How To Love An Ogre (Island Girls: 3 Sisters In Mauritius Book 2)

by Zee Monodee

  As she pressed the button on the armrest with her elbow to lower the window, Diya glanced at the dashboard clock and gasped. Ten to three. Had she really completed the forty-five minute drive in half the time? And in the middle of Saturday afternoon rush hour, when everyone seemed to scramble out of their homes to hit the northern beaches?

  Lara would strangle her if she knew.

  She frowned. Like she was stupid enough to tell her stiff and by-the-book elder sister. And her anger had been all because of that oaf. If he hadn’t been so high and mighty as he got out of his pitiful excuse for a car, she wouldn’t have been stuck losing so much time in the aftermath of an accident. The fury was entirely justified.

  Still, such anger didn’t validate playing Road Runner on the overwhelmingly congested streets of Mauritius. Damn idiot. She unclenched her white-knuckled fingers from the steering wheel, and a stab of pain jolted her hand. Of all the times to have a cramp.

  She needed calcium. Or magnesium. Potassium. Whatever mineral soothed cramps. Chocolate had it all; the darker, the better. She needed a Lindt slab, and she needed it like yesterday.

  Might need to get in the house first.

  She reached out of the open window to punch in the gate-opening code.

  Her fingers stopped at least one foot short of the keypad.

  “Great.” Just what she needed. Not!

  She scrambled to her knees and leaned nearly all of her small body through the opening to log in the code. Had she not had a foot wrapped around the gear stick, she would’ve fallen out of the car.

  Why is everything in the world designed for giants? Nothing allowed small people any convenience.

  She huffed once back into the car. In front of her, the wide doors opened, and she wasted no time speeding into the property.

  Braking with a heavy lunge on the pedal in front of the sprawling, Mexican-style villa, she shot a glance at the open-plan garage at one far end of the house. Lara’s dark blue Mercedes coupé was in.

  Not bothering to use the front door, because—face it—only guests used the front door and she was family, she walked around to the bougainvillea-shaded patio and stepped into the living room through the open sliding glass doors.

  Finding Therese, the housekeeper, with her back to the doorway while she dusted the furniture, Diya squelched a smile. On tiptoe, she approached the rail-thin woman and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Bon dié o!” Therese exclaimed in Creole as she jumped.

  Diya grinned. “Bonzour, Therese. Ou bien?”

  “Mamzel Diya,” the woman exclaimed. “I am fine, but not when you pull such tricks. When will you stop trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “You think I’m gonna leave all this pleasure to my nephews?”

  Therese waved the duster in her hands. “You’ll never change.” Her tone softened. “Your sister will be so pleased. It’s been so long since we last had you here.”

  Diya wanted to grimace. If Therese had noticed the unusual nature of her visit, how long would it take Lara to piece it together?

  Time to find out. She dragged her feet out of the living room and into the main corridor.

  The sight of her elegant elder sister greeted her when she reached the kitchen. Lara sat on a stool at the centre island, a vision of corporate competence and feminine class in her sleeveless trouser suit. Diya peered down at her own denim dress. Though her outfit had nothing shabby about it, her get-up could never compete with Lara’s ensemble.

  She could never compete with Lara, full stop.

  Shrugging off the maudlin thought, she took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Lara. You’re looking great, as usual.”

  She sidestepped the island in a wide berth on the way to the fridge. With this heat, the chocolate would be in the refrigerator, not the cupboards, despite air conditioning in every room. Better be safe than sorry with bounty like chocolate.

  She stifled a giggle when she caught sight of her sister’s frown over the top of the open fridge door. Oh, how she loved to ruffle her up. Lara hated being ignored, especially in her own house.

  “Might I know what you’re doing?”

  Diya rummaged through the brightly lit shelves. No Lindt slab. Shoot. Was her sister eating them up by the pound? She pulled the bottle of chocolate-flavoured milk out before closing the door with her hip. Reaching the island, she grabbed a stool and settled on it.

