“Worthy of what?” Royce dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“Worthy of her. I wanted to be her Westley.”

Royce froze, the last piece of brioche half in and half out of his mouth. “I thought your name was Sam, but sure, if you want to be Westley, go for it. I don’t know many brown Westleys but it’s a new world out there.”

“He’s a character in The Princess Bride.” Sam folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “It’s Layla’s favorite film. I watched it three times with Nisha and my mom. Westley storms the castle with his friends, defeats the bad guys, stops the wedding, and rescues Princess Buttercup.”

“I thought you liked horror films, although a movie with a male lead named Westley and a princess named after a flower sounds horrible to me.” He sipped his espresso, long fingers curled around the china cup.

“I’m glad you called. We have to find her.” Sam pulled open the door. “We have to stop the wedding. Let’s go.”

“Do I look like a sidekick?” Royce waved a vague hand over his dove gray suit, pink shirt, and cartoon-graphic tie. “I think you might find what you’re looking for downstairs. They’re planning some kind of party. Maybe you can pick up a few expendable crew members to assist you on your quest. At the very least, they might know where to find her.”

Sam raced down the stairs and pulled open the back door to The Spice Mill. Although the restaurant wasn’t open for business, the air was fragrant with spices, and he could hear the rattle of pots and pans.

“What do you want?” Daisy stood in front of him, blocking his path. Her bright green leggings matched the bow in her Kool-Aid red hair. She had thrown a leather jacket over a high-necked lace dress that looked to be at least one hundred years old.

“It’s vintage.” Daisy smoothed down the full skirt as she followed his gaze.

“I’m looking for Layla.”

“She’s not here. Good-bye.”

“Daisy. Wait.” He took a step forward. “She left me a note. Is she getting married? Is it someone from the list?”

“You’ll have to ask Nasir Uncle.” She gave him an evil smile. “He’s in the kitchen. That means you’ll have to run the gauntlet of aunties, and only if you survive will you get an answer to your question.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he spluttered. “You obviously know. Just tell me.”

“You didn’t earn it.”

Sam tipped his head from side to side, making his neck crack. “Okay. I’ll do it. Point me in the right direction.”

“You need to be loose and relaxed.”

Sam jumped up and down a few times and shook out his hands. “I’m loose.”

“There are four aunties in there plus Jana Auntie. You are a young, handsome, single man, albeit everyone hates you for evicting the family. It’s going to get nasty.”

“I have aunties. I know how they work.” He smoothed the collar of his shirt and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Don’t let them smell your fear. Once that happens . . .”

Sam bent forward and took a deep breath. “I know. I know. They’ll never leave me alone.”

“Never,” Daisy said. “They’ll be showing up at your office with boxes of Indian sweets, bumping into your mother in the grocery store so they can invite you all over for tea, walking up and down in front of your house with their daughters and nieces in tow on a pretend Sunday stroll. You have to be strong.”

“I’m strong,” Sam said.

“You have to be determined. This is for Layla. Don’t agree to look at pictures of nieces or granddaughters or cousins. And don’t tell them where you work or how to contact you. And whatever you do, don’t smile. You’re too handsome for your own good.”

“I can do this.” He wiped his hands on his black dress pants and scowled.

“Max and I will run interference.”

“Wait.” He paused on the threshold. “Why are you helping me?”

Daisy grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”

They walked quickly through the kitchen. A woman in a blue salwar kameez skewered bright orange pieces of chicken to go into the tandoor. An older woman was peeling and slicing a bag of onions. Two cooks in white aprons stirred pots full of spicy potatoes, braised lamb, and chunks of paneer swimming in creamy spinach. At the back of the kitchen, the cook who had glared at him when he had come to talk to Nasir used a giant paddle to stir a vat of what appeared to be goat curry.

Sam breathed in the sweet mixed aroma of cardamom, turmeric, garam masala, and fresh chilies as Daisy led him past the stainless steel counters. It was the smell of his mother’s kitchen last night when they’d had dinner together. The scent of home.

“That smells divine. Are you using fenugreek in the murgh makhani?” Daisy blocked one auntie’s inquisitive stare.

“Better check the oven, Lakshmi Auntie,” she called out. “I think that naan is overcooked. You don’t want three days’ bad luck.”

“I love that color on you, Charu Auntie. So bright!” She spun the woman in the blue salwar suit around to face the door so Sam could slip past.

Too late. Sam sensed a change in atmosphere. The low chatter and laughter died down. Tension thickened the air.

“Daisy! You’ve brought someone to visit.” A woman in a pink sari pushed her way past the cooks toward him. “Who is this?”

“This is Sam, Salena Auntie. He has business with Nasir Uncle.”

“He looks like an engineer.” Salena waved over another auntie. “Pari. Come see. Daisy has brought a boy who looks like an engineer.”

“An engineer!” Pari wiped her hands on her apron and ran over to greet them.

“Actually, I ran a downsizing business,” Sam said. “But now I’m—”

A tall, thin man with a receding hairline joined them. “Who’s an engineer?”

“This boy, Hari Uncle.”

“I’m not really a boy . . .”

“He doesn’t look like an engineer. Now, Nira’s son . . . he looks like an engineer.”

“Actually, I’m a doctor,” Sam said.

Daisy groaned. “I’m not going to be able to help you now.”

“Doctor?” someone shrieked. “He’s a doctor!”

Daisy tugged on Sam’s arm, but it was too late. The aunties rolled toward them like a tidal wave, spilling out of doors and alcoves, crashing around counters, and thundering across the floor.