by Livia Ellis
She starts crying. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve seen her angry, happy, sad, enraged, and joyful. But I’ve never seen tears.
I move close to her, I take the cup of hot liquid that could be dumped over my head from her hand, and hug her.
I’m sorry. I really am sorry.
I hold her. We start kissing. We start moving and adjusting. I know where this is going.
I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I go against my instinct and I pull back.
I’m sorry. But I can’t.
Why not?
Because…
Because why?
Because I’m in love with someone and it would hurt her terribly if I were to do this. It doesn’t matter that she’d never find out. It doesn’t matter that she’s in Ibiza. What matters is that it would hurt her. I get it now. I get why monogamy matters.
Who? Russian Barbie?
Yes. I love Russian Barbie. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out when we were together. I really am. But I’ve figured it out now and I’m not going to do the same thing to Russian Barbie that I did to her.
Now is the moment I decide to not be an asshole. But yet I am still an asshole. Unbelievable.
I am sorry. I really do want to go to bed with her. But I just can’t. I can’t cheat anymore.
Get out. Get out now before her fucking head explodes.
I’m going.
Good. And just so I know, we are so not okay.
I know. But I’m not afraid anymore. She and her father can try to break me, but they never will. I’ve realized that.
Get out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Olga
I call Olga on my way to Parvati’s apartment.
She answers after three rings.
What? Am I done being angry with her?
Yes. I’m sorry. I love her. I haven’t been the easiest person to be around. I love her. I’m sorry. I’m going to make it up to her when she’s home.
Keep talking.
She is my sun, my moon, my starlit sky.
This might be working.
Her eyes are sapphires, her hair black silk, her skin pure satin.
She’s sorry she got so crazy.
I haven’t exactly helped the situation. I’ve been distant, moody, basically a shit.
Yes. And so much more. She’s not going to forgive me anytime soon for cutting her out of the television thing. Don’t think she doesn’t get what I’ve done.
We’re not going to be on television.
Grrrrrrrr.
No. When is she coming home?
Four days.
We need to talk about Parvati.
She doesn’t want to talk about Parvati.
I know. But we need to talk about it. We need to talk about what is going to happen after I get married.
If I get married.
We’ll talk about this when she’s home.
Fine. Will I go with her to Saint Petersburg for Easter? We’ll go straight from Margaret’s wedding. She wants to be with her family. It’s the first time she’ll be home for Easter in too long. She wants me to be with her.
Yes. I’ll go with her.
Good.
I love her. I have to go.
Where am I going?
I’m having dinner with Parvati.
What?
Does she want me to lie to her or tell her the truth?
Truth.
I love her. I’ll call her when I’m home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Parvati
Olga being out of town makes my life infinitely easier when it comes to Parvati.
I may have come clean to her on the phone about the fact I’m meeting Parvati this evening and that I will be getting married, but I can tell the news has yet to really sink in. I should have told her the date was set already, but I know enough to wait and not tell her over the phone.
Keeping the details of my engagement to Parvati from her has been nothing short of aneurysm inducing.
Booth Buxton trying to contact me through Olga is not an accident. That he knew she was going to ask me to go to Russian with her for Easter was no guess. It’s a message. He knows all.
I will be marrying Parvati in September and then I will be getting the hell out of town for no less than two or perhaps three years. Maybe five. If I can sort it all in such a way that I can include Olga in the deal, I’m gold.
I’m meeting Parvati at her flat for our “date.” Parvati has a fucking gorgeous flat in Chelsea.
Am I so shallow that I would marry a woman for her flat?
Do I really need to answer that?
Yes. I am that shallow.
But then again I don’t think I am. At least not anymore. For certain I used to be that shallow. But now I wonder. Clearly I’m marrying Parvati for the money and the accompanying accommodations. But would the person I am now make the same choices I did six months or even a year ago? I don’t know.
The doorman knows who I am. (Which is more than I can say for myself. I am ever so funny!) He is on the telephone. He waves at me.
Odd. Not that I’m opposed to friendly, but that seems out of character for the level of sophistication of the tenants.
I give him a nod as I walk past him to the elevator.
I slip between the doors as they shut.
Lord and Lady Tightass with their daughter Lady Ivefuckedmorethanonce are passengers.
We’re all very polite. Lady Ivefuckedmorethanonce gives me a give me a give me a call look.
Then the questions come.
Yes – I will be attending Cousin Margaret’s wedding.
Yes – I’m truly looking forward to going.
Yes – Mum will be there.
Yes – Awful tragedy Dad’s death under the tires of the bus.
Yes – I’m so looking forward to seeing them in Scotland.
Yes – I did get into an accident.
Yes – I do look rather dangerous.
Yes – I walked into a plate glass window.
Yes – I will try to be more careful in the future.
I leave them before they reach their floor. I cannot escape the feeling my star is on the rise again. Perhaps I’ve been in purgatory long enough.
