If You Let Me Go: A Sweet Romance (First Love Billionaire Romance novel)

by Sonia Rao

  If You Let Me Go

  A First Love Billionaire Romance

  Sonia Rao

  Also by Sonia Rao

  The Magician

  Book 1 of The Tarot Trilogy

  Copyright© Sonia Rao 2021

  Self-published in 2021

  All right reserved

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author-publisher.

  Sonia Rao asserts the moral right to be identified as the author & publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Dear Tejinder & Jasmeet

  A toast to your happily-after-ever

  About IF YOU LET ME GO

  Shivalika is a brilliant interior designer who has her life planned out. She does not believe in love at all and is only focused on her career.

  But when VK— “the most eligible bachelor in the country”—enters her company as the new boss, sparks fly and she finds all her beliefs getting shattered, one by one.

  Shivalika nurses a secret that has destroyed her faith in true love.

  Will she overcome this secret to find her happily-ever-after or will the pain of it destroy every chance of finding true love and healing with VK?

  If You Let Me Go is a standalone sweet romance novel in the First Love Billionaire Romance series.

  Table of Contents

  If You Let Me Go

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  “Miss Shivalika Kelkar, will you marry me?”

  Shivalika looked up from the menu she was reading and gave Nate a half-smile. This was the eleventh time he was proposing to her in the last fifteen months. And why was he taking her full name?

  “Nice joke, Nate, but I’ve already told you umpteen times that I have no interest at all in getting married. I am a true-blue career woman and my only focus is my work at La Piazza.”

  “But I love you,” he said, plaintively, holding out the red rose he had picked up from the vase on the table.

  Shivalika gave a small laugh. “I don’t believe in love at all,” she said.

  She wished he wouldn’t go on proposing. He was a good boss, easy to work with and maintained a carefree atmosphere at work. But why did he not believe her when she said she was not interested. She had stopped believing in love and marriage many years ago since that day—

  “I fell in love with you the first time I saw you,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “That scene is still imprinted on my mind. I had just joined as Project Manager and met all the staff except you.”

  “Yes, I remember, I was on leave at that time,” she said.

  “Mr. Naidu had been praising you to the skies, you know, about your talent, your loyalty and attitude, so I was really waiting to meet you.”

  Mr. Naidu was the owner of La Piazza, an interior design company that both Shivalika and Nate worked for. Shivalika was a gold medallist from one of the top interior design institutes in the country but even so Nate had taken Mr. Naidu’s recommendation of Shivalika with a pinch of salt and had decided to ask her to leave if she didn’t fit the bill.

  “The day you came into the office, your hand outstretched to shake mine, your light brown eyes as warm as honey, your smile that lit up your whole face...it was love at first sight,” he continued. That day, he had taken one look at her and knew there was no way in hell he was ever going to ask her to leave.

  “As a matter of fact, I had to physically shut my mouth so I wouldn’t blurt out: “I love you,” he now confessed to Shivalika.

  Shivalika had no memory at all of that supposedly special moment. She wondered if she could interrupt him and at least order the soup. If she didn’t eat something soon, her stomach would take revenge with loud growling sounds. She wished she was at home, relaxing in her PJs and eating dinner.

  Shivalika wondered if Nate had deliberately manoeuvred the events of the day so they would end up at dinner together.

  All day, they had been working on the interior design plans for the Karjat guesthouse which had to be sent to the client the next day. Shivalika had already completed and submitted her part of the work long ago but even so, Nate had made her wait. They had not finished even by 8pm, so the unspoken rule of the office came into play. Working after office hours meant dinner was provided by the office. They either called for take-away or then stepped out for a bite.

  Nate knew she loved observing the decor of restaurants and so he’d suggested they eat at Mainland Chinese. It had just opened a week ago and was right across the street from their office.

  But now instead of choosing what to eat or even drinking in the decor she was looking at him with unconcealed boredom.

  “I’m sorry, Shivalika. I’m going to blame the stress of work for this rush of emotions and confessions,” he said, hurriedly, becoming aware of her lack of interest. He didn’t want to push her too far and lose her. She was too precious both personally and professionally.

  Shivalika visibly relaxed. No doubt Nate was boring but she would put up with his antics for the sake of her career. She was poised for promotion to Head Designer and quite excited about the opportunities opening up to her. Sometime in the future, she planned to set up her own interior design studio.

  She directed a sweet smile at Nate, which succeeded in knocking out his breath and which she did not realize at all, and said, “I am sorry, Nate, I have decided never to get married and I hope you will accept that. It’s nothing to do with you, personally. It’s just me.”