  Lara still hadn’t added a word, but her raised eyebrows betrayed her cool mask of indifference. With a nod of her beautiful, dark head where not one strand lay out of place, she indicated towards the cordless phone lying on the light-grey granite surface. “Neha just called. Says you’ve fallen off the face of the Earth. Again.”

  Neha, the middle sister in their family. She had recently left for Cape Town with her three children, after her husband had been posted there in his job for a worldwide textile conglomerate.

  If anyone listened to her sisters, they’d imagine she didn’t care at all about her family. So far from the truth, though. She loved them to bits.

  “I’ve been busy. Sorry.”

  “It’s not to me you should be saying these words.”

  Diya heard the soft note veiled in the harshness.

  “I’ll call her this weekend. Promise.”

  Popping the milk bottle open, she tilted her head back and was about to guzzle some down when Lara snatched the container from her hands.

  “Dee, how many times have I told you? Drink from a glass.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “And what else? Dress like a lady? Behave like a good Indian girl? Find a proper boy and get married?”

  “Shut up, will you?”

  She hung her head. Goodness gracious, the anger was still getting the better of her. But she couldn’t take her latent irritation out on Lara.

  She walked around the island to Lara’s side and hugged her. “Sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  Her sister hugged her back.

  “It’s okay. No offence taken. I’m used to it by now.” Lara smiled. “What ticked you off this time? Mum on your back again?”

  Diya gave a soft nod as she pulled away. Let Lara believe their overbearing mother was racking up chaos once again in her children’s lives. If she spoke of the oaf, she’d have to mention the accident, and her sister would then morph into a clone of their unnerving parent. Hopefully, Lara wouldn’t think of checking the truck out for bumps and scratches.

  She settled back in her seat and poured herself a glass of milk she then downed in one long gulp.

  “Wow, you sure were thirsty.”

  Diya laughed, flooded with relief. The atmosphere had returned to easy camaraderie. “Can I stay over tonight?”

  Lara cocked an eyebrow. “Sure.”

  The penetrating dark stare never left Diya, though, making her squirm in her seat. Interrogation time; she’d be grilled thoroughly. The air grew heavy, its stillness suffocating ...

  “Ma-a-a-a-man-n-n!”

  “Oh, hell no.” Lara gasped as she shot from her seat and headed down the corridor towards the room at the far end of the house. Diya followed, though at a more leisurely pace.

  “Thomas is killing Barbie!”

  The hysterical call came from the playroom. Lara marched through the room and settled herself between the two children fighting over a Barbie doll on the rug. Diya stood behind in the doorway and moved to let a short young woman rush in.

  “Sorry, Madame Lara. I went to check on Thomas, but he’d already gotten here in the meantime.” The woman sounded out of breath.

  “It’s okay, Karine,” Lara said as she returned her attention to the children.

  After gently prying the little boy’s chubby hand from the head of the doll, she scooped him into her arms before he could lunge for the toy again. She then placed the Barbie in the hands of the blonde little girl and crouched in front of her. “Emilie, I told you not to play with Barbies in the playroom. You know Thoma
s loves to break them.”

  The child hugged her doll tight, and Lara shook her head. After placing a soft kiss on the girl’s head, she got to her feet and addressed the toddler on her hip. “Thomas, how many times have I told you not to bug your sister?”

  The little boy flashed her a toothy grin, and she sighed before peering up in Diya’s direction.

  “I doubt he understood. Or do you think he’s choosing to ignore me?”

  Diya stifled a chuckle. The mighty and competent Managing Director, Lara Marivaux, faced with a case of insubordinate behaviour. Did Thomas realise what he’d gotten himself into? From the look of things, however, she’d say the boy would escape unscathed.

  “What do you expect? He’s barely two years old.”

  “Emilie wasn’t a problem at this age.”

