Chapter Fourteen
My mother-in-law-to-be would absolutely love this place,” I say as Saket squeezes me in a hug and then stands back and sweeps his arms in a mix of Welcome and This is where the magic happens .
Krish and I follow Saket into the store. I’m practically skipping with joy while Krish remains unmoved.
Navri by VND, Saket’s store, feels a lot like Tiffany and the Taj Mahal had a baby girl. “ Navri means ‘bride’ in Marathi,” Sak explains to Krish, who nods in that well-meaning way polite people nod when presented with a foreign concept. No one says exotic anymore, but it’s what I got called all the time back in school, even by my teachers. I didn’t know any of the baggage the word came with until much later, but even back then I knew something was off about it, a stamp pressed into my skin that marked me as different in a seemingly desirable way that didn’t feel desirable at all.
It’s the word that comes to mind when Krish’s face, for all its polite interest, takes in the gold-and-ivory palace-chic decor and the heavily embellished jewelry arranged tastefully in glossy brocade-lined glass cases. He seems to be thinking the word. Which is very confusing. Not only does he look South Asian, but he’s named Krish, which is as Indian as a name can get, the name of, arguably, the most beloved Hindu god. And yet one would think he’s never seen a piece of Indian jewelry up close.
Saket fits into the store as though it was designed expressly with the intention of him fitting into it so seamlessly. It probably was. He’s wearing a black silk tunic with subtle gold embroidery around the neck and black and gold flowy pants that I’m seriously coveting.
“My great-great—I forget how many great s exactly—grandfather built the first VN Dixit store in Pune when the Peshwas were still in power back in the 1700s,” Sak says with the kind of pride I can immediately relate to because I love my work. “They survived the Mughal invasion and colonization. Which simply means they were sleazy bastards who knew how to work the system. Definitely true of my grandfather, who would die if he knew his grandson models his own jewelry.” He winks irreverently with his mile-long lash extensions.
He introduces us to the elegantly dressed staff, men and women wearing burgundy silk shirts with black silk pants. Then he leads us to the inner sanctum of the store, where the gold and silver in the display cases changes to diamonds, cut and uncut, in sizes so large they can’t possibly be real. My aie and Druv’s mom have been sending me pictures of jewelry for my bridal outfits for months now. Even with those being costume jewelry (my mom’s word for fakes), they’ve been absurdly expensive. I can’t even hazard a guess as to what this stuff must cost.
Saket rearranges a locket the size of my palm that’s hanging by a twisted rope of pearls so it catches the lighting better. “My dad was the apple that fell pretty far from the family tree, thank God. But he almost bankrupted the business because he didn’t have a wily bone in his body. I’ve brought us back. This last year we recorded our highest sales in the history of the business. Good thing I’m as wily as my dick grandpa and the rest of our ancestors.”
I can’t imagine Sak hurting a fly or ever doing anything wily. “Not true,” I say, and he squeezes my hand gratefully.
“Obviously, I’m not an evil bastard obsessed with oppressive power structures, but I do know what people want and how to sell it to them.”
A stunningly beautiful woman in a balloon-sleeved linen top over super-slim white slacks is sitting at one of the counters with a younger woman, also dressed all in white but less couture. She’s in a white silk tank and a fitted skirt. Both women are wearing those shoes that are supposed to “pull an outfit together”—a concept I’m only aware of because of Cosmo . The kind of shoes you throw on when you want to go from day to night—another Cosmo concept I’ve never had the opportunity to practice in real life. Who are these people who spend an entire day at work dressed like a goddess and then take off a jacket, slip on a necklace, and switch out their shoes to look instantly like a whole different kind of goddess? I work in scrubs, and I’m so exhausted after a ten-hour shift that going from day to night involves swapping scrubs out for pajamas in my room after avoiding my parents.
Today I’m wearing a pale-yellow sleeveless eyelet dress I bought at Ann Taylor Loft for this trip, and until five seconds ago I felt overdressed for a research-and-recon mission at a friend’s jewelry store for a mystery ring.
The woman’s eyes light up when she sees Sak. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. Sak Dixit!” she practically squeals.
“In the flesh!” Saket says and sashays over to the two women, his patent leather ankle boots clicking against the mirror-bright floor.
They jump out of their seats.
“I’ve literally been following you since day one! I love you so much! We love you so much!” The older woman turns to the younger one. “Don’t we love him so much?”
