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

by Zee Monodee

  Her mother snickered. “It’s their only daughter getting married, and frankly, they always thought she’d end up an old maid. Poor girl, never really been proposed to in all her life. Even her family background couldn’t bring her a good match until now.”

  Diya grimaced. Some of her aversion for the established society ways crept back in. Such back-stabbing gossip had been the reason why she’d steered clear of the cultural set-up her mother had always tried to pull them into.

  “For God’s sake, Mum, don’t be so mean.”

  “No, really, Diya. She was just wilting away in her mother’s house.”

  “Oh, Mother! Reena was in primary school with me. She can’t be older than twenty-five.”

  “Really? She looks like she’s a decade older than you.”

  “Everyone looks like they’re a decade older than me. I look like I stopped growing when I reached sixteen.”

  She rolled her eyes. She’d promised to have a civilized chat with her mother, so be it. She’d ignore the urge to run that prickled her skin like a rash.

  “Anyway, who’s she marrying?”

  Her mother sighed heavily at the other end. “She’s got her hands on a very good prospect. Well, former prospect now. His name is Krish Karan. Old family, and his father is in politics. Have you heard of him?”

  Had she indeed.

  “No,” she lied.

  “Oh, well, some people are really lucky,” her mother said with another dramatic sigh.

  High time to go. She’d had enough gossip to take her through the next six months. And this news had somewhat floored her.

  “You’re gonna be late, Mum. I have to go, too. Take care, okay? And give Daddy my love. Bye.”

  “Bye, darling,” her mother said in a puzzled tone.

  She’d obviously been ready to jump into another gossip session. What a relief to have escaped that.

  Diya placed the phone on the desk and let her head drop on her forearms. Taking deep breaths, she digested all the information her mother had supplied.

  “Ayo, what the hell are you doing here on a Friday night?”

  The outburst made her jerk upright, and she stared at her best friend who stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

  However, Ange took one peek at her and reached her side in two seconds flat.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look … grey.”

  “I’ve just been on the phone with my mother.”

  “Ouch. What did she say this time? Convinced you to stop living this life of sin and head back home?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. Most of her conversations with her mother did revolve around such kinds of topic.

  “No. I just heard some startling news.”

  “What?”

  “Krish Karan is getting married.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! When? And who to?”

  “Reena Saigal. A girl who looks like a clone of a horse, if I may say so without insulting any horse. The wedding is tomorrow, but the traditional hoop-la with all its ritualistic ceremonies already started a few days ago and won’t end until next week.”

  “But you ditched him, what? Yesterday?”

  Diya nodded. “Three months ago.”

  She’d first met Trent right after that break-up. Had it been only eleven weeks since she’d known him?

  “Wow. He must’ve been eager to get married,” Ange said. “You think she might be …?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Krish wasn’t really, uh, eager, in that area. I even wondered if he wasn’t really hiding in the closet.”

  Truth be told, she’d allowed her relationship with Krish to go on for so long because he’d never pressured her to sleep with him.

  They both giggled.

  “He must’ve been coaxed into this. His father had big plans for his political future,” Diya said.

  “At least, you escaped that fate.”

  She’d escaped that fate, all right, as well as any other marriage prospect she’d had. First Gareth, then Trent.

  “What’s the matter?” Ange asked in a subdued tone.

  She shrugged. “Nothing. I’m not destined to get married, I guess.”

  Her friend reached for her hand. “You shouldn’t say this.”

  “It’s true, though. Must be bad karma. I ditched everyone I’ve ever gone out with, and when I find the right man, he ditches me.”

  Hot tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back.

  “He didn’t ditch you, Dee. You left.”

  She snapped her head up. How could her best friend be so matter-of-fact about all this?

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “Yours.”

  “Yeah, right.” Her glare must be spewing fire in the other woman’s direction.

  Angélique shook her head. “You’ve got to be one of the biggest idiots to have graced this Earth.”

  Diya almost choked on the anger bursting forth from her insides. “You bloody cow! How dare you?”

  “When will you face it, Diya? You threw away something great just because your mighty pride was piqued.”

  “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did.” Angélique stood. “Dee, you say you love him, but you’re not doing anything to help the situation.”

  She gulped back. Ange was right. Yet, she couldn’t bear to have everything sketched out so plainly. It hurt.

  “Oh, you would know, wouldn’t you? Mrs. Happily Married.”

  “Stop evading the question. When you love someone, you fight for him. You don’t cower away like you’ve been doing.”

  “I’m not a coward!” Diya shot from her chair. “I’m not! You hear me?”

  “Then why can’t you even accept when you’re wrong? That though he did you wrong, you have your share of the blame, too?”

  “I don’t. Everything was his fault. He played a dirty game. Gareth told me about it, and I saw it with my own two eyes.”

  Silence fell over them, heavy and oppressive.

  She couldn’t bear the cold scrutiny, and she turned away.

  “Gareth’s word against Trent’s, c’est ça?”

  A fist slammed into her stomach at the cold words.

  “It’s not like that,” she said in a small voice.