  “She also didn’t have a sibling to fight with back then.”

  “True,” Lara said as she headed back to the kitchen, where she placed the toddler in his high chair and gave him a sippy cup full of juice. After securing the child, she went to the television and switched it on to Disney Channel. Images of Kim Possible filled the screen, and Thomas shrieked in appreciation.

  “Kim Possible? At his age?” Diya asked.

  “What do you know? A little bloke already. He won’t watch anything that doesn’t have some action sequence.”

  “A far cry from his daddy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lara said, her shoulders sagged in defeat.

  Amusement danced in Diya, lighting her with the lovely warm glow she always experienced when around her eldest sister’s family.

  To think that, six years before, Lara had been allergic to the mere thought of having offspring ...

  Today, her sister couldn’t conceive of a life without her children or her husband.

  A tinge of sadness, and some other equally sobering feeling, invaded Diya’s heart. She longed for a home, too, a place where the people who most mattered to her would wait for her with open arms. Her family might be there for her, but she wanted more. Like her own man and children ...

  Stop it! Yearnings for bliss and contentment weren’t on her agenda, and she had to keep it this way. She first had to make a name for her company in the business world; afterward, she’d go scout for the elusive specimen who would prove to be her ideal man. She did have another full year in her life plan to achieve those aims.

  Her gaze, which had lost focus in the previous seconds while she sorted her priorities, focused again on Lara.

  Warning bells rang in her head.

  “Darling, you do know what you're doing, right?” she asked with a note of caution in her tone.

  “Ummh-hum.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re eating peanut butter by the spoonful, from the jar itself. And there’s an open can of Pepsi next to you.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Doesn’t it ring a bell? Previous cases of this happening?”

  “Oh, that,” Lara said. “You had me scared. It is what you're thinking.”

  She has to be kidding.

  “You’re pregnant? Again?”

  “Ummh-hum.”

  “But you never said anything.”

  Lara dropped the spoon into the jar. “Sweetie, I’m five months pregnant. I told everyone when I passed the three-month stage.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “Dee, have you been around, or in touch, lately? Whenever I call you, I get your goddamn voicemail. Tell me, is this something you can leave on voicemail?”

  Lara does have a point.

  “Papa!” Thomas squealed from his high chair.

  “Salut, petit tigre,” a rich male voice said.

  The two women turned to face the tall, handsome blond man who’d entered the kitchen.

  Eric Marivaux—pure male perfection, a Greek god on legs, with his tall and broad, muscled body, chiselled features, and incredibly blue eyes.

  Some people are really lucky. Not that Diya fancied him, but she wouldn’t mind ending up with such a gorgeous piece of man meat as her husband.

  He bestowed them one of his charming grins as he dropped his doctor’s satchel on the table then swooped down onto the high chair to pick up the gurgling toddler.

  “How’s my big guy doing today?”

  Eric enveloped his wife in a hug and a long kiss, before coming around to kiss his sister-in-law on both cheeks.

  “Diya’s here on a Saturday afternoon? Whose heart got broken today?” he said with a wink in her direction.

  She averted her face to conceal the heat flaming upon her cheeks. Eric read her like an open book at times. Why, ever, had she allowed him to become one of her closest friends?

  “Papa!” Emilie ran into the room and lunged for her father’s legs.

  “Comment va ma princesse?” Eric hugged her back. He held her with his free arm while she climbed onto his hip. Thomas started crying.

  “Tiger, I can hold both of you at the same time.” Eric kissed the toddler, stopping the tears.

  Both children started talking. He laughed and deposited them onto their feet.

  “How about a little time with Daddy in the pool?” The children screamed in delight. “Go tell Karine to get you ready, then.”

  As the two left, he settled his tall frame on a stool next to Lara and winked at Diya. “So, who’s the unlucky bloke who got ditched today?”

  Lara gaped. “So this is why you’re here. No wonder. We don’t see you for three months, and when you do come over, you want to spend the night. I should’ve guessed.”

