Incense and Sensibility

by Sonali Dev

  Why did you do it? she wanted to ask, but it was the bravest thing she’d ever witnessed, and she knew the answer already. “What was that?” she asked instead.

  “That was me being a public servant instead of a politician.”

  She was so damn proud of him. “I love you,” she said simply.

  “I love you.” He kissed her again.

  For a while there were no more words, just his lush lips, his hot taste, his sweet breath.

  “Do you think they’re watching us?” she asked finally, and they both looked up at the window. It was just Chutney, head tilted at an angle. So either they were all hiding behind the curtains or they were exercising amazing restraint.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to get all that worked out before the press conference. My sisters were supposed to ask China to make sure you watched, but of course they had to show up here themselves, and then Ma had to ‘check up’ on them because . . . because that’s going to be our life now. If you choose it.”

  “I choose it.” Her heart had already chosen it years ago. Tears started streaming down India’s face. The man had finally made her cry.

  He kissed her again. “You should also know that Jiggy Mehta had asked Naina out and she’d declined, but she offered to go out with him, so it looked like she did the breaking up.”

  “But you said no.”

  “That’s not how I want to win. Not the election. Not you. She’s not a bad person. She just doesn’t see anything but her goals.”

  “I know someone like that.” India pushed his hair off his face. “What about the election?”

  “What about it? I did my part, now I just have to trust the universe to do the rest.” He wiped her tears.

  “What if you lose?” she asked.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve already won. Because I have you.”

  THE WEEKS BEFORE the election were a whirlwind. As expected, Yash’s poll numbers nosedived after the press conference. Cruz leveraged his advantage like the politician he was. If India had a penny for every time the Cruz campaign used the word “lies” or “liar” she might be able to pay off the debt on the studio. But the Raje campaign kept its focus on the issues and on the courage it had taken for Yash to tell the truth. In the end, Yash’s lead in the polls stabilized at a little under five points.

  Yash was wholly consumed by campaigning, and very little changed in terms of how much India saw him. A lot changed in terms of how much she used her phone. They had decided to take things slow until after the election. But that didn’t mean they had to spend the nights he was in town apart. To no one’s surprise Yash was not good at taking things slow. He was also dismally inept at holding back. Being with him was being with all of him, every bit of who he was, fully exposed, given over. His need for her, his hunger for her pleasure, it was so determined that she had not one defense against it. He unraveled her, dismantled every piece of hubris she’d ever had about knowing her body and all it was capable of feeling. Being with Yash as he discovered his desires was becoming one with her own.

  As Yash had promised, he asked India if she was comfortable going public as his girlfriend. She’d said yes. All that meant was that she had to make one press conference appearance and give a couple of interviews. There were some salacious pieces about the affair that Yash and she were apparently sweeping under the carpet. Rico had assured India that most Americans didn’t know the name of their governor’s significant other, let alone those of their gubernatorial candidates, except in the presence of a scandal. Since the scandal had no basis in truth, their interest would pass soon enough.

  On election day India spent the afternoon knocking on doors with China, who couldn’t stop talking about Brandy as they urged people to get out and vote. As the polls closed, India met Yash in his office. His sleeves were rolled up, his topmost button was unbuttoned, in his eyes was the focus of an athlete in the last seconds of the closest game of his life. She’d brought in a giant bowl of mango chia overnight oats for the staff whom she’d met soon after Yash’s press conference. Every one of them wore the same focus as Yash on their exhausted faces as they tracked results in what was turning out to be a nail-biter.

  The entire family was there too, including Vansh, who was the exact opposite of his brother in every way, except that both brothers were utterly calm in the storm. Something they had obviously inherited from their father. Shree Raje had completely surprised India by texting her daily updates on Yash’s numbers for the past three weeks and acting like she’d been part of all this forever. As soon as India walked into the office, Shree gave her a hug and filled her in on where the returns stood, making Yash roll his eyes even as he couldn’t stop smiling.

  For most of the evening India sat tucked in to Yash’s side and tried not to chew her nails, while he tried to put everyone at ease by teaching them how to dunk donuts into overnight oats.

  At 11:00 P.M., Nisha screamed when NPR projected the winner. Yash had won with fifty-two-point-nine percentage points, one of the closest races in recent history.

  But that wasn’t why Nisha had screamed. At least that wasn’t the only reason.

  At 1:00 A.M., Ram Raje Graff came bawling into the world. Four weeks early, just like his oldest uncle, as his grandmother informed them all.

  At 3:00 A.M., Yash and India stood outside Yash’s condo in San Francisco. In what had to be the nth miracle that day, they were alone.

  “Nisha stole our baby’s name,” Yash said.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” India said, and he smiled, this man who was already naming their children. Then he pressed her into his front door and kissed the breath out of her.

  “Are you ever going to take me inside, or do I have to carry you over the threshold?” she said against his lips.

