by Zee Monodee
Stopping next to the shoe, she picked it up and opened the envelope. However, this card was blank. Flipping it over, she found the word gazebo.
Her heart beat a rapid throb against her ribcage as she walked down the remaining stairs and along the gravel lane surrounding the mansion. Stepping around a clump of trees and thick bushes at the side of the house, she lost her breath when the wood and wrought iron gazebo came into view.
The pale light of the moon bathed it in an eerie glow, and small diyas burnt on the inside of the structure.
The gravel crunched under her feet, but all she heard was the thump of her blood pounding along her temples. As if in a foggy haze, she found herself walking up the three steps to the concrete floor.
There, she stopped, noticing the one unlit lamp in the middle of the circular expanse. This one held a matchbox. She picked it and wondered what awaited her inside.
As she slowly slid it open, her heart picked up an increasing tempo when she peered at the box.
Lying against the midnight backdrop of a piece of black velvet, a beautiful diamond ring flashed its dazzling, rainbow-like shards of light. It was composed of five interwoven lines, each sporting small diamonds across its width, three bigger stones joining the white gold setting together.
Diya gasped. This had to be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and, without a doubt, the gem came from Harry Winston. She’d seen many of the designer’s creations, and this one bore his signature sparkle.
But she’d always seen those marvels in the glossy pages of magazines. The reality proved way more stunning and awe-inspiring.
Awareness tickled her, making her stiffen her back as the hairs on her nape rose. Seconds later, heavy, masculine footfalls echoed on the steps.
Trent.
He stopped about a foot from her, but her body tuned in, too acutely aware of his presence, as if his naked skin were touching hers. All her senses picked up, to swirl with alertness. The tingle of expectation grazed her skin, making her erupt in goose bumps. With her ears, she made out the sound of his heavy breathing. The musky and spicy scent of his aftershave tickled her nostrils, and, in her mouth, she could almost taste the salty warmth of his skin.
Only her eyes were still denied of their share, and she had to turn around to see him, to drink in the sight of his virile body, of his handsome face.
She did all of that, and yearned to do more.
How beautiful he is. Strong, manly. Hers … at one point.
Had she really been such a fool, to let go of this man whom she loved and craved with all she had?
She darted another glance at the ring in the box and then trained her gaze back up his strong frame, to rest on his eyes, those deep, liquid pools of grey, which blazed with fire when he was alone with her.
She needed him. But did he need her?
Somehow, she wouldn’t be able to bear anything but his love where this man was concerned.
He’d taken the first step, though, with all those admissions he’d skilfully put across to her.
The time had come to ask the difficult questions.
So, Diya took a deep breath.
“Are you asking me to come back?”
He closed the gap between them with one single step. Peering into her eyes, he brought a hand up and gently tilted her chin.
“What will it take to convince you?” he asked.
“I … dun … dunno,” she stammered, overwhelmed by surprise and the desire to fling herself in his arms, to beg him to take her again.
He stepped away from her and down the steps. Every cell inside her wanted to scream for him to stay, but her vocal chords had been cut off with the pent-up emotion in her. She could only lift a hand to his departing back.
However, she frowned when he bent by the side of the gazebo and rummaged in the rose bush next to the steps.
“Will this do?” he asked as he came back and retrieved her other shoe from behind his back.
What the hell?
A peal of laughter broke from her throat. He’d really gone for the whole Cinderella thing. Who’d have thought?
“Is this supposed to convince me?” she asked with a smile.
He lowered his gaze and clenched his jaw. Her elation died. Had she pushed too far once again?
When he faced her once more, her heart stopped beating, for the intensity in his irises rendered his eyes too dark.
“No. The children need their mother.” He paused. “And I need the woman who lights my world.”
Something akin to a vise-like grip clutched at her heart, and the emotion welling up inside her diffused to every part of her body, making her warm and limp.
“You really mean it?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
The joy inside her overcame her, and a tear rolled down her cheek. A thought rattled in her mind, and it spewed forth from her mouth before she could think it out.
“A treasure hunt?”
Surprise lit Trent’s eyes, and a frown touched his wide forehead, before he grinned.
“Matt’s idea. He said I was an idiot for letting you go, and I had to leave it to their competent hands.”
He had trusted his sons to get her back. She clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle her astonishment. Who’d have thought? What he’d done tonight had to be the sweetest, most beautiful, and most heartfelt thing anyone had ever done for her.
He’d sure come a long way from the surly man she’d met a few months ago. To know he’d agreed to such a mad scheme only strengthened into her heart how much he wanted her.
Her mind went solemn. Only one thing she still needed to hear.
“Do you need me, Trent?”
“Yes,” he replied without any hesitation. “You are my diya, the lamp that lights my world. Without you, there’s only darkness. Will you marry me?”