  Escape. She needed to be anywhere but here. But she had no way out. “Oh, cut it out. It’s not as premeditated as it seems.”

  Two pairs of eyebrows rose.

  “Okay, I ditched Krish today. And since I don’t want to bump into him in Tamarin tonight, I came here.”

  No point telling them about the mothers meeting to discuss wedding plans business. She only suspected that—she didn’t have proof.

  “As usual,” Lara said.

  Diya poked her tongue out at her. “Very funny.”

  “What went wrong this time?” Eric asked.

  “He was ready to pop the question.”

  “Should’ve known,” he muttered. “You sisters have a thing about the proposal business.”

  Lara punched him in the side, and he groaned.

  “What? You fainted with shock when I asked you.” He nodded at Diya. “What did him in?”

  As much as she didn’t want to get into the Krish matter again, she found a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “He ran to Mummy every time.”

  “Ouch,” Eric said, and he and Diya both shared a hoot of laughter.

  She laughed so hard, pain erupted behind her eyes. Weird.

  “Dee, what’s that on your face?” Lara asked. “Oh my God, your nose is bleeding!”

  Diya brought a hand up, the pad of her finger touching the sticky wetness between her nose and upper lip.

  “That injury again?” she said, confused.

  A gasp resounded.

  “What injury are you talking about?” Lara asked in a panicked voice.

  Still dazed, Diya blinked. “From the accident.”

  Oops. She’d spilled the beans.

  Lara’s mouth hung open. “Not again.”

  “Lara, calm down. She seems fine.”

  Eric left his seat and reached for his satchel. He took Diya’s face into his broad palms and tilted her head. With a tissue he pulled from the kitchen counter, he dabbed at the blood on her lip line.

  “Stop squirming, Dee.” He flashed a pen light into her eyes. “I told you the diamond stud you persist to wear would tear your nostril open one day.”

  “Eric, stop it, I’m fine.” She squirmed, trying to escape his grip.

  “Did you hit your head?”

  His serious tone left no room for argument. Was it the voice he used on his patients? Anyhow, it worked, and she nodd
ed.

  “Did your nose bleed before?”

  “A little. A few minutes after I hit my head on the wheel.”

  Lara gasped again. “Dee, you could’ve been hurt. Why didn’t you say anything? To think that with all the accidents you’ve had so far, you’d know the drill.”

  “But it wasn’t my fault this time, I swear,” she said as she tried to peek over Eric’s shoulder in her sister’s direction.

  “For a first,” Lara mumbled.

  “Really, entirely this idiot’s fault. He was tailgating me and hit my car when I braked to save a dog crossing the road!”

  Thinking of the idiot in question brought on a fresh wave of irritation, and she seethed as she clenched her jaw. Like she needed another smear on her insurance record. They were already on the verge of taking away her risk cover.

  “Dee, calm down. Your pulse just picked up,” Eric said.

  Her focus returned on the steady pressure of his fingers on her wrist.

  Eric released her hand before he faced her eye to eye. “When did this happen?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “You weren’t wearing your seat belt, I bet.”

  Bingo. How could she always forget? Pulling on the seat belt should come as normally as adjusting the rear-view mirror, right?

  “You might have a concussion. I’ll have to keep an eye on you. So, for the next twenty-four hours, you're not going anywhere, get it?”

  “But I have to go shopping in the morning. There’s this sale at the waterfront—”

  “No buts, Dee. It’s either here, or I send you to your mother’s.”

  She blanched under the threat. “Anything but that.”

  Eric could send her to Hell, and she’d be less unsettled.

  “Good.” He went back to his seat. “What made your pulse go so wacky, by the way?”

  She scrunched her lips as she contorted her face into a bitter grimace. Right, the man who’d hit her car. She huffed. “The thought of that idiot, what else? Such a rude oaf, you wouldn’t believe.”