I Wish We Weren't Related

Chapter 1

Day 1

Reeva Mehta pushed open the double doors and walked out of the courtroom feeling like the heroine of the movie that was her life. She stood at the top of the stone steps in the glaring sun, beaming down at the world through her oversized sunglasses, allowing herself this one moment of pure, unadulterated success. Because she'd done it. She'd won. Her client wouldn't have to walk out of her marriage to that abusive asshole with barely any funds to raise her three kids. Instead, she'd get everything she deserved.

Reeva was still fuming that the shitty Mr. Khan had tried to funnel all his money away to his brother, pretending he was practically broke. She knew she should be used to it by now-she'd been working in divorce law for a solid decade-but every time, the injustice of it all floored her. Only this time, she'd stopped it. She'd found out exactly what Mr. Khan was doing and had successfully applied for the court to undo the transfer of assets, meaning her client would get her fair share of what was rightfully hers: £3.5 million. Justice had been served.

When the judge had made his ruling, the former Mrs. Khan had hugged Reeva with tears in her eyes. And in that moment, Reeva had remembered exactly why she did this job. She could still feel the warmth of the hug as she strode down the street now toward the office in her new fuchsia heels. She knew she should swap into the trainers she carried everywhere, but this was Reeva's moment. The shoes added to her heroine vibe. She needed a soundtrack too. Something bold. Celebratory. The kind of song they'd play in the finale of a feminist film. She pulled out her phone and went straight to the "Boss Bitch" playlist Lakshmi had made. She scrolled down, looking for something to match her mood, and laughed out loud when she found it: "All I Do Is Win."

Reeva walked back to her office listening to DJ Khaled on repeat. She doubted he knew the unique feeling of having saved a woman from financial ruin by using the power of the law, but she still felt very seen by his lyrics. Because right now, that was Reeva. Despite the best efforts of Mr. Khan's lawyers, she'd won, won, won.

"I'm so proud of you," cried Lakshmi, bursting into Reeva's office and wrapping her arms around her. "I can't believe you did it! I mean, I can. Because it's you. But you know what I mean."

Reeva squeezed her best friend tightly. "I know. And it felt amazing."

"We need to celebrate," said Lakshmi. She opened the bottom drawer of Reeva's desk and pulled out their chocolate stash. "Which are the most expensive ones?"

Reeva pointed to the Rococo pack. "They're from Felicity Howard-Jones."

"The double-barreled ones always give the best chocolates." Lakshmi pulled out a couple and passed the pack to Reeva. "We need music."

"I've been listening to your playlist on repeat ever since I walked out of the courtroom," said Reeva. "Well, just one song. 'All I Do Is Win.' Don't judge."

"As if I would! I play that every time I have an orgasm."

Reeva laughed. "Of course you do." She selected a white-chocolate truffle and sighed loudly as she slowly devoured it. "I'm just so relieved," she said, her mouth still full as she reached for a dark chocolate praline, "that we managed to get Noor her money. I don't know what she would have done if we hadn't. And the poor kids. They didn't deserve any of this. Their dad is so selfish."

Lakshmi smiled kindly. "Are you doing that thing again?"

"What thing?"

"The one where you overempathize with the kids whose lives are ruined by their parents." She paused. "So, all the kids."

"I'm not overempathizing! I care about them a normal level."

"And you're not projecting your childhood onto them? Selfish, wealthy parent? Neglected kids?"

"Stop therapizing me," protested Reeva. "I'm meant to be celebrating."

"Sorry, sorry. But it's true. And it's probably why you're so good at your job. Unlike the rest of us, you seriously care, Reevs."

"I can't tell if that's a good thing or not." Reeva caught sight of a short figure striding toward them through the glass door and winced. "Oh god; don't look now, but Lee's coming."

Lakshmi grabbed the open box of chocolates and shoved them into a drawer. "What? He always takes the best ones."

"Girls." Lee stood at the door with his arms spread out. "I knew you could do it, Reeva. Well done."

"Thanks, Lee." Reeva smiled politely at her boss.

Lakshmi rolled her eyes. "You mean 'women,' not 'girls.'"

"What are you going to do, sue me?" He ignored Lakshmi's expression that suggested she was going to do exactly that. "What about you, anyway? How's the duke?"

