PEYTON leaned over the pillow, trying to curl around Raji, his wife—his love and his life—and his child.
When he had seen that terrible article in the magazine, every cell in his body had been desperate to get to Raji, to protect her from the reporters and Xan’s counter-spin, even if she might reject him again.
Seeing Raji and their child had multiplied his protective instinct a thousandfold. A simmering rage waited just outside his soul, ready to unleash on anyone who threatened them. The energy vibrated within him.
Reverend Yaa and the chorus filed out of the delivery room, everyone wiping their eyes and congratulating them.
Peyton nodded and smiled as they left, but he couldn’t look away from his wife and their child.
Mine.
Some fracas was happening in the hallway, chattering and shoving.
Peyton shifted, ready to leap up and defend his wife and their child—he couldn’t get enough of saying that in his head—but he didn’t want to leave them.
Raji felt so right in his arms. The baby looked so perfect in hers.
He was the mountain that lifted them up and protected them from everything below.
“Ra-ji!” a woman’s voice said, and then there was a torrent of words in a language he didn’t know.
He glanced over.
Oh, Raji’s mother had arrived. Her cape fluttered behind her as she stalked into the room.
A slim, tall, blond woman followed, wearing a white doctor’s coat over her navy blue suit. Everything about her signaled that she was a professional, upper-class woman, from the expensive, shiny high heels she wore with her tailored designer suit to her carefully bleached hair.
Peyton remembered her from the hospital’s masquerade. She had been wearing a designer dress there, too.
This was Beth Dansk of the New Jersey Dansks, the traitor who had sold Raji’s secrets to Fame This Week.
He could spot the signs of a bottle blonde—the darker roots, the shredded ends, the strategically placed highlights and lowlights. Killer Valentine’s stylist, Boris, had rotated Xan through dozens of shades of blond over the years, not to mention that many other members of the band did their hair in some way, from Tryp’s ice-blue tips to Cadell’s subtle chocolate streaks. Georgie had so many processes and extensions that Peyton never knew what she was going to look like from one concert to the next. Boris had finally gotten a girl-child to work with and was still having far too much fun.
Raji’s mother unleashed a torrent of some other language at Raji.
From the bed, Raji replied to her mother and then said, “Hello, Beth.”
Peyton stood up.
Beth straightened, staring him right in the eyes. “Hello, Peyton.”
Raji’s mother strode over to the bed, her hands flailing and haranguing Raji about something.
Peyton’s shoulders raised like he was swelling with righteous anger and ready to do battle.
Raji, even as tired as she was, waved him off and talked to her mother, but she switched to English. “I texted you as soon as I could. Evidently, Beth brought you here as quickly as possible. I’m sorry you were cheated out of the birth of your first grandchild, but seriously.”
Raji’s pleading glance up at him sealed the deal.
Peyton guided Raji’s astonished mother backward and stepped between them. “Thank you for coming. Raji needs to rest now. Please wait in the seating area outside for a few more minutes.”
Beth stepped up and tried to get in Peyton’s face. Even though she was tall for a woman and wearing heels, she was still half a foot shorter than he was. She said, “Hey, Raji didn’t say that. You don’t speak for her. Her mother has a right to see her and the baby.”
Peyton crowded Beth backward, looming over her and blocking her with his broad shoulders and chest. “Raji needs rest and quiet, and we both need to become acquainted with our child.”
Beth said, “I’m a doctor in this hospital!”
He reached out his hand, herding Raji’s mother toward the door, too. “Raji needs some time to rest before receiving visitors. Please wait in the seating area until we call you.”
“What you are doing!” Raji’s mother demanded.
Beth said, “You can’t treat us like this! What would people say?”
He straightened until he towered over Beth once more and glared down at her. “People had better not say a damned word about us, ever again. We know that you sold us out to the magazine. We know that you betrayed Raji’s trust. You hurt my band, me, and Raji. Personally, I don’t ever want to see you again. Raji can make her own decisions, but I swear to God, I will not let you hurt my wife ever again.”
“Your wife?” Beth exclaimed.
“I’m here for her, and I will protect her from you and people like you for the rest of our lives. You need to leave this hospital room right now. Raji will call you if she wants to see you.”
Beth swelled up in a huff. “Asshole.” She stalked off.
Raji’s mother looked between Peyton and Raji. She asked Peyton, “You will be there for her?”
“Always,” he said.
“You not leave her?”
“Never,” Peyton growled.
“You protect her, right?”
“I will.”
“Good.” Raji’s mom leaned around Peyton. “Raji, you don’t have any food in your refrigerator. I will go to the Indian store on the way back and pick up onions and pickle, and I will have lots of food ready for you when you come home. I will make pakoras and samosas and bhel puri chaat to help you recover your strength. I make some masala dosai for Peyton-Cabot, too. Boys love dosai.”
She stalked off down the hall.
Raji was smiling tiredly when Peyton came back and wrapped his arms around her and the baby again. “She likes you.”
“How do you know?” he asked, settling his arms and staring at their little girl. Her tiny mouth worked, and her chin bobbled.
“She’s cooking for you,” Raji said. “It’s an Indian mother thing. When Indian mothers are mad at you, they withhold their cooking. When they like you, they cook special things for you.”
“And that works?” he asked.
“Oh, you haven’t tasted my mother’s cooking yet. Once you taste her masala dosa, you’ll be wrapped around her little finger. Her masala dosa should be a Schedule One Controlled Substance. It’s as addictive as heroin. The next exposé article will have pics of you lying in a corner, bloated, with coconut chutney running down your chin.”