She darted another glance to the ring she still held in her hands, and then, she peered up into his serious face. The same face she wanted to see first thing in the morning when she opened her eyes, for the rest of her life. Could he make all her wishes come true?
“Yes, I will.”
The smile he gave her settled all her doubts. When he took the ring and placed it on her left ring finger, all the suspended fragments of her life assembled into place.
“Welcome home,” Trent said into her ear after he pulled her into his arms and crushed her to his chest.
Diya’s grin of contentment got lost in his kiss.
Epilogue
The two-piece wedding dress could pass for a work of art.
Diya stared in awe at her reflection in the full-length mirror in the main suite at La Porte du Paradis. The cream-coloured, strapless bodice had been woven in delicate French lace studded with gleaming pearls and crystals, and the long, satin skirt flared gently around her legs into an explosion of crushed satin and organza that made up the train at the side.
“Dee, you look like those dolls Mum used to buy for us in the South of France,” her sister, Neha, said on a giggle.
Diya laughed, too. Occupied by her two sisters—Neha having come from South Africa with her children—her mother, and Angélique, the bedroom resembled a throwback to Regency times, with its beautifully dressed occupants.
Bright sunlight filtered through the gauzy drapes at the opened French windows to fill the room with a soft glow.
“It’s nearly time now, darling,” her mother said.
She winced at the veil and headpiece in the woman’s hands. She hadn’t wanted a veil. But everyone, from her sisters to the designer, had told her not wearing one represented a no-no, especially for a first wedding. She’d always maintained women used to wear veils in times past so they wouldn’t see the unfortunate frog they’d been tied to until it was too late, the veil being lifted only after the vows had been pronounced.
So, she’d had to give in and, with a heavy heart, allowed them to place the beautiful, crystal-studded comb in her swept-up hair.
“Ahem.”
> The sound came from the doorway, and they all peered towards her father, dressed in the custom-made light grey suit all the men wore, standing there.
“Come on in, Dad,” Lara said.
He stepped into the room, to stop a few inches from Diya, where he studied her for a long moment.
“You’re beautiful,” he said in a somewhat unusually gruff voice.
She beamed under the undisguised love and affection in the tone. Tears of joy stung her eyes, and she blinked.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Neha said as she swept in on her, lifted the veil, and dabbed a tissue delicately under her eyes. “Keep the emotion for your man. I’m sure he’ll be a striking sight to behold.”
They all laughed, and her father gave her his arm. “Shall we?”
She nodded and placed her hand on his sleeve. Together, they stepped onto the veranda and walked down the red carpet that covered the steps and the pathway leading to the gazebo. They paused for a few minutes to give the others time to reach the garden and settle down.
The gazebo came into view, and she gasped. Ange had kept her from seeing the decoration, wanting to surprise her. Well, surprised, she was. The wrought iron of the structure had been wreathed in white tulle and organza, white flowers everywhere around. Chairs, covered in white slipcovers held in place by a wreath of greenery, had been placed on either side of the carpeted path leading to the steps. Roman pillars, about three feet in height, held splendid white bouquets and lined the path, linked by white satin draped softly in between them.
But everything melted away when she saw the man who stood waiting for her up the steps.
Oh, yes, he was a sight to behold, with his dark hair combed back, his handsome, chiselled features clean-shaven, his tall and muscular body outlined by an expertly-cut, dark-grey suit that matched the colour of his eyes.
A hush fell over the guests when she appeared, and she let her gaze roam over them. Their wedding would be a small, intimate affair, but everyone who mattered to her, and whom she cared for, had attended. Trent’s mother had come, and she sat in the front row, next to Diya’s mother. Ange sat with Patrice, and a smile graced Diya’s lips at the tender, affectionate glance the couple exchanged.
And then, Trent turned her way. Their gazes locked, despite the awful thing over her eyes. She chuckled. The designer had really used a very sheer fabric for the veil.
Warmth surged in her heart as she stared at the man she was about to marry. Absolutely no hesitation there, no awkward feeling. Just a certainty that joining herself with him would be for the best, that her step would never falter as long as she had him by her side.
The strings of the Marche nuptiale settled over the hush, and Emilie, her flower girl, opened the way.
Diya took a deep breath and nodded at her father when he closed his hand over hers. With a determined stride, she walked ahead. She paused for a brief second to exchange a wink and a smile with Matthew and Josh, who sat in the front row next to their grandmother. She then went up the steps, under Trent’s appreciative and loving gaze.
Her father placed her hand in his and retreated. All the guests sat down, except for Shankar and Lara, their witnesses, who stood a few feet away.
The civil status officer moved forward and started the ceremony.
The only thing Diya recalled was Trent’s steady presence, and his unwavering smile. Everything happened in a daze, so much that she didn’t even hear or recall hearing anything the officer said. The time came to sign the register, and then, their witnesses were signing, too.
With this formality over, she stood facing Trent.