  But Nate persisted. “That’s very interesting, Shivalika. But how can one live without love? So, let me keep on proposing to you. I am sure one day you will come around and marry me.”

  “I hope you find someone who loves you and wants to get married.” Gently, in her sweet low voice, she tried to reason with him but the more she tried the more his determination grew to make her his bride.

  “Let’s eat,” she said, finally. The waiter who was hovering nearby came immediately to their table.

  “Clear soup for two.” Nate said. Turning to Shivalika he asked, “Chilli paneer and Schezwan noodles?” Then without waiting for her response, he confirmed the order with the waiter. He knew chilli paneer was Shivalika’s favourite dish. “To die for” is how Shivalika had described Mainland Chin
ese’s chilli paneer when they had ordered takeaway a couple of days ago. The waiter left to get their order and Nate regaled her with funny stories about his family as they waited for the food.

  The soup was light and refreshed their palate for the delicate flavours of the main course. After a short discussion about work they got down to the serious task of enjoying the food.

  An hour later, their stomachs full, they both agreed that The Mainland Chinese’s reputation was a well-deserved one, even as Nate gestured to the waiter for the bill.

  Shivalika was still giggling at Nate’s funny stories as they got up to leave. At the exit, as she turned to smile at the doorkeeper, she bumped into a broad wall of concrete. At least that is what the broad chest felt like to her nose as it got scrunched against it. She would have fallen if a pair of strong arms had not held her tight. “Hey,” said a deep, smoky voice that seemed to come from that chest.

  She looked up and her gaze locked with a pair of the greyest eyes she ever saw. “Sorry,” she said, her voice wobbly. She knew she was staring but her attention was drawn to the sardonic twist of his mouth as he looked at Nate and her.

  She absently wondered why a stranger would give them such a look but before she could take another step, the stranger set her on her feet. He then took his lady friend by the hand and strode inside the restaurant with the maitre d’ fawning over him as if he was a celebrity.

  “He gave me a strange look,” she said, later, to Nate.

  “I am sure you are imagining it,” he replied, as he started the car. “As it is you are always confused about something,” he said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Her mouth was set in a tight line. His remark had ticked her off but she did not say anything again as he dropped her home. Her mind was on those grey eyes that seemed to bore into her soul, and on the question of why those arms around her had felt just so right.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tennis classes on the weekend was such a wonderful relief after a hectic working week at La Piazza.

  “Phew!!! That was one mad class today, Gramma,” Shivalika said, as she threw her tennis racquet on the sofa and plonked her lean, five-foot six frame onto the other one where her grandmother, Vashu, sat reading a book. Shivalika’s tennis gear of white shorts and t-shirt had seen a couple of hours of hectic play but still looked quite fresh.

  Her 12-year-old twin brothers, trailing behind her, now ran inside the house, shouting wildly and waving their tennis racquets like wands, pretending to zap each other with curses. They had the rest of the house free for themselves as their parents were spending the weekend at their farm in Pune.

  “What are you reading,” she asked, as she positioned her head in her grandmother’s lap.

  “Re-reading. Here, take a look,” Vashu said, holding up the book for her to see the cover.

  “Everybody Loves A Good Drought,” Shivalika read out aloud. “Wow. Doing research?” she asked.

  Shivalika’s grandmother, a sprightly 65-year-old, was the editor of a magazine for senior citizens. In their youth, both her husband and she had been social activists. When Shivalika was younger, Vashu often told her stories from their past, especially those of the city’s textile mills strike of the 1980s. When Mumbai was still Bombay. They had been a part of the strike as associates of the union leader of that time.

  “No, just getting reminded of plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose: the more things change the more they remain the same. So, how’s your coach?”

  “Still insisting I should take tennis more seriously.” Shivalika picked up the glass of lemonade from the table and took a sip. It was made just the way she loved it. Salty with a tablespoon of honey. She drank it up in one smooth flow.

  Theirs was a small group of newcomers. Her twin brothers, who played much better than her, were in the advanced group. There was one more guy of her age who had given her inviting looks in the beginning and even made a couple of overtures. When she told him firmly that she was not interested, he seemed relieved, almost as if he was glad that he would not need to pursue her.

  The tennis coach was a very sporty, disciplined young man. “Are you sure you never played tennis when you were younger?” he often questioned her. “You are good and with a bit of practice you can be No.1 in the Seniors category. And I will train you, you will see, you will do very well.” She laughed to think that at twenty-six she was already being thought of as senior but even though she found his words sweet she had no intention of ever playing pro which she told him quite clearly.

  Her grandmother had other things on her mind.

  “Why don’t you take him seriously?” she asked.

