Page 27 of Claiming His Bollywood Cinderella

“That’snotthat however,” Naina piped up. “Rita told me how disappointed you’d be to hear Mrs. Ahmed’s decision and so I tried something else.”

He sat up, noting the glint of pride in her expression. She was practically vibrating with excitement and it tugged at Vikram. He wanted to shake her and demand she tell him immediately. He also wanted to grab her and kiss her hard as if he could fill himself with that joy of hers. “What did you try, Ms. Menon?” He forced himself to say her name formally, as if it could kill this constant need inside him.

“When I went into the city to drop off the medication for Daadiji, I dropped by this old library that Papa and I used to visit. The owner is this eighty-year-old man Chaudharyji with a private collection of books like you would not believe. Papa and he talked history for hours and he’d let me browse through his collection. I asked him to let me borrow the first edition of a poetry collection that Mrs. Ahmed’s father wrote in 1935. I remembered seeing a feature on TV about how most of their possessions had been destroyed during the migration after independence. She was close to tears.

“I took the edition to her, and told her you went to a lot of effort to locate it and borrow it for her. I cannot describe her joy when she held that old edition in her hands. She hugged me and said it was clear that you had more sense than she’d previously credited you with if you had someone like me work for you, so,” she took a deep breath, her eyes twinkling, “she said she will give you one chance. The script, she said, will have to be magnificent. I sat down with her secretary, hashed out some dates and she wants a look at the script in four weeks.”

Vikram didn’t, couldn’t, say anything for long minutes.

She looked up and smiled. “Thank you—that’s the phrase you’re looking for.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Menon. It’s been my dream to have Mrs. Ahmed on this project and you brought us a chance. Now, is that all?”

“I called the resort and changed one of the reservations. Mr. and Mrs. Sharma would prefer to be in separate villas. The only member I haven’t heard back from so far is Virat.”

She closed the notepad and sighed. “Can I ask why you’ve gathered them all here? They seem like a very...”

“Eccentric, self-centered bunch of old has-beens?”

She smiled. “Those are your words. I was going to say interesting group of people.”

“I’ve been trying to pin down a script for more than two years. Usually, Raawal House will just buy a spec script but this is close to my—” he cleared his throat, as if he couldn’t admit that he had a heart or that it felt things “—that’s important to me. There’s a skeleton script ready but it needs fleshing out. And this bunch of self-important snobs are who I need to do it. But it’s a pain to get them to work together.

“This is my last attempt at bringing this project to fruition, which is why we’re holed up here in such stunning surroundings. I also have no doubt it’s the reason Virat is MIA. He absolutely doesn’t believe in coddling anyone or pandering to anyone’s superiority complex. He’ll turn up to contribute eventually, either in person or via video link.”

“So it’s a project you’re going to take on together? You as lead actor, he to direct it?”

“Yes.”

“To be released in time for the seventieth anniversary celebrations of Raawal House, right?”

“You’re very quick, Ms. Menon.”

“Yeah, we can often surprise you like that, us women.”

“Ahh...still getting those hits in whenever you can, I see.”

She clapped her hands together, the excitement on her face contagious. “This is amazing. I adore everything Virat has ever made. I can’t believe you’ve never worked together before. I mean, you’ve both had unprecedented successes with everything you’ve ever touched.”

“Like you, my brother thinks I’m a populist sellout.”

“I never said that. I just...” She colored, and he decided to take pity on her.

“We need this group to produce what they’re capable of, Ms. Menon. It’s just a matter of getting them to communicate together. With Mrs. Ahmed wanting a look at the script, you know now what’s on the line. I should have a history expert here, too, but the professor had an accident not two days ago.”

“I have a master’s degree in history and theater, and history of theater in India. Of course, I didn’t get to finish my PhD in film history but that’s all I’ve ever studied. I can help with anything in that area.”

“It’s all hands on deck at this point. I need a script of some sort at the end of four weeks, if I want to keep the investors I’ve attracted.”

“What’s the subject?”

“It’s a biopic about my grandfather Vijay Raawal. With India’s Independence struggle as the background.”

“Oh, my,” Naina said, dropping onto the bed. “The scope of it, the history of it...wow...just wow! That sounds magnificent. I can’t believe I’m here to see its inception, to see history in the making.

“I mean, can you imagine? The struggles he had to face, the traveling theater stories, the increasingly charged atmosphere...” She suddenly looked at him, her heart in her eyes. “Will you be playing him?”

“That’s the idea.”

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