Page 84 of The Encore’s Crown

I'd found that out when I finally asked Stefan who she was, trying hard to sound casual. He'd looked at me as if I’d asked who Madonna was.

“Radhika Malhotra?”

“That’s meant to help me?”

“Bollywood royalty,” he said. “Her parents are legends. She’s already bigger in India at twenty-two than most of America's biggest stars. Her family’s worth an obscene amount of money. Educated in London, I think. Speaks at least four languages.”

“That all?”

Stefan looked at me like I'd slapped his mother.

“If you have something in mind, drop it. You'd just embarrass yourself and the label.”

Now she was gone, and that was probably for the best. I'd been allowed to look at a goddess for the evening, not every man got that much in a whole lifetime. I went in search of champagne to erase her from my mind. The first two trays I found were empty. I finally tracked down a waiter near the back corridor and lifted a glass with enough relief that the poor man gave me a concerned look. I took a drink, turned—and nearly walked straight into her.

My hand jerked. Champagne leapt against the side of the glass but somehow stayed inside it. Radhika reached out instinctively. Her palm landed flat against my chest. The whole place stopped moving. Up close, she was lethal. There were gold flecks in the brown of her eyes. Her lashes were thick enough to cast shadows. Her perfume was soft and warm, jasmine and cinnamon, which it turns out, was a combination I found hard to resist. Her hand rested directly over my heart, and the stupid thing slammed against her palm like it was trying to abandon me.

It had decided, without asking my permission, that it belonged to her now.

“Sorry,” she said. Her voice was deeper than I expected and so smooth, its British edges softened by the cadence of somewhere I’d never been.

“No.” My voice came out rough. I cleared my throat. “That was me. My fault. My bad.”

Her hand remained on my chest until she came to her senses, then she pulled it away. I missed her touch as soon as it was gone.

She glanced at my glass. “You saved it.”

“Years of practice.”

“With champagne?”

“With nearly ruining things.”

Her mouth curved. Fuck. That smile aimed directly at me? I was going to die at this party.

“We haven’t met.”

“Kiri.”

“I know.”

Her eyes flicked down, coy now. “You're wearing a veil in half the photographs people post of you, but it's not a very effective disguise. Your eyes give you away. Plus, you've been staring at me all evening.”

I nearly choked on the champagne.

“I wasn't staring.”

She laughed. Here I was, standing in the sound of it with no idea how I’d gotten so lucky.

“Radhika,” she said.

“I know.”

One eyebrow lifted.

“Bollywood royalty,” I added.

Her expression flattened in a way that told me she had heard that phrase too many times.