  “I know you can.”

  “Of course I can.”

  He threw the door open, then leaned over and picked her up. “Maybe next time. This time allow me the romanticism.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into his hold, melting into him. Feeling heady and winded, she picked a kiss from his lips. He pushed into it, gave everything to her, his lips hungry and pliant. All of him laid bare with just that touching of their lips.

  Everything inside her was shaking when he pulled away. His eyes were intoxicated, arousal opening up the centers in dark whorls, his aura so brilliant it blinded her.

  “At this point, Governor Raje, I’d allow you just about anything.”

  He placed her on the bed and fell to his knees in front of her, pulling off his shirt, then his inner shirt, hands sure. The beauty of his body, the confident grace, the complete and utter surrender made her belly do a flip.

  God, how was he so perfect?

  It was the last discernible thought India had for a very, very long time.

  Acknowledgments

  By all definitions 2020 was a challenging year. A year that connected people across the earth over a joint experience equally life-altering for everyone. A year when the importance of political leadership proved just as critical as personal responsibility. I was only able to get through this year with my heart and hope intact because I got to escape into Yash and India’s world where both those things bore meaning. But the words did not always come easily, and I needed the help of more people than I can fit into these Acknowledgments, all of whom I am deeply grateful for.

  First and foremost, my biggest thanks to Manoj, Mihir, and Annika for being the easiest people on earth to be stuck in quarantine with. To have a family you like almost as much as you love them is my greatest gift. And to my parents for being my loudest cheering squad even when all we had was the phone.

  Without the help of my writing sisterhood, I’d still be rolled up in a ball believing that the anxiety of this new world was impossible to write around. Virginia Kantra, Barbara O’Neal, Jamie Beck, Falguni Kothari, Kwana Jackson, Sally Kilpatrick, Liz Talley, Priscilla Oliveras, Tracy Brogan, thank you for holding my hand
every day, and Donna Kauffman whose loss is felt in every one of our conversations and always will be. Between deep-dive critiques, brainstorming, and letting me laugh and cry in your arms, I don’t know how I did this before you. To my entire sisterhood of South Asian romance writers, but especially Alisha Rai, Suleikha Snyder, and Nisha Sharma, thank you for standing in this lonely space with me from the start. And to Kristan Higgins, Christina Lauren, Nalini Singh, Julia Quinn, and Beverly Jenkins thank you for your stories and your unyielding support, but even more for modeling generosity and grace, always.

  To my bestie, Dr. Nishita Kothary, M.D., for letting me pick her brilliant brain for all my admittedly macabre story needs and to my Californian family for their huge—and fortuitously opinionated—love for California. Deep Sathe and Kalpana Thatte the Rajes are the Rajes because of you.

  Any book is only as good as its beta readers. Uzma Jalaluddin, Suzanne Park, Swati Bakre, Nishaad Navkal, and Emily Redington Modak your generous hearts and eagle eyes guided me through making the story in my head come to fruition on the page exactly as I wanted it to.

  As always, none of this would come to anything without the faith and excitement of my editor Tessa Woodward and my agent Alexandra Machinist, your gentle and fierce support means more than you will ever know. And the truly badass team at HarperCollins, especially Pam Jaffee, Kaitie Leary, and Elle Keck who work tirelessly to get my books into the hands of readers.

  Speaking of getting books into the hands of readers, this year more than ever, the selfless work of librarians, booksellers, reviewers, and bloggers was what kept that connection open, and no amount of thanks feels enough. Which brings me to the very reason why I get to do this thing I love to do: You, Dear Readers. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for falling with me into these stories that are pieces of my heart.

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the Author

  * * *

  Meet Sonali Dev

  About the Book

  * * *

  Behind the Book Essay

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  Meet Sonali Dev

  USA Today bestselling author SONALI DEV writes Bollywood-style love stories that explore universal issues. Her novels have been named Best Books of the Year by Library Journal, NPR, the Washington Post, and Kirkus Reviews, and she has won numerous accolades, including the American Library Association’s award for best romance, the RT Reviewer Choice Award for best contemporary romance, and multiple RT Seals of Excellence. Dev has been a RITA finalist and has been listed for the Dublin Literary Award. She lives in Chicagoland with her husband, two visiting adult children, and the world’s most perfect dog.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  About the Book

  Behind the Book Essay

  The most basic requirement for being an author might be being a dreamer. You can’t write books unless you can dream up stories. You can’t survive publishing unless you take your dreams very, very seriously. Whether or not anyone else does.

  Writing a series of books set under a single-story universe that paid homage to my four favorite Jane Austen novels was one of those dreams that I’ve carried inside me for so long that I don’t even remember when the dream took birth. All I know is that it predates my choosing to follow writing as a profession. When I was a young girl growing up in India, Austen’s heroines were some of the first female protagonists I read in books or watched on the screen who had a sense of self-worth despite living in a world where they had no power. Something about her stories reflected what I naturally believed about myself even when the world around me didn’t reinforce those beliefs. And I credit her novels—the four that I read as a young person: Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Sense and Sensibility, and Emma—with teaching me how to process the world.

