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I didn’t want Rohan to know much about me. He was a smart chap with a razor-sharp tongue and dangerously good looks. Rohan had a way with words that made people believe in him, just like my ex-husband, so I stayed cautious.
Rohan was a coworker. I didn’t tell him that my mom used to be the leading liver transplant specialist in South Asia, and Dad was the owner of the largest construction company in New Delhi. I didn’t tell Rohan about my mansion in South Delhi. I didn’t share any information about the four servants, two chefs, two gardeners, three chauffeurs, or two errand boys. I didn’t tell him about the rose garden in the front yard or the Balinese furniture in the patio where my family and I sipped chilled wine on summer evenings and relaxed on cold winter nights with a glass
