Epilogue
S hivina, Isha, and Diya watched with joy as little Navya walked in front of her Kaka Sa, scattering rose petals out of a little basket as she led him to the stage.
It was time for the bride’s entry, and unlike any other fashionable bride they had ever seen, Princess Meher Rathore chose to drive up to the stage in a jeep festooned with wild flowers from her favorite place on earth, her beloved forest.
Her bridegroom, Maharaja Samrat Singh Deora, smiled on proudly as she parked the jeep and stepped out carefully in her thirty-kilo House of Trikhera lehenga.
She looked beyond beautiful. She looked happy.
And so proud to be marrying her army boy.
She flashed her wrist at him, and he beamed at the sight of the special platinum and diamond bracelet Isha had designed using his army dog tags.
“That worked out well,” said Shivina smugly. “Nadeem Qureshi, Nilanjana, and Sanjay are in jail. And Meher and Samrat finally got their happy ever after.”
“You’re still not qualified to be a fixer for royal problems,” warned her husband, as Meher joined Samrat on stage for the jaimala.
“Do you think I should set up an office like Olivia Pope?” she asked, ignoring his stern warning, as she had been doing since the day they got married.
Meanwhile, Diya and Isha stared at two very handsome men flanking the bridegroom.
They turned to Shivina and nudged her.
“Do we know those men?” asked Isha.
“They are Samrat’s best friends, Rumi and Sid.”
“Single?” asked Diya, and Shivina nodded.
“Hallelujah,” murmured Isha.
“I’d like to remind the three of you that you are married,” snapped Ranvijay, who was getting a little worried by their antics.
“We just want to know the lay of the land,” Isha argued.
“What do they do?” asked Diya.
“Just retired from the army. They are planning to start a security firm,” said Shivina.
Ranvijay groaned and walked away from the three meddlesome women.
“Where are you going?” called out Shivina.
“To warn them about what’s in store for them,” he replied.