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

by Zee Monodee

  Suddenly a widow …

  The perfect daughter, wife, mother, homemaker—the path every Indo-Mauritian woman is expected to take. Neha Kiran has followed the rules all her life, but now in her late thirties, she finally acknowledges something doesn’t feel right. Then, one day, her husband dies … and she is free.

  Suddenly into unknown territory …

  Success, fame, alcoholism—former New Zealand boxing champion Logan Warrington has known such highs and lows and managed to put them all behind him. Between past and future, the present exists only to be survived. Coming to work as the co-owner of an Internet TV station in Mauritius shouldn’t have changed a thing … until he meets Neha.

  Suddenly blow in the winds of change …

  Neha and Logan cannot deny the intense attraction sizzling between them. But being together feels like playing a dangerous yet thrilling game of Russian roulette. Emotions, desire, forbidden love, fear—surely, something this wrong cannot be right …

  Still, can a few moments of stolen magic lead to a commitment that will last a lifetime?

  If you enjoy stories of redemption and second chances with grown up characters, Bollywood drama, and an endearing and big and boisterous family, then you will love this tale where the middle sister in the Hemant household finds out that it is okay to finally give in to her heart one cold winter on the tropical island of Mauritius.

  ***

  Chapter One

  Neha Kiran was hiding—she’d admit it to herself. With her three children out of the house, she had a few moments’ peace from the never-ending drama the teens managed to rack up in her life. And without their father here to turn them into manageable offspring rather than Hell’s spawns, she was in over her head dealing with them.

  Her thumb pressed onto the open page of the historical romance novel she was reading, and her gaze lost its focus on the words. Rahul wasn’t here anymore … but it’s not like he’d been that much present in their lives to begin with before he’d been reported missing during a Monsoon flood in Mumbai. He used to travel a lot, work even more, and even she, his wife, had hardly seen him except at bed time.

  When he’d turn away from her and fall asleep.

  The thought hurt, even more than the notion that he was no longer here. The latter, she’d had over two years to get used to. The idea that her marriage had most probably been a sham from Day One? That was still akin to the red-hot blade of betrayal slicing through her heart.

  Because she couldn’t help but ask herself, then, if Rahul had actually loved another woman. Her elder sister, actually … The arranged marriage between