Free Spice and Secrets by Suleikha Snyder

tale for them. One with a nice happy-ever-after. One that can only make Khoon a more must-see project. It’s just publicity, Priya. Plain and simple.”
    Priya’s gaze seemed to move past her, off into the distance. “In this business, nothing’s simple. There is always a price, always a complication,” she pointed out softly. “So, tell me, Ms. Khanna. What will my price be?”
    It was a rhetorical question, because the price she expected to pay was written all over her face. Sunny could read it like the front page of the Times of India . Just sitting next to Rahul on the sofa and playing the roles of old costars reunited was going to cost her. “ Woh tumhari dil bahut dukhaya, na? He really broke your heart.”
    “But he did not break my spirit.” Priya sat up straighter, smiling sweetly at the waitress when she brought their drinks and then turning that same sugary grin on Sunita. If it was a bit sharp at the edges, it only made her more stunning to look at. “No worries, Sunny- ji . I will do your show. I’ll give your audience their story.”
    “Good. Because your story is just beginning, and you are the writer.” Sunita didn’t know where the sudden ferociousness was coming from, why there was a dampness in her eyes and a knot at the back of her throat. Somewhere on the fringes of her mind was the memory of Sam tying a mangalsutra around her neck and anointing her hair with sindoor while Jai kicked relentlessly in her belly…his tiny foot making the crimson silk of her wedding sari ripple. For months after, she’d wondered if her son, levelheaded even in the womb, had been trying to warn her of the mistake she was making. “Don’t let this industry run you off again, Priya. Don’t let them shame you or scare you or beat you. It is a man’s game, but hum aurat hain ; we are women. We are strong enough to play it.”
    “I know.” The warmth of Priya’s hand curling around hers jolted Sunita from the center of her impassioned speech and impractical visions. “I didn’t come back from Kolkata to just play , Sunny- ji ,” she said, leaning across the table as if imparting some great secret. “This time, I’m going to win .”
    It was a fine sentiment, albeit hopelessly naïve. The Rose of Bengal thought she had a fine coating of thorns, and Sunita didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was futile…to explain how playing was as good as they could hope for, because the game was fixed. Instead, she simply offered up a return squeeze of support and neatly began outlining her ideas for the show.
    In the grand scheme, it was the cameras that made both of them who they were: not delicate flowers in a garden, but rather bright stars in Mumbai’s night sky. That stars were prone to burning out and falling from the heavens…well, that was something Sunita could not think about.

Chapter Twelve
    The line rang on and on, busy or being ignored. She was used to both. Nina tapped her blood-red nails on the desk like she was playing the tabla , a rhythmic slapping reminiscent of what she had done to Ashraf only hours ago as he worked for his role in the next Anandaloka romantic comedy. It would be simple to claim that men were easily led, easily controlled, but she’d learned the exact opposite in Mumbai: that only deception got a woman what she wanted. That what she wanted was the controlling interest in the company and control of its most sought-after producer was obvious. Everyone knew it. No one thought she would have it.
    She would prove them wrong. One by one.
    But, first, she had to deal with Rahul—and that sickeningly sweet little girl who hadn’t had the sense to stay in Kolkata.
    Prakash’s voicemail finally clicked on, his self-important, officious directive letting her—and other mere mortals—know a message could be left. Nina affected her most saccharine tone. “Listen, Milan. It’s Nina. Rahul was just telling me that he wants to sit in on your shoot for Na-Insaafi . You know he’s