I reach the door. I don’t have a key. I don’t imagine I’ll get a key before we get married. But then again, after marriage I’m moving to Mumbai. She can do whatever the fuck she wants to do. I’m perfectly fine taking my turn being the poor victim in a relationship. It works in my favor when our divorce comes.
I ring the bell.
I nearly jump out of my fucking skin when a man I don’t know pulls open the door with a jerk.
What the fuck do I want?
I… (double check my location – I am where I should be and right on time) I’m Oliver.
Okay – truth be told I didn’t understand half of what was coming out of his mouth. I’m pretty good deciphering what people are saying. But I couldn’t cut through this guy’s East London accent with a buzz saw.
I think – although I will never know for certain – that he had every intention of fucking me up and then fucking me up some more and then fucking me up again. But then again – I will never know for certain.
Parvati is there.
She invites me in. I realize that she and the huge man blocking my entrance were in the middle of a rather heated argument. This must be the previously mentioned fixed boyfriend.
I figure what the hell. The woman is going to be my wife in a few months. The least I can do is get in the middle of a fight between her and the man I can only assume is her boyfriend.
I take a seat on the couch. Chocolate suede. It’s like being hugged by a giant brown bear. I love the couch. I pick up the remote and turn off MTV and turn on cricket. I then turn down the volume. No wonder they have to shout. It’s the only way to be heard over the noise.
There is screaming. There is breaking glass.
I sort of pay at
tention.
I am the cause of this fight.
Lovely.
I don’t really have a horse in this race so I keep quiet.
This is between them.
When it comes down to me telling Olga I’m getting married, I would appreciate Parvati keeping her nose out of it.
What Parvati and I need to do is come to an arrangement about the other people in our lives.
It’s sort of hard not to pay attention.
The boyfriend knew she was getting married.
This is old news.
He objects to the fact that she is getting married to someone other than him period.
She thinks he’s stupid. When is he going to get that if she doesn’t marry me that her parents will cut her off. Does he understand cut off? No money? Is he really that dumb?
They would manage without her parents’ money – this is the heart of his argument. I give him credit. He certainly does seem to care for her. Not that I could imagine her giving up her standard of living to be with any man. This just doesn’t seem like the Parvati I’m getting to know. My Parvati – do I dare call her my Parvati? – likes her money. She’s willing to marry me to keep it.
I’m in a good position. If she calls off the wedding without good reason, then I’m paid a fair amount of money to say we decided to go our own ways and it was all done very tactfully and we will always be friends.
Of course if I fuck it up I’m out in the cold. I’ve read the prenuptial agreement. So have Uncle Albert and Harry. The list of amendments they’re insisting on will hit the cabal of lawyers serving the Singh family in the morning.
I don’t want to intrude, but truth be told we have a dinner reservation and I’m starving. So I intrude.
I’ve heard about all I’m going to listen to. He needs to go. I understand that he doesn’t like this situation – my girlfriend doesn’t like it either – but the ones that need to come to an agreement about how he and my girlfriend are going to slot into this are me and Parvati. Fighting with her about it isn’t going to do anything other than make her upset.
This man. He looks at me. He sizes me up. He fucking cleans the floor with me.
I’m fairly certain he is going to pummel me to death.
The taste of blood in my mouth bites like a copper penny. I think my stomach has been kicked to a paste. Every breath is a sort of torture.
I can’t understand what he’s saying as he continues to kick me.
I think this is how I’m going to die.
Then it stops.
Boom.
Done.
Parvati is screaming off somewhere in a cave.
There are footsteps near my head and the door opening and closing.
Parvati is next to me on the ground.
Her hands are poking at me. This does not help anything.
She asks me idiotic questions.
Can I get up?
Can I please just go home?
Can I not tell anyone about this?
Can I just mind my own business?
I have one question for her.
Can she call an ambulance?
No. No she’s not going to call an ambulance. I need to leave. I’m getting blood everywhere.
Gita.
No – her name is Parvati.
Get my phone from the coffee table and call Gita.
She gets my phone and hands it to me.
I call Gita.
Gita tells me I need to get to a hospital. I’m to call her when I know where I’m going. She’ll meet me there.
I try to call for an ambulance but Parvati takes my phone.
She already told me no ambulance. She can’t have that kind of trouble.
I’m hurt. Prove she has a shred of decency in her body and help me.
Fine. She’ll call a taxi for me. But I need to go out the back entrance. She can’t have me going through the front entrance.
Somehow – someway – she gets me to the street. The taxi refuses to take me. In fact the driver takes off repeating something about not wanting to get involved.
In the end she drives me. Unlike my previous trip to the A&E I’m admitted immediately. No need for the battered man to sit out in the waiting room.
I’m stabilized. That’s what they call it. Stabilized. The nurses take pictures. The doctors make diagnoses.
