Falling in love with an American?

This story is about a modern day Indian princess, Lolita, who falls in love with, Michael Anderson, one of two Americans sent to India to help take out a terrorist group that want Lolita's Family's Throne.

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1. Urgent

Lolita stood inside her private study, piles of paper stacked on top of her large
wooden desk. She paced nervously, her footsteps light and rapid on the marble floor.
Clutching the paper in her hands, she waited for the royal advisor, Ranjeet, to come
running down the halls. Where was he, anyways? It felt like all of India was getting
slower everyday.
Lolita paused—she needed to compose herself. After all, she was a princess, and
princesses should always appear well put together. But this is different, she thought. I’m
a princess in modern-day India, not some old fashioned era with no flat irons and no
TV… Who could possibly live like that?! After centuries of having an actual democracy
in India, political uprising had begun, and a new royal family was chosen. Her father
was the first Raajaa to rule India in more than five hundred years, something that made
Lolita very proud.
Suddenly the door burst open, and there stood a panting Ranjeet, perspiration
dripping down onto his clothes in a most obnoxious way. But Lolita didn’t care. This
was a matter to serious to prolong any further.
“Ranjeet!” She cried in her native language. She shoved him the paper, now
wrinkled, but still legible. Ranjeet’s eyes widened as he read the scribbled Hindi. He
ruffled his hair, streaked with gray, in confusion. Pushing his glasses up to the bridge of
his nose, he turned and looked Lolita straight in the eye, his expression troubled and
angry.
“They want you to what?! Send an American here?! My princess, why have you
not shown this to your father yet?
“Well, I was about to, but I thought I should show you first, because—“
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the halls. Lolita
recognized that sound.
“Shefali.” She and Ranjeet sighed in unison, exchanging knowing looks. What
did her bratty little sister want now?
Shefali was only fifteen, but she sometimes acted as though she was in her mid-
thirties. Other times, she acted more like a toddler. This was definitely one of those
times.
“Father!” she wailed. “My favorite necklace broke! It fell and shattered on the
stupid floor!”
Father was too busy calling in maids to clean up the mess to pay attention.
Shefali threw herself onto her bed and wailed harder. Father noticed, and began to
whisper something in her ear. She ran from the room with a smug grin on her face—
obviously their father had just bribed her with a new sari or something. Lolita rolled her
eyes, but then she remembered—the letter! Ranjeet had been holding it the whole time.
She gave him a quick glance, and he handed the letter to the Raajaa, trying to smooth out
some of the wrinkles in the paper.
Lolita waited for her father’s reply, but there was none, because before he could
utter a word, a glimmering figure appeared in the doorway.
Mother.
A chill crept down Lolita’s spine as the glamorous woman stepped across the
room and pointed a sharp fingernail at the paper in her father’s hands.

“Ajit, we need to talk.” Her words were calm, and she maintained her reserved
position as her nervous husband slowly followed her out the door. After they were both
out of sight, an icy silence hovered over the room—until minutes later, when they heard
rapid footsteps advancing down the hall. It was mother’s maid, Asha.
“Y-y-your mother wishes to speak with you, Lolita,” she panted, her
eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I suggest you hurry, my princess.”
Lolita did as she was told. After all, no one refused an order of Raanee
Aishwarya Manali Deshmukh—not if they knew what was good for them.

                                      *          *          *          *

Back in America, seventeen-year-old Michael Anderson sat on his bed, rubbing
his temples…deep in thought. He sat back, reminiscing about the past year of his life.
So much had changed. Sure, times were tough, but he had never dreamed that the
government was wacky enough to drag him away from his home, his family, and into this
dumb training camp. Had they gone mad?
The crazy thing was that this wasn’t even the army. Basically, it was a secluded
metal building out in the middle of nowhere that “loaned” young men to different groups
that were crucial to the country’s survival—the FBI, CIA—stuff like that. It all seemed
pretty stupid to him. Especially as he remembered the look on his mother’s face the day
he had been taken away. He remembered his father’s pale skin, the tears streaming down
his mother’s cheeks, sweat pouring down his back. Their only child was gone, maybe
even forever.
But that was almost a year ago. Resting his head on a pillow, he stared up at the
ceiling, wondering what grueling exercises he would have to endure tomorrow. Just the
thought made him so tired, he fell fast asleep.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Michael sprung from his bed, running to the bathroom,
where his noisy alarm was waking up every guy in his dorm. Greg, one of his
roommates, walked over and lightheartedly swatted him on the back. “I’m telling you
Anderson, the rest of us are gonna squash that thing pretty soon if you don’t get rid of it
first,” Greg said, half grinning.
Michael ignored him and ran a hand through his silky, dark brown hair.
“What’s the matter Michael, you too busy trying to look good for the ladies—
oops, I forgot, there are no ladies here at this camp for suckers. Man, we seriously
gotta bust out of here, I’m going through withdrawl. I need something besides slop for
breakfast, and my nose is getting tired of smelling all of you guys’ pits.”
“Oh, please, we all know you’re the one that stinks! I bet the Guatemalans
can smell you from here!” Called someone from across the room, causing Michael to
burst into laughter, which only prompted Greg to run over and ruff up Michael’s newly
combed hair.
“Hey, watch it!” Michael called. “You just ruined my chances with that
imaginary lady I keep seeing around camp!”
“You never had any chance!” called Doug, the same guy who had talked before.
Now it was Greg’s turn to laugh.

“See Michael, you’ve already blown any chances you ever had with real woman,
how come you gotta torture the fake ones, too?” Michael knew this wasn’t true. If
anything, he had more chances with girls than Greg and Doug put together. But just for
kicks, he pretended to be wounded.
When Greg saw the astonished look on his face, he came over and patted his
shoulder. “We’re just kidding Anderson, you—“
“Arrrrrrgh!” Michael lunged, cutting off whatever mushy apology Greg had in
mind. He had Greg in a headlock when Doug came and separated them.
“We’re late,” was all he said.

An hour and a half later, Michael, Greg, Doug, and their other roommates were
busy doing pushups in front of a trainer, when the headmaster of the training facility
stepped into the room. I need to see Mr. Michael Anderson, and Mr. Greg Montanna in
my office immediately.
Next thing they knew, Greg and Michael were sitting in comfy recliners
in Headmaster McDrew’s office. They couldn’t help but cast longing looks at the
tantalizing coffee machine that sat on a table across the room. Mr. McDrew ignored their
stares and got right down to business.
“Boys, we have a mission for you.”

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