  Her friend cocked an eyebrow.

  Anger finally got the better of her as both of them stood with unwavering stands.

  How dare her friend accuse her, when she herself seemed to have so much to hide? Oh, no, she hadn’t forgotten Ange’s little disappearing acts in the previous weeks, and how she’d be unreachable for long blocks of time while sometimes, her husband called to inquire about her whereabouts.

  Diya steeled her spine and laced some of the rigidness into her tone. “That’s a mighty lecture, coming from someone who’s cheating on the man she professes to love.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing Angélique’s features pale, her tanned skin a mockery of a healthy glow on her smooth features.

  “What?”

  A tremor wavered in Ange’s tone. Uh-oh, she’d gone too far.

  Guilt and shame flooded her, making her skin burn and her mouth go dry. “Ange, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  Angélique stepped back, and she braced a hand onto the desk’s surface to steady herself when her knees bumped against the furniture’s edge. Her head bent, her shoulders started shaking before Diya heard the sobs that racked her body.

  Reaching her side, Diya encircled her shoulders and drew her into a hug. Pain stabbed her every time Ange trembled in her arms.

  “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was so angry. I’m sorry.” She repeated the apology over and over.

  When Ange finally stopped crying, she drew away and sat clenching her hands in her lap. Desperation and guilt rode a restless feeling along every part of Diya’s body at the forlorn sight.

  “You want me to get you something? Some tea?”

  Angélique shook her head.


  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I must sound like the lousiest of friends right now, but if I can help ...”

  Ange sniffed. “I’m not having an affair, Dee. It’s Patrice I meet all the time.”

  Stunned, she blinked a few times. “Why would you hide to meet your own husband?”

  Ange shrugged. “For the thrill of it, I guess. It’s the only way we found to make it work.”

  Make it work?

  Ange glanced up at her. “Our marriage, Dee. Our relationship was going nowhere except towards a divorce. We figured bringing some of the excitement of escaping and meeting for fun and pleasure would cement us together. Well, better that than having a baby and then finding we still couldn’t make it work.”

  “But ...” She paused. “What about when Patrice called looking for you, and you weren’t around? How could you be with him, back then?”

  “Dee, where’s the shocker if I tell him I’m coming to surprise him? That’s the whole point. To make it spontaneous, unpredictable. Like a legal affair.”

  To Diya, it didn’t really make sense, but as long as her friend seemed to know what she was doing, who was she to question it?

  “Is it working, though?”

  “I think so. It’s kinda like being back to Square One, you know what I mean? We have to do everything all over again. It takes work, to keep a marriage going.”

  “Well, it kinda sounds far-fetched, but if it works for you, it can only be good, innit?”

  Both women sat in subdued silence.

  Angélique reached for her hand and clasped it in a firm grip.

  “Dee, when you love someone, you do everything to make it work. You’d do well to remember this.”

  A lump settled in her throat, and she gulped it back while forcing a small smile on her lips. She squeezed Ange’s hand back, and her friend smiled, too.

  “I gotta go now. I promised Patrice I’d meet him at Blue Star Resort tonight.”

  Diya nodded.

  Once alone, she thought back on Ange’s words. What she’d said made sense, but Diya didn’t feel strong enough to test the shifting sands of her broken relationship with Trent at that precise moment.

  As she paced the office, the restless feeling returned, and she fidgeted with unease. She had too much nervous energy inside her and needed to let it out.

  Previously, whenever she’d felt that way, she’d taken a trip down to the clubs and partied the night away. In the early hours of morning, too tired to care, she wouldn’t feel the restlessness and could fall into bed and sleep until the afternoon.

  Maybe that’s what she needed.

  Making a stop at her flat, she changed into a halter-top and a miniskirt and fished around for her black designer sandals that laced up to the calf. They’d make a stunning statement with her skirt, but she gave up when she couldn’t find them anywhere. Had she misplaced them when she’d cleaned the house?

  Reluctantly stepping into a pair of black high heels that had nothing but a sole and two thin straps to keep the foot in place, she strolled out and drove to the club in the centre of Flic en Flac.

  After parking her truck in the lot, she stepped out and started towards the entrance. However, something gnawed at the back of her mind, and try as she might, she couldn’t shake the disturbing notion away. The feeling told her to take a good look around her, and see what really lay out there.

  When she reckoned it’d be easier to give in, Diya stopped and glanced around.

  Pretty girls were dressed in skimpy nothings, accompanied by loud boys too confident for their own good. Some already appeared completely drunk.

  She imagined herself among that crowd, where lecherous hands and minds would try all they could to ‘dance’ with her.

  She’d be nothing but fuel for their libido, and they’d nag when she’d say she didn’t drink and that she didn’t put out just because she’d come here to actually dance.

  The realisation staggered her, and she fought the bile rising up in her mouth. How could she have thought she belonged in that kind of world?

  In a daze, she walked back to her Ranger and climbed in.