Gita arrives with Harry. I’ve interrupted their date. I am sorry about this. They are a lovely couple.
Finally someone that cares I’ve had the piss beaten out of me holds my hand.
Parvati stays. Not because she wants to, but because the police have been called and they won’t let her leave. She has to give a statement. She lies.
I don’t lie. I tell the police the truth. Harry gives his name and his card. We will be pursuing this with the full force of the law.
Parvati refuses to give up the name of her boyfriend.
I promise them I’ll get it for them. And yes – Harry is correct – I want to pursue the matter to the fullest extent the law will allow me.
When they leave Parvati turns on me with a vengeance. Do I have any idea how much trouble I’ve gotten her boyfriend in? I should have lied to the police. Told them I was in some kind of accident. Am I stupid or something? What am I thinking?
I’m thinking she’s not worth bruised ribs, the tear through my eyebrow, , the massive contusions covering my abdomen and back, the dislocated shoulder and tooth that is dangerously loose. I want her to go. Far far away. Then go just a little bit more.
Fine with her. Hospitals give her the creeps. We can discuss this after I’m back from that wedding. Until then I need to keep my fucking mouth shut about her boyfriend. Tell the police I hit my head or something and I don’t remember anything.
I don’t think she understands. I never want to see her again. I don’t want to marry her. Not now not ever.
It’s not her fault I got beaten up. I should have known better than to mess with her boyfriend. Next time…
No! No next time. Never again. I’m not going to marry her. I’m not. She’s not worth it.
I have to marry her. I have to. Everything is being arranged. If I don’t marry her then her parents might find out about this. The main reason she has to marry me is because they hate her boyfriend.
She can count on the fact they will find out about this. She can also bet that I will be asking for compensation for the days I’m going to miss from work.
She can’t believe me.
Believe it. In fact, I might just sue her ass for refusing to call an ambulance.
Harry clears his throat. Does he understand correctly that she refused to call an ambulance?
Of course she refused to call an ambulance. I was bleeding all over the place as it was. Why would she call an ambulance?
Harry has this one – because I had been seriously beaten and needed emergency medical care? She was witness to the assault? Was she not?
Yes. She was there. She saw the whole thing. She can’t imagine what I was thinking getting in Andre’s face. I sort of got what I deserved.
So she was aware how injured I must have been after witnessing such a brutal assault?
Of course she was. She was there. Andre was brilliant. I went down like a sack of rice.
But yet she refused to call an ambulance.
She called for a taxi. What more did I want? I’ve caused enough problems as is. If they put her boyfriend in jail because I’m such an idiot she will make me suffer.
Gita tells her to leave. Gita – tiny little Gita – gets nasty with Parvati. No one gets nasty with Parvati. She doesn’t know how to manage.
Harry tells her to leave and that he and Uncle Albert will be in contact with her family’s attorneys in the morning regarding nullifying the betrothal contract. She might be the daughter of a billionaire, but she is unworthy of being an Adair. (Go Harry!).
Realization contorts the contours of her face. No. No no no. I can’t do that. I agreed to marry her. We have a deal.
The wedding is being planned.
Harry tells her that under the terms of the agreement I have the right to cancel it. That she has a boyfriend is enough. Getting beaten up by her boyfriend is damning. That she refused to call an ambulance is just criminal.
Fine. Maybe we can make a deal. She can make up for it a little. Am I still going to that wedding? She’ll go to the wedding with me. That’s what I wanted right? I did ask her. She’s changed her mind. She’ll go with me to the wedding. She supposes she could do that. Just don’t let her parents find out about this. I really don’t understand. They really want her to marry me.
I was just being polite. I was relieved when she refused. I could care less about her and what her parents want. I have limits. I will not put myself in that kind of danger for anyone especially her.
She’ll break up with her boyfriend.
They belong together. In fact they deserve each other. Somebody please make her go.
Finally security removes Parvati.
Harry has to leave simply because medical things make him a bit ill, but Gita stays with me while my shoulder is set, my elbow is sewn back together, and I’m placed into a room where I will remain until it is absolutely certain I can be released back into the world.
There is some debate between the three of us. Then we agree we will tell mum nothing. She doesn’t need to know what’s happened.
Harry calls Uncle Albert who arrives while I’m waiting for the drugs to kick in.
Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket. He taps the screen. Playback of Parvati quite righteously declaring that she refused to call an ambulance repeats.
Harry that sly dog. I had no idea he was so sneaky.
Uncle Albert is incensed. This we cannot have. This is unacceptable. The Singh family will be hearing from him. He takes pictures of me. Lots of pictures. We will be suing for gross indifference if nothing else. He wholeheartedly agrees mum does not need to know about this. It is decided that I will be removed from the city to the country.
After the drugs have taken effect, I call the Matchmaker and tell her everything.
She already knew about the boyfriend. But this is different matter entirely. This is criminal.