  “No, I’d rather put all my energies in becoming a top interior designer,” she replied.

  “No, not tennis. Him.”

  “What?” Shivalika sat up with a start. “Are you trying to pair me up with my tennis coach?”

  With a sheepish look on her face, Vashu shook her head. She was perplexed and a bit worried about Shivalika’s love life. Or rather, the absence of it. Shivalika was already twenty-six and had never had a boyfriend.

  Was Shivalika different, she wondered? She had heard a lot of stories of LGBT people and wondered whether she should broach the topic with her.

  “You know, in our time men and women got married to women and men chosen by their parents. Nowadays, you hear so many stories of men marrying men and women, women. What do you think of that?” she said, testing the waters.

  “What is wrong with that? If two people love each other and want to be together, even if they belong to the same gender, why should anyone object?

  Vashu became still. Her worst fears were justified. What she had suspected was true. She felt tears pricking her eyes. She felt so bad.

  What would her husband have said had he been alive? She then knew what she must do. Both of them had always believed in the dignity of people and personal freedom. She would support her granddaughter no matter whatever happened.

  Wiping her tears, she turned resolutely towards Shivalika and said, “Let anyone say whatever they want to, I am with you. Bring your fr...friend home to meet me and I will convince your parents to allow you to...”

  She faltered here, not sure what lovers of the same sex did but she would not go back on her word. She would support Shivalika all the way.

  All the while, Shivalika was observing her grandmother and listening to her words. When she realised what her grandmother was saying, she gave such a scream of laughter that the maid came rushing in from the other room to see if everything was alright.

  “Gramma thinks I’m gay,” she screamed with mirth and like a 5-year-old ran around the room chanting: “Gramma thinks I’m gay, Gramma thinks I’m gay, Gramma thinks I’m gay, Gramma thinks I’m gay.”

  By this time her grandmother had turned beetroot red but she still persisted, saying, “Why, isn’t that the truth?”

  Shivalika had tears in her eyes now, not of laughter, but of love. How much her grandmother must love her to be ready to accept a situation that many people in even supposedly “developed countries” were dead against.

  She hugged her tightly and kissed her over and over again on her cheeks. “There’s no-one in my life and will never be. And just FYI, I’m straight. But I’ve always told you I want to become a well-known name in interior designing. Love, marriage and all those things...I don’t believe in them.” Even as she said these words, a pair of sardonic grey eyes entered her vision, making her heart skip a beat.

  Her grandmother just hugged her back, hoping her granddaughter would find her soulmate-love like she had found hers with Shivalika’s grandfather.

  “Okay, now go and get ready or you will be late for your date with the Naidus,” she said, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  Shivalika’s mood was gloomy ever since her lunch with the Naidus, a month ago.

  Mrs. Naidu had taken a great liking to Shivalika when she had joined La Piazza and insisted Mr. Naidu
invite her to their home. After that first time, she had become a regular visitor. They had always treated her like the daughter they never had. Their only child, a son, was settled with his wife and kids in the US.

  On every festival, and often on weekends too, Mrs. Naidu would cook South Indian food specially for her. Shivalika would always say, licking her fingers, “I don’t know what you put in your food, Mrs. Naidu, but I know one thing that is in abundance in this dish. And that is your love. If I ate this same dish even in the best restaurant in the world, it wouldn’t taste half as good as this.”

  But on her latest visit she had received shattering news. Mrs. Naidu had second stage ovarian cancer.

  The second jolt was that Mr. Naidu had decided to sell off the business and move to the US as their son wanted them with him at this critical period in their life.

  “I’ve found the perfect person to take over. You’ll love working with him, Shivalika,” he’d said, trying to cheer her up but failing to, as she tearfully hugged Mrs. Naidu. She was heart-broken.

  “Why? Why did this have to happen to such a sweet person like Mrs. Naidu?” she asked herself over and over again. “I wish they were not leaving and things would remain as they are.”

  But there was nothing she could do except wonder how big the changes would be.

  With a shake of her head, she brought her attention back to the present. Would today’s Christmas party be the last get-together in the office? Would she, Nate, and the others be asked to continue to work here—?

  “Excellent! Excellent!” Nate said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “The party hall’s looking great,” said Nate, when she gave him a puzzled look. “That’s the pièce de résistance,” he said, pointing to the cute manger scene she’d created with hay, toy figures and pieces of wood. Shivalika smiled as he continued, “You should come with me to Goa for Christmas. I’ll let you do up my entire house. My parents will love you.” Shivalika was dumbstruck at his words but before she could reply, they were surrounded by the rest of the team.