Page 230 of A King's Oath

“What is fafda?”

Samarth glanced apologetically at Ava. She didn’t look offended.

“Oh, umm, fafda is like… sev. But huge. Like a long strip of paper. Have you tried sev?”

“Every morning for breakfast,” Brahmi pulled a face. “With poha.”

Ava swallowed her coffee — “Hey, it’s noteverymorning for breakfast.”

“We see the exaggeration did not skip a generation,” Samarth tickled her nose. She giggled, teeth covered in chocolate.

“So then, where’s our next stop?” He rubbed his hands together. “I was told there’s shopping planned.”

“We are going to shop for my new school big girl clothes and then to see… justsee,” Brahmi widened her eyes at her mother, “a new helmet. And then picnic by the Seine!”

His eyes softened — “Picnic by the Seine? That’s my favourite thing too. But there’s one more place I would like to propose if you ladies allow me.”

“Is it Disneyland?”

“Nice try,” Ava’s brows rose. “You’ve already visited twice this year.”

“Yes,” Brahmi bobbed her head solemnly. “Once my Mama took us when Kresha Maasi was visiting and once I went for my friend Pierre’s birthday party.”

“Disneyland can also be on our agenda,” Samarth manoeuvred tactfully. “But not today. It’s a weekend or at least a full-day trip. I had something else in mind.”

“Mmm, like?” Brahmi sat back, her head not even reaching over the table but going back to rest on her chair, her arms crossing across her chest. Like a queen.

“Eiffel Tower.”

“I’ve been there.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t?!” Her eyes widened. Samarth glanced at Ava. She had once demanded he take her there. That was one of the last few happy days between them.

“We have to take him, Mama!”

“We’ll see. Finish your eclair and then we’ll move.”

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He had shopped with Ava many times. She was a princess, a very girly princess when she wasn’t smashing balls on the cricket field. She was a fuchsia-pink fanatic and all flowers and Van Clef & Arpels. Delicate in the wrists but ready to flick a shot that channeled right from her toned biceps. Their daughter was no different. If she wore her riding boots and helmet and galloped her pony then she also chased fat black bees in her garden and lit up just as excitedly at the sight of anything pretty and delicate.

Be it the red woollen trench coat like ‘Red Riding Hood’ or the pearl-studded black flat cap that she ‘had to have’ because it wasso cute.

“You know my Kresha Maasi went to Le Bal des Débutantes?” She informed him dreamily. “She and my Nanaji also danced in Father-Daughter ball!”

“Really? That must have been… fun.”

“She wore a dress made of white feathers. It was so pretty! I saw the photo, didn’t I, Mama?”

“Yes, baby.”

“But Mama says I can’t go to that ball when I grow up.”

“Why?”

“It’s for princesses. I am a smart equetrian.”

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