Page 25 of The Surprise Bollywood Baby

“You’re Raawal sir’s brother. You are Virat Raawal,” she’d said then, a sudden wariness claiming her expression. Stepping back from him.

Virat had morosely murmured yes. If it was an open wound that the world perceived him as a Raawal only when it pleased it, being known purely as the brother of the successful, beloved older son and protector of the family legacy was like throwing salt into that festering wound.

His brother had already built a name for delivering commercial blockbusters with mass appeal.

“I’m the cinematographer’s second assistant,” he’d said, full of pride, even though so far the closest he’d gotten to some of the equipment had been to make sure it was all in order when they packed up for the night.

“You mean your brother and mother aren’t already planning a multi-star film to launch your acting career?” she’d asked then, before her soft gaze had taken in his features. Then that gaze had swept up the breadth of his shoulders and his tall frame, and she’d swallowed. That one furtive glance she’d sent his way had been enough to tell him that she’d felt it, too—that spark of attraction between them. The sudden tension in the air around them. “Why all this pretense of toiling behind the camera? You look good enough to be a hero,” she’d muttered quietly to herself.

But he’d heard it.

Smiling goofily, his twenty-year-old self had strutted around the set for the rest of the day after that. He’d already had three girlfriends—daughters of his family’s friends or acquaintances—all girls who’d come from the same class and privilege as his family. Girls whose only concerns were clothes and cars. Girls who thought his name and the notoriety of his birth made him “romantically tormented,” as one of them had called it. As if the reality of his life was a drama to be played out, so that his girlfriend could play the heroine and “save” him from his loveless existence.

But then he’d realized after meeting Zara that his disillusionment and contempt for the girls he’d dated was his own fault. He had, after all, sought out a particular type.

Leaning against the wall now and watching Zara perform the dance, Virat rubbed a hand over his face at the realization that stuck in his throat uncomfortably. In fact, both before and after Zara, he’d always sought women who didn’t even scratch beneath the surface of who he was.

It was galling to realize that while he’d pretended that she didn’t exist, his life had irrevocably changed course because of Zara.

He’d shrugged and said to her, “I’m only working with the cinematographer for the summer.” His brother had neatly manipulated him into it when Virat had, after another fight with their father, packed up his backpack, ready to walk out. “I’m not interested in anything to do with the fake industry of cinema. And anyway, I’d rather tell a story than being told how my little role in life should play out.”

“So you’re a control freak, then?” she’d said, and he remembered being taken aback for a second. And then he’d realized that she was the first person who’d so clearly seen through his charming, useless-rogue facade. “A rebel among the Raawals?”

“I don’t need the Raawal name to build myself into anything,” he’d claimed, determined that this woman with big beautiful eyes and perceptive opinions would see the real him.

He groaned at the memory. God, he’d been so full of himself back then, walking around like a festering sore, his bitterness and anger spewing on everything and everyone around him. He’d been a rebel without a cause, a talented young man, yes, but without direction or focus.

He’d constantly criticized his brother for being a sellout when all Vikram had done was to choose to preserve his grandfather’s legacy in whatever way had been possible.

Virat had gone about vowing that he would walk out of their lives one fine day, turning his back on the bloody Raawal legacy forever.

Zara had snorted when he’d told her that, a sound so full of scorn that he’d scowled at her and demanded to know what she’d meant.

“Never mind, Pretty Boy,” she’d said then. If she’d thought he’d be offended by that, she had no idea.

He’d laughed, paid for both their coffees and said, so earnestly that even then he’d understood how much he wanted her good opinion, “Why did you laugh like that? I would like to know, please.”

She’d nodded. And he’d stuck his scrawny chest out as if he’d won the first battle. “It’s not something you can simply shed, is it? Your privilege... To think it doesn’t carry weight wherever you go, to believe your face itself isn’t a calling card, is not only foolish but insulting to the rest of us.” He had no idea what she’d seen in his face, but she’d blinked and sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you. Please don’t get me into trouble.”

He’d jerked away, even hating the insinuation that he’d go telling on her to his superstar brother or his music director friend or any of the other big names he was on first-name terms with on set. Realizing that careers like hers, especially of women, could be made and destroyed on the whims of powerful men like his father, his brother andevenhim.

That...itwasfoolish to pretend that he didn’t have all the privilege of being a Raawal, even though the industry and the media regularly liked to debate if his dissolute father was the true source of his genetic material or not.

His grandparents, his mother and brother and his sister, even Papa for all his own insecurities when dealing with Virat, had never deprived him of any kind of material comfort. Only he kept throwing it all in their faces.

It was the first time Virat had met a woman who’d effortlessly showed him that ideals were often the cachet of the rich and powerful.

“You’re right,” he’d said then, determined that he would gain her respect one of these days. That surface attraction he’d felt for her ever since he’d set eyes on her had instantly solidified into something more in that moment. “That was a stupid thing to say. And I’d never do something so nasty as to get you fired.”

She’d barely smiled. “It wasn’t my place anyway. I’m a little rattled today, that’s all.”

“My idealism and principles may look like posturing to you, but they come from the right place. But you’re right that I should acknowledge my privilege.”

“Exactly. Better to embrace it and use it to do good. It’s not like the rest of us can open our mouths and disagree with the powers that be without getting fired.”

“You think you’ll get fired for arguing with the director?” he’d asked then, not at all liking the prospect.

Sudden tears had filled her eyes and she’d looked away.

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