"As entitled as ever," said Lakshmi. "But don't worry; I'm getting him everything he wants. The prenup I drafted protects his inherited assets. His ex's claim will be confined to her reasonable needs. In other words-she's not getting the estate."

"Good." Lee nodded. "Keep up the good work and you'll have a real chance at partnership."

"A real chance? We both know it's mine. Who else wins as many cases as I do?"

"Reeva," said Lee, jerking his head toward her. "I don't know why you're not going up for partnership too. You could have fought it out between you."

She shrugged. "I just want to focus on the cases I care about. Being partner takes me further away from the stuff I love."

"All right, Pollyanna," he said. "There's champagne-well, prosecco-downstairs. May as well celebrate your win."

"Nice move," said Lakshmi, nodding approvingly. "I hope you've ordered enough for when I get made partner."

Lee scoffed and muttered something to himself about "women" and "the death of me" as he walked out of the office.

"That man," said Lakshmi. "I swear, if he makes Maria partner over me, I'll fucking kill him."

"As if he'd dare."

Lakshmi hesitated. "You know, I just, uh . . . I hope you're not not going for the partnership because of me. I'd be fine with it. The competition, I mean. And if you were made partner over me, I'd be genuinely happy for you." She paused. "Well, eventually."

Reeva smiled. "I know. But I promise, it's not about you. I just don't want it. I'd rather go sideways than straight up the career ladder, you know? Build up a rep on the cases I want, and then maybe go out on my own one day."

"Which you would be incredible at, though you know you'd also have to take on the cases you don't like. Where you rep the bad guys. And don't just palm them off onto me."

"Hey, I've represented my fair share of dickheads."

Lakshmi sighed. "True that. Well, at least our resident dickhead got us some prosecco. Coming?"

"I'll meet you there," said Reeva. "I just want to finish up the paperwork."

"Only you celebrate a win by doing paperwork. Remind me why we're friends again?"

"Because I celebrate a win by doing paperwork. See you down there!"


When Lakshmi had gone, Reeva pulled down the blinds of her office door and rushed over to the mirror. The paperwork was a lie; she needed to see if things had gotten worse. Lakshmi knew everything-what was the point of a best friend who didn’t?-but Reeva couldn’t bear the pity that appeared in her eyes whenever they spoke about it. She needed to do this alone.

She took a deep breath and looked straight at the woman in front of her, in her ecru silk blouse, wide-legged charcoal trousers, and pointed heels. Her wavy hair, dyed in various shades of browns, was cut above her shoulders, gently framing her slightly too-angular face. It was, as reflections went, a pretty good one. But Reeva was too focused on her task to notice.

Slowly, she used her little finger to push a large chunk of her hair over from the left to the right side of her head. It revealed a perfectly round bald patch. Reeva felt the sickening lurch in her stomach that hit her every time she looked at her bare scalp (at least twenty times a day) in the hope that it had shrunk. But it hadn't. Instead, it was now so large that with the LED office lights shining straight onto it, it looked like a round lightbulb poking out the side of her head. Trying not to cry-or think about the fact that she now resembled a human lamp-Reeva reached for her ruler.

Just then her phone rang with a FaceTime call. Reeva looked down at the screen and frowned. Her mum. The last time they'd spoken, she'd forced Reeva to sit through a guided video tour of her villa on a private island in the Seychelles "right where George proposed to Amal!" It had lasted thirty-seven minutes. Reeva's finger hovered over the reject button. She had too much going on in her life to deal with her mum right now. But at the last second, her finger slid over to "Accept." She sighed in resignation; no matter how much she tried, Reeva was incapable of taking her younger sisters' lead and rejecting their mother's calls.

She quickly pushed her hair back to cover the patch as she held up the phone in front of her. The last thing she needed was for her mum to notice that she was going bald.

"Darling?" Her mum's perfectly made-up face slowly appeared, pixel by pixel, on her phone screen. "Can you hear me?"

Reeva nodded. "Yep. Is everything okay?"

There was a dramatic silence before Saraswati replied with a pregnant monosyllable: "No."

Reeva waited expectantly for the ensuing monologue on the latest crisis-last time, a Bollywood actor had dared to (accurately) suggest that Saraswati was in her sixties-but the sound cut out and the screen froze. She sighed, placing the phone down on a shelf so she could see her mum, but her mum couldn't see her. Then she picked up the ruler. It was time.