  Diya had to take deep breaths to calm the nausea fighting its way up from her stomach. She grew cold and clammy, blasting the air conditioning on full to cycle the stale air in the vehicle when her head started spinning.

  She no longer belonged to that world, especially after she’d had a taste of family life.

  Trent. Damn him to Hell!

  The ringing of her cell phone cut through the soundproof interior, and she frowned at the ID. Not a number she knew. She answered with a puzzled hello.

  “Diya? It’s Matthew.”

  Stunned by his hushed tone, she gripped the phone harder. “Is everything all right, darling?”

  “It’s dark, and Dad’s gone out. I’m scared. Please come.”

  Trent had left them alone? She couldn’t believe it.

  “Matt, where’s your daddy? What’s wrong?”

  A strange buzzing sound came on the line, before it went dead.

  She threw the phone onto the other seat and started the car before she even realised what she was doing, the only thing on her mind that little boy’s voice. How could their father have left them alone? Had the power also gone out? It shouldn’t have. The power grid she’d had installed was built to withstand any surges.

  And Josh was afraid of the dark. Goodness gracious, she had to get there as soon as possible.

  She steered the truck down the roads towards Tamarin and dropped the speed only when she entered the lane to La Porte du Paradis.

  Strong emotion, almost like a homecoming pleasure, flooded her at the sight of the imposing mansion. But the chill descending down her spine when she took in the dark windows overran the feeling. Yes, a power cut. Shoot.

  Braking hard in front of the house, she cut the engine and stepped out without closing the door, to then take the stone steps two by two. She only paused long enough before the massive front door to close her fist to bang on it.

  The wood panel gave in and slowly swung open when she hit it, and, with caution, she stepped in. The hall lay pitch black, the only glow being the reflection of the silver moonlight on the gleaming parquet.

  “Josh? Matt?”

  The flaps of the ballroom doorway were closed, so she headed to her right and towards the glassed-in dining room. As she stepped onto the marble floor, she heard a small voice coming from the kitchen to her left.

  “Diya, over here.”

  Navigating between the sturdy furniture, guided by the moonlight filtering through the windowpanes, she hastened towards the kitchen that stood two rooms behind the dining room along the wing.

  As she crossed the threshold, bright light erupted and bounced along the walls, blinding her. Stunned, she closed her eyes and brought her arm up to shield her face.

  What the …?

  When she opened them again, she found an empty kitchen, the children nowhere around. Her attention however caught upon something in the middle of the glass-topped table.

  An earthen diya rested there. In its concave shell lay a small white envelope with her name written on it.

  What is this all about?

  She peeked over her shoulder to see if someone stood behind her having a joke at her expense.

  The call from Matthew replayed itself in her mind. How strange it had sounded. And then, the light had flooded the room when she’d reached the door. Something weird was going on, and adrenaline shot in her blood. Curiosity got the better of her.

  Stepping over to the table, she picked up the envelope and opened it.

  A gasp escaped her when she saw Trent’s scribbled handwriting, and she had to take in a deep breath while she read the words he’d penned down.

  “Cinderella made a difference in the kitchen, and I found you in mine when I woke up after being sick. I never thanked you for that.”

  She f
rowned. What was he playing at? And Trent quoting Cinderella, in a love note? Had he fallen and hit his head or something?

  Flipping the card around, she found a small note at the bottom. In the ballroom, it read.

  A hint? For a treasure hunt, maybe? Weirder and weirder.

  Exiting the kitchen to walk to the back of the house, she went left and entered the ballroom from its back entrance. The soft glow of the candle-shaped wall lamps lit the big room with a diffused radiance. She let her gaze roam over the large expanse of wood, to come rest on another earthen diya in the middle of the lustrous floor.

  Her breath hitched in as she got down and picked the envelope.

  “The day I saw you dancing, I thought you resembled a nimble sprite, the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. I’m sorry I never told you so before.”

  Her heart clutched at what seemed to be a heartfelt message. She flipped the card over, and found another hint. The main bedroom.

  A dagger of pain ripped through her when she recalled the last time she’d been to that spot. But she fought the heaviness in her legs and forced them to take her to the edge of the main suite.

  On the threshold of the opened door, she found the familiar diya and its envelope. Fighting the tears, she opened it and removed the card. Tears blurred her vision when she read this note.

  “The twelve rings of midnight sounded here for us. I’m sorry I let this happen. I never wanted to hurt you. All I did, I did to protect you, so you wouldn’t have to lug the ball and chain of my past at your delicate ankles.”

  Diya gasped as the breath left her. Never in her life had someone said something so strong and so beautiful to her, and the pleasure seared through her with the same intensity as an agony.

  Turning the card over, she found another hint. Steps.

  She ran back to the front veranda and paused when she found the tell-tale diya on the first landing of the stone steps.

  That lamp had been placed there in the time she’d been inside the house. The children had to be in on this. A small laugh nearly escaped her, but it logged in her throat when something next to the lamp caught her eye.

  One of the sandals she’d been looking for.

  So, that’s where she’d forgotten them, at Trent’s house. But what would a shoe be doing on the front steps?