Page 100 of The Bodyguard Proposal

“Us.”

He has beat me to the topic, and I think it means something. That we both know there is anus.

Yes, we can talk about us, but I don't want to do it like this. All cowed and afraid.I stand up—and I think I’m going to be brave and sit across from him when something catches my attention. On the television screen isn't someone who looks like me.

Itisme. My face.

The Indian drama ended on a cliffhanger, and the channel has segued to one of those variety shows where a charming and sardonic news host shares their insight into celebrity gossip.

The headline reads:BREAKING NEWS! SHE’S ADOPTED! KOMAL CHAHAL, DAUGHTER OF LEGENDARY SHREYA CHAHAL ISN’T BLOOD. DOES SHE STILL COUNT AS A NEPO BABY?

My whole body freezes, except for the garbled cry I let out.

Because I’m sweating and I can’t believe my eyes, my sunglasses come off. Without them, and because I’m standing and had yelled in the middle of a half-packed restaurant, people notice. An auntie points at the screen, then points to me and exclaims. It's happening. I’m being recognized.Especially since the show is running through a montage of my photos. Old ones. New ones. Ones I had no idea they had.

I—I don’t know what to do.

Too bad other people do. A few stand up and start to come over with excited grins. They are asking about the story, about whether it is true. A younger teenager tells me she knows these shows make up stuff, so she doesn’t believe it, but she still wants a photo. I can’t answer properly.

All I’m thinking right now is: they know.

Everyone now knows.

Huan cups the back of my arm. He’s moved already, and is making a path and leading me away, his wide stance and briskness not giving room for people to react. A manager is helping him. I think while I was a zombie, he recruited her.Chairs get placed as obstacles holding curious diners at bay, and the door is locked behind us as we run into the kitchen, and then we find a side exit.

I’m not fast enough.

Huan hauls me into his arms, running down the alleyway. There are some flashes somewhere. Photos or just blinking traffic lights? I'm sweating harder and so frozen and afraid that if it wasn't for Huan, I would have been trapped in one spot, like a deer in the middle of a busy highway.

Huan makes a turn onto another road. A few people notice him carrying me, but I don't hear what they say. That's because we've found a cab. Busy London streets mean there is always one to be hailed.

Only once we’re safely inside one and moving again, do I notice my phone is buzzing.

It’s my mother, so I pick up.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m sending Huan the flight details. You have to come home, sweetheart.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

I’m on auto-pilot. I don’t feel time until we’re on the private plane a few hours later. Now I’m wrapped in a blanket, strapped to a lounger seat, and a polite flight attendant keeps walking up and down the aisle. We’ve also got extra security. The company Huan works for pulled agents from their London office to join us.Bodyguards surround me.

Since news of the adoption broke, the threat of me being recognized is quite high. Who knows, this flight itinerary might be leaked. And who knows what reception we’ll get when we land in India.

Hopefully, nothing.

But my mother wants me safe, in case paparazzi are waiting.

Since our earlier conversation, I haven’t spoken to her again, but that’s because I’m not ready. As soon as we talk, what is happening is real, and I can’t stay in the bubble-wrapped protected part of my brain that remains in denial.

The flight attendant gives me water. “Anything else,” she says, “just press the button above your seat.”

I force the liquid past my lips and glance over my shoulder. Huan is briefing the new agents. Mouths are pressed lines. Threat level critical, I see.I guess going from the boringdaughter of a famous movie star to landing in the middle of a huge scandal that features my origin story will do that. It makes me the mostun-boring I've ever been in the eyes of the public. It's even worse since Mom and I are set to star in our own mother-daughter role in this movie. The headlines write themselves. Every bit of our relationship is going to be picked apart, on-screen and off-screen.

If I wasn't mentally frozen, it would be important to start brainstorming ways to go forward from here. But what I do instead is burrow into my blanket and pick at the fringe. I’m obviously not rising above this stress. I should be analyzing personal solutions in my head, but I don’t want to… I don’t know if I can when it feels like my life has been burgled. As if strangers messed about, left lights on, then fled. Nothing feels like it should.

SHE’S ADOPTED! KOMAL CHAHAL, DAUGHTER OF LEGENDARY SHREYA CHAHAL ISN’T BLOOD.

I shut my eyes.

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