“Mom’s right. We love you. You’re, like, so inspiring.” The daughter tears up.
Her mom has one of those faces that doesn’t move much and doesn’t have a single wrinkle. Druv’s mom calls it Muppet Face, from a meme about how Miss Piggy was way ahead of her time with her puffed lips and high cheeks, which everyone seems to be aspiring to these days. It’s mean, but what meme isn’t?
Saket blinks as though he’s trying not to tear up, too, and pats his heart. “You’re both so sweet. I appreciate the support. It means everything. And so beautiful. Ah, gorgeousness. Look at that skin tone. What shade of highlighter is that?”
For a few minutes they go off into a discussion about makeup that makes me feel entirely lost.
Finally, Saket turns his attention to the pieces they’ve been looking at. “What are we here for today?”
“My baby girl is getting married.” A tear spills from the mother’s eye.
Sak gasps. And it’s so heartfelt I almost gasp too. “Lucky bastard! What a gorgeous bride you’re going to be. Let me guess. Destination? Lake Como?”
The bride-to-be glows and bounces on her feet. “Lake Champlain in Vermont.” She’s only slightly embarrassed.
“We wanted to stay stateside,” her mother adds. “It’s important to support local.”
“I love that. So important,” Sak gushes. “And Vermont is the best. Just as beautiful as Tuscany, if you ask me, and so much more real. Do you have your lehenga picked out?” He throws an excited glance at their phones.
The girl beams and pulls her phone to her chest. “I have options, but I haven’t been able to choose.” She seems despondent about this, and for the first time I can relate. The Two Moms have sent me so many “inspiration pieces” over the past months I’m entirely overwhelmed. I’m also terrified of making the wrong choice.
“Oh honey,” Sak says. “It’s such an important day, and the lehenga is everything. Have you considered a theme? Trees for your groom and peacocks for you.” He throws a quick glance at Krish and me. “Birds and their habitat. So beautifully allegorical for marriage.”
Krish’s usually immobile mouth quirks. I’m all-out trying not to laugh. Sak’s so good even I want a lehenga with peacocks and am ready to fight Druv to put trees on his sherwani.
“Did you just come up with that? That’s brilliant!” the mother says, and her sky-high cheekbones push up into her eyes.
“Or stars and the moon,” Sak says.
The bride squeals. “I love that idea. How did you know how much I love stars?” She lifts her hair and shows him the spray of stars tattooed on the back of her neck.
Sak’s eyes brighten, genuine joy glistening in them, and I realize he isn’t working these people. Well, maybe a little bit, but that’s not his main angle. He’s actually connecting with them. Seeing them, letting them in. It’s generous and vulnerable, but also he’s not afraid to use his own power.
He looks at the salesperson who was helping the mother and daughter. She’s looking as awed as I’m feeling. “Have we put the Chanda-Tare collection out on display yet?” he asks.
“Not yet,” the salesperson answers. “Oh, those are beautiful. They would’ve been perfect,” she says to the bride and her mother.
The two women look like they might be on the edge of winning the lottery as their expectant gaze flits from the salesperson to Saket.
“The pieces have arrived in the store, though, right?” Saket says.
The salesperson nods, and Sak turns his attention back to the shoppers. “These are the headlining pieces in our summer collection. We did the photoshoot at the Lake Palace in Udaipur last month, and the campaign is just about ready for release. I think this might be my favorite collection yet. My fiancé says I say that with every collection, but these are my heart. My babies. I think I put all the magic he makes me feel into them.”
The bride is in tears again. I think I am too. “When will they be displayed? We can come back.”
“Oh, honey, I’d never do that to you. Would you like to see them?”
They jump at the offer with heartbreaking enthusiasm, and Sak turns to the salesperson. “Perna, would you bring them out? Xiang, would you help Perna?” He beckons another staff member. “Champagne?” he asks the ladies. “It’s a special day!”
As everyone gets to work retrieving the new collection and champagne, Sak wraps an arm around me and introduces us.
“This is my fiancé’s sister, Mira, and this is Krish.”
The mother and daughter introduce themselves as Reena and Nimi. We shake hands.
“You look familiar. Have we met?” Nimi, the daughter, asks, trying to place me.
“Are you on social media?” Krish deadpans.
I hate that I want to smile. Sak fills them in on the ring saga, playing up the sidewalk fight and Krish’s heroic rescue of the ring as we accept champagne flutes from Xiang.