To think that the handsome man before her was her husband from here on … She lost her breath, her heart swelling with love and pride, the inevitable pricking of tears in her eyes making itself known again.
Suddenly, she caught a scrap of a—loud—whispered conversation between Matthew and Josh.
“Ith the our mummy yet?” Josh asked.
“No, silly. Dad has to kiss her first.”
The officer’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“I now declare you man and wife.”
Diya peered up at her husband as he stepped closer to her. He gave her a warm grin and lifted the veil over her head. He fanned the sheer voile across her shoulders, before he bent forward and tilted his head. His lips touched hers a second later.
She smiled into the kiss.
Who’d said fairy tales didn’t exist? Princes still came for their ladylove, even if they did so in a shiny red car and brought with them a readymade family, to boot.
As she linked her arms around Trent’s neck, her feet lifted from the floor.
Wife, mother, cherished, and finally at home—she’d found the secret to flying without wings.
THE END
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
I never set out to write Diya’s story. My one and only book—my magnum opus—was going to be a modern exploration of Lara Reddy’s reunion with the one that got away after her divorce in Mauritius, and along the way, would be the trials and tribulations of two of her best friends who came from different social and cultural strata of Mauritian society.
But things rarely turn out as you plan them, innit? My book was never going to be another A Suitable Boy, that doorstopper by Vikram Seth (and the book that inspired me to write, to tell the world about ‘my’ world the way Seth wrote about his India). And yes, there was a little someone named Diya Hemant who popped into the book and was pinging around like a rogue pinball demanding that she be given her story! And please, no heavy and dark and all that doldrums for her tale, please!
I need to tell you something about me—I was 19, reeling from a bad breakup (okay, let’s call it what it was: a bad divorce!), and then, I met this quiet and withdrawn man. He was twice my age at this point, literally, and rather jaded and forlorn. You could see life had beaten him down, but he’d gotten up, though he didn’t smile so much. Oh, and he had a three-year-old lad, whom he cared for half the time as he shared custody with his ex-wife.
I married that man 4 months later (yes, that soon! LOL). We’ve been married 16 years this year. That 3-yr-old is now at university, and we added another lad to the mix one year into our marriage.
I was the Diya to my husband’s Trent. While ours wasn’t as extreme a story as theirs, well, I was a lot like Diya when I even wrote this story, the impulsiveness and brashness and buoyancy of youth making me the bubbly girl to the quiet and calming presence of an older man in my life. We had our ‘tiff’ days, just as we had our moments when we knew Fate had brought us together for a reason. Like Diya and Trent.
As such, this is a story that is very close to my heart, because much of it is me and my own marriage and the path I took being a stepmother from such a young age. And you know what? I don’t regret a single minute of it!
I hope reading this book was as much fun for you as it was for me writing it—I literally had to close my eyes and picture my husband and me in the roles of Trent and Diya … and the dialogue would just flow. Like that *grin*.
As always, I would love to hear your feedback (email me anytime at [email protected]), and your ratings & reviews are always welcome and much appreciated (please leave a review on Amazon when you finish. Just 1-2 lines will work! Just say how the book made you feel – no need to go summarize the plot or anything, LOL. Thanks!)
From Mauritius with love,
Zee Monodee
About The Author
From always choosing the storytelling option in English & French classes to sneaking a Mills&Boon romance under the desk at school, Zee went on to make a career out of writing the kind of emotional romances all young girls junk on.
Her Mauritius and Indian-based romances have all the classic makings of Bollywood-type drama: overbearing mothers, matchmaking aunties, ‘proper’ eligible suitors who look like frogs, race & class divides.
Travel to the UK (Surrey & North Yorkshire), and you meet people—young an
d older—struggling to find ‘The One’ amid the drudgery of day-to-day life, never mind if they’re a simple graphic designer working from home, a world-renowned supermodel battling anorexia, or a reluctant heiress on the run.
Take to the Corpus Agency mantle, and become lethal spies & assassins who nevertheless feel the call of love in their dark and shady lives…
Of Indian origin & a 2x breast cancer survivor, Zee lives in paradise (aka Mauritius!) with her long-suffering husband, their smart-mouth teenage son, and their tabby cat who thinks herself a fearsome feline from the nearby African Serengeti plains. When she isn’t in her kitchen rolling out chapattis or baking cakes while singing along to the latest hit from the Top of the Pops chart, she can be found reading or catching up on her numerous TV show addictions. In her day job, she is an editor who helps other authors like her hone their works and craft.
**Read about her life & her books at her website/blog http://www.zeemonodee.com/
**Friend her on Facebook (she loves to make friends & meet new people!) https://www.facebook.com/#!/zee.monodee
**Find her on Twitter, Pinterest, & Instagram: @ZeeMonodee
**Email her at this addy (she loves to talk...prolly too much, even!) [email protected]
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Excerpt from Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss
Blurb:
When ties that held you back become unbound, do you dare take another chance at love?