  Like knowing for a fact that social norms and rules were often ridiculous and based on making life easier for a few. Like knowing that waiting for someone who valued you and whom you valued was always better than settling for what everyone told you was your best path simply because it was the easiest available one. Like knowing that life always gives you more chances when you mess up the ones you have. Like knowing that putting character over coolness when it comes to people you let into your life was perfectly okay.

  Every one of those lessons spoke to my ability to value myself, enough to search for and prioritize what I wanted from life. They helped me put blinders on to block out the messaging around me that said otherwise. As a young mother, when I became obsessed with my own writing, my own dreams, I had a close friend tell me that she was “in awe of my ability to put my dreams before motherhood.” She, on the other hand, had decided that raising her children would come before everything else.

  If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard a mother say that, I’d be able to leave my children trust funds. Had I not mulled over subversive societal messaging and conditioning my entire life (thanks at least in part to Jane), those words would have broken me as they have been historically designed to, even though that was not my friend’s intention. I heard them for what they were, the use of a tool that had given women an inducement if not an excuse to not invest in their own dreams. Not for a moment did I question my belief that motherhood and dreams were not at odds. I was fortunate enough to have learned that self-worth could exist without social reinforcement.

  Being that Jane’s writing had such an influence on me as a person, all my stories were always subconsciously influenced by her books in one way or another. It wasn’t until the Rajes took hold of my imagination almost a decade ago that I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my dream of paying homage to her stories and tying them up in one story universe. At the time I had just signed my first contract, and my first book hadn’t yet been released.

  My now-adult children were middle schoolers then. My life was a twilight zone between pragmatic, suburban domesticity and the big irrepressible dreams looming on the horizon like a promise. I knew almost nothing about the business of writing, but my stories filled me up to exploding. Even though I was determined to never make a choice between motherhood and my dreams, I had made the conscious choice to always make motherhood about my children. Which didn’t mean I had to hide my dreams or my stories from them. Their childhood was closely tangled with my writers’ meetings, revision and rejection hell, and the highs of accolades and sales.

  One evening as I drove my thirteen-year-old son to his math class, I was so filled up with my Raje story ideas that I started telling him about them. “Do you want to help me come up with titles?”

  He shrugged in his bored adolescent way. “Sure.”

  He’s always been terribly clever with words and ideas. As I explained the general plot of each book, titles popped out of him with ease. Most funny, some delightfully inappropriate.

  Then we came to Sense and Sensibility. “She’s a yoga guru . . .” I started.

  Before I could even finish, he shouted out, “Incense and Sensibility!”

  I’ve rarely had a more proud or smug moment in my life. “That’s brilliant,” I told him. And even back then I knew that when I wrote that book, that was a title I’d fight for.

  I never had to. Seven years later my editor’s eyes lit up when I mentioned it. So very many dreams came together at once in that moment, a simple thing like a book title popping into my child’s head bringing together all the pieces that make up my life. All the pieces that have ever made up my dreams. All the validation I’ve ever needed for being a dreamer without compromise, a path Jane herself might have set me on. A path I can only hope reading my work might set another person on.

  Reading Group Guide

  Family is incredibly important to both Yash and India. How do their perceived roles within their families impact how they see themselves and what they’re willing to sacrifice? How do they hold them back?

  Yash and Naina’s relationship of convenience is a familia
r trope that gets flipped on its head in this story. Discuss what you think about Naina’s idea that she is a better match for Yash.

  India’s yoga practice helps keep her centered. But there are times when her self-control does not work out in her favor. How does Yash upending her hard-won equilibrium impact her character?

  While China and India approach their love lives in completely different ways, the two sisters also have quite a bit in common. What are their similarities and differences? Do you identify more with one sister’s philosophy than the other’s?

  The story of Yudishtir and his technically not-a-lie is an important theme throughout the story. Discuss how the characters manipulate the truth. Are there situations when it is called for, or is the truth always best? What do you think each of the characters would say to that? Do you have situations in your own life when you’ve skirted the truth on a technicality?

  If you have read Sonali Dev’s inspiration for this novel, Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, what similarities do you see? And what differences?

  Tara and Mina are both mothers their children take strength and support from. Discuss the way they approach motherhood and how it has impacted their children.

  How do family legacy and history play a role in Yash’s and India’s identities? How does this aspect of their lives impact their choices?

  How do you think birth order plays into each character’s choices? Do you find birth order stereotypes to be accurate in your own family?

  The book explores the role of free will versus forces out of our control (the universe). How do you think this plays into Yash’s control issues and anxiety attacks?