"Reeva, where are you?" The pixels slowly rearranged themselves back into her mum's familiar Botoxed face.

"I'm here, Mum," she called out, looking at the ruler with trepidation. "Shall we just talk later? I'm quite busy and your connection isn't great."

"Oh, the bloody Taj," muttered her mum. "I don't know why they can't fix their Wi-Fi." As Saraswati began ranting about the five-star hotel's poor facilities, Reeva focused on her task. She quickly flicked her hair back and reached up to measure the diameter of the patch. She gasped out loud-6.5 centimeters. It was growing.

"I know," said Saraswati. "It's shocking. Anyway, I suppose I should tell you why I'm calling."

Reeva rummaged around her bag for her makeup. She had a date that evening-her twentieth with Nick, not that she was counting-and she wanted to look perfect. "Please do."

"Okay . . . The thing is . . ."

Reeva pulled out her mascara and began applying it onto her lashes, her jaw falling slack as she focused on her task.

"Darling . . . your dad's dead."

"Uh-huh, and?" Reeva's mouth was still open as she put on her mascara, so her voice came out lisping. "Ith there a reathon you're bringing up thomething that happened when I wath five?"

"Don't talk like that, darling," said Saraswati. "You sound like you've had a stroke. And of course there's a reason. It's just . . . well . . ."

Reeva put away the mascara and pulled out a fuchsia lipstick that perfectly matched her shoes.

"I suppose I'd better just say it."

Reeva was only half listening. Her mum probably wanted to talk about her latest realization in therapy, one that would doubtless focus on her own struggles and avoid the phrase "I'm sorry." Reeva wished this new therapist wouldn't encourage her mum to share all her supposed breakthroughs with her daughters. It was fine when you were being paid more than £100 an hour to hear them, but not when you were forced to listen for free.

"You see . . . Your dad didn't actually die back then. He was alive. And he has been-all this time. Until today."

Reeva's hand slipped and smudged fuchsia lipstick across her cheek. "I'm sorry. What?" She grabbed the phone and stared into her mum's shifting face.

"It was a heart attack in the middle of the night yesterday. All very sudden." Her mum looked down at her nails (dark red Shellac-her trademark) and began fiddling with her ridiculously large diamond ring. "I'm sorry to not be able to tell you in person, Reeva. But this latest movie, it's just taking up so much of my time."

Reeva wiped the lipstick off her cheek and stared at her reflection in the mirror and then looked back down at her mum. "I'm sorry; are you kidding? Are you trying to tell me that Dad's been alive all this time?! Until last night?"

Her mum nodded guiltily. Reeva scanned her face for some kind of explanation, but none came. "So why did you tell us he was dead?! Mum-you need to explain! What's going on?!"

Saraswati coughed awkwardly. "I know it's a lot to take in. It's a real shock he died so young. Only sixty-four." A series of muffled shouts erupted on Saraswati's end, and her face brightened momentarily. "Darling, I'm so sorry, I have to go in a minute. That's the producer calling me. We're getting a flight up to the Himalayas today-I have no idea why these directors are so obsessed with getting the mountains into every song sequence. I think the Wi-Fi will be even worse there. Honestly, these hotels-"

"Mum!" Reeva cried out, forgetting her own therapist's advice to avoid raising her voice when dealing with members of her family. "What about Dad?"

Saraswati started twirling her diamond around her ring finger again. She held her hand up to the light and gave it an admiring glance before turning her attention back to the phone screen. "Look, it's all very complicated. I don't want to explain it on the phone. My lawyers will give you and your sisters a call later to talk you through the details. Your dad used the same lawyers, which makes it all less complicated. That's one thing he did right, I'll give him that."

"What details?" demanded Reeva. "Why do I need to speak to lawyers?"

"Well, it's just . . . your dad's last wishes were for you and your sisters to be at his funeral and perform the Hindu prayers for him," explained Saraswati. "Seeing as he couldn't spend time with you in life and all, he thought he'd do it in death. I suppose it's quite poetic, really. I get you when I'm alive; he gets you when he's dead. Perhaps more families should do things this way."