“Well, Mira found it and hurt herself trying to save it. She’s the one who’s given up her vacation to find the owner. I’m just along for the ride,” Krish says.
I can’t tell if he’s being facetious or if he means it. His eyes are no longer obscured by dark glasses. This is less of a relief than I was expecting because it’s not easy to look into his eyes. The overhead lights are creating a glare on his glasses, and that, of all things, is a relief.
I work to not flush at the possible praise.
“You were both badasses fighting that monster.” Naturally Sak says the most Sak thing ever. “Isn’t it amazing? They’re going to search for the ring’s owner.”
The two women gush over the romanticism of finding the ring. They ask to look at it. But this time I have it tucked away in a zippered pouch at the bottom of my bag, and I lie about having left it in my hotel room.
Saket and Krish look the tiniest bit impressed and relieved. They both know that I have the ring because we’re here so Saket can help us. When Saket looked at it yesterday, he said that it looks like it had recently been repaired and polished. Krish and I spent an hour brainstorming the next steps at the café where our alliance started. We’d decided that visiting the local jewelers to check if they’ve seen the ring is the best place to start.
Our hope is that the ring was repaired by a local New York City jeweler. Unless it was a tourist wearing it, in which case we might as well give up. It’s also obviously an Indian piece of jewelry, and we’re hoping that it was taken to an Indian jeweler. Unless it was taken to India and then brought back, in which case we might as well give up.
I pull my mind away from the nay-saying spiral. I know we’re going to find the owner. I just know it. I have to hang on to that belief and focus on finding the jeweler who might have worked on the ring.
I know Saket’s store is a little too high end for small repairs. There’s a better chance of it being one of the smaller jewelry businesses, and we’re hoping he can point us in the right direction.
“Where would you even start to look?” Reena says. “You found it in the most crowded part of New York. Literally millions of people walk through Times Square every week.”
“But half of those people could be native New Yorkers, Mom. The cool thing is that Sak could identify the country of origin as India. That’s got to be a sign, right? Anyone could have found it, but Mira did.”
“Right?” I say and glance at Krish, who’s watching the unfolding action as though he’s already writing the story in his head. “And Sak was also able to identify that the ring was damaged and has been repaired. So there’s a chance that a local jeweler has seen the ring and might be able to give us some clues.”
“Mom, what was that place Naani goes to in Jackson Heights? The place she wanted us to—”
“Nolandas,” Reena says, cutting her daughter off. “They do repairs and polishing. They repaired my wedding set.”
“There are about twenty jewelry stores along Seventy-Fourth,” Sak says. “Nolandas is one of them. If the repair was done here in New York, then there’s a good chance it’s one of those stores.”
Across the room, the salespeople finish setting up the new collection and beckon us over. Sak was right: it’s spectacular. Breathtaking, and wildly over the top. Stars and moons formed of uncut diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires the size of blueberries, on growth hormones. If true love were opulence, this is a story that spans lifetimes.
The idea that Saket’s feelings for my brother resulted in this makes me choke up. Rumi deserves it. He would throw himself in front of several speeding trains for Saket. He would walk away from every other person on the planet. He’s walked away from our parents without a backward glance.
It’s big, visible love, the kind of love that’s not meant for everyone. I’m glad my brother has it. I have no idea how he’s become the person who owns it so completely and feels so entirely deserving of it, and returns it with such fearless force. While I’ve spent the past year marveling at how I could possibly have been lucky enough to be with Druv.
Reena places a diamond-and-ruby piece around Nimi’s neck and hooks it in the back. It starts as a choker around her neck, then cascades in a wide, deep triangle of a hundred stars to her cleavage and ends with a fringe of tiny moons. She looks like she just stepped out of a royal period drama or a mythical fantasy. I’ve just met her, but a vision of her as a bride springs into my head.
The mother breaks down first, then the daughter. They hold each other and sob. Their emotions are contagious, and tears push at my eyes. The pictures of wedding jewelry that Aie has been sending me have been accompanied by notes about what looks “rich but not like we’re trying too hard” and what kind of color and design wouldn’t emphasize my “dark coloring.”
“Done?” Reena asks in the softest voice.
“It’s the one,” Nimi whispers back.
Both women throw their arms around Saket as he congratulates them and tells them he couldn’t have had a more special first sale for the collection of his heart.
“I hope your naani likes it more than the piece she wanted you to get at Nolandas,” Saket says, and we all laugh.