I remember correctly, that’s exactly how you were with Bernard Thorne the first time you met him.”

“The difference, Didi,” Salima shot back, “is that Bernard and I weren’t married and we were living on borrowed time. Those two have...