"Oh." Jiji put the sari she was folding away and stared at the floor, "I was really scared at first, every woman is, but it's a normal part of life."
"But Jiji," Khushi fiddled with her dupatta, "I don't ... I don't understand what happens, exactly."
"Weren't you paying attention in school?"
"No!" Khushi gasped, "Hai Devi Maiyya. What if Amma found out that I went to those classes? No! I skipped them all."
"Khushi," Jiji sighed, "you really are as crazy as Bua-ji says you are."
Khushi watched as her sister tapped out a message on her phone.
"Who are you texting?" she squealed, "Are you telling Arnav-ji?"
"What!? No! Khushi I'm not cruel."
"Then?" she asked sullenly.
"I'm telling Di that I can't come to the temple with her. This is more important."
Khushi's heart thudded in a painfully fast rhythm as she went back to folding clothes. Regret churned in her belly.
"Khushi, stop that and sit next to me."
Her sister took her hand as Khushi moved to sit with her. "Don't worry so much, Khushi. Arnav-ji loves you very much, I'm sure he'll make sure you're comfortable."
Khushi nodded and bit her lip. When she spoke, her voice quivered despite her attempts to steady it.
"Jiji, I don't think I'm ready for children right now."
"Talk to Arnav-ji about it," her sister urged, "Don't hide things from him, Khushi, he's your husband. It's important that you talk to him."
"But ..." Khushi blushed, "what about the kissing? What if ..."
Jiji laughed, but quickly cut it off when Khushi looked up at her.
"Kissing doesn't make babies. It takes a lot more than kissing to make babies. But even then there are things that he can do, and that you can do, to avoid children until you're both ready. Talk to him about it."
Khushi sagged with relief, and then registered the rest of her sister's words.
"What do you mean, 'a lot more'?"
"Payal-ji? Khushi-ji?"
They were interrupted by Di, who had appeared at the door with Hari Prakash-ji in tow. Khushi looked between her sister and sister-in-law.
Did Di hear anything? Will she tell Arnav-ji?
"Oh I'm so glad I found you," Di continued, "We looked everywhere. Khushi-ji, Chhote is asking for you. He's in the study."
"Oh," Khushi looked uncertainly at Jiji, "I'll see what he wants. Thanks Jiji, for everything."
She walked slowly to the study, processing everything Jiji had told her. There was, apparently, a lot more she had to learn. She blushed as she rounded the corridor and glimpsed her husband, hunched over some papers on the couch.
Will he know what I was asking Jiji just by looking at me? Sometimes it feels like he can read my mind.
"Arnav-ji? Is something wrong?" she asked as she sat down.
He glanced at her, distracted by the document he was reading. "What? No, no. I just ... hold on."
Khushi toyed with her dupatta as she waited for him to finish. He signed whatever he was reading with a flourish and turned to her.
"Your passport came," he handed her a white envelope.
She pulled out a small navy blue book with the words REPUBLIC OF INDIA emblazoned in gold across the front.
"Wow, that was quick," she said, opening it to reveal her photo.
"Well ... there are some perks to being a Raizada."
She handed it back to him and watched as he slid it into a folder alongside an identical document.
"Oh, show me yours."
He handed it to her.
"Your photo is horrible!" she crowed in delight, giggling, "You look so stern. They got your name wrong – it should be Mr Laad Governor."
Scowling, he took the passport back.
"They don't let you smile," he argued.
"Uh huh. And did you smile a lot eight years ago?"
"I guess not. I didn't have you around to laugh at."
"Haww," she gasped, "what did you just say?"
He kissed her cheek, "Nothing."
Khushi opened her mouth, intent on winning back some dignity after his teasing, but he distracted her with a form.
"Are you free now? I need you to fill these out."
They spent the next hour filling out forms. He explained what they were for as she wrote out her name, birthdate, and contact details countless times.
"I'm opening two bank accounts for you, one for everyday use and one for saving money. I'll transfer in money every month."
"No!" she protested, "I want to support myself as much as possible, Arnav-ji. I told you before we were married."
He nodded. "I'll support you until you can support yourself, okay? Let me do this, as your husband."
She resisted, but eventually gave in, vowing to find a way to make money of her own as quickly as possible.
He gave her details of another account before presenting her with a credit card, explaining that it was linked to a separate household account that paid for the food, the servants, and the bills.
"Everything for the house comes from this account, Khushi. Don't use the money from your personal accounts for groceries or any of that nonsense. That's your money, for you to spend however you want."
"Arnav-ji?" she began hesitantly, "I helped Bua-ji with ... I helped her pay the re-rent when I was living there."
He looked up, eyes narrowed in confusion, but his expression cleared as he realised what she was asking.
"That money is yours, Khushi, do whatever you want with it. I'll be glad if we're helping them out. I mean it, they're my family too."
Khushi smiled through her tears. Bua-ji had warned her, sternly and repeatedly, not to say anything to him about the rent.
But I'm glad I trusted my instincts. Arnav-ji always understands. Maybe Jiji is right ... maybe I should talk to him about the other things too.
"One last thing, Khushi," he said before she'd worked out how to broach the subject, "you can use the safe in the wardrobe if you want. Here's the code."
Arnav-ji handed her a slip of paper. Khushi stared, mouth agape, stunned by this casual admission of the depth of his trust. And then she launched herself at him, surprising him with a hug that almost ended with both of them tumbling to the floor.
"Careful, Khushi."
"Thank you," she whispered, "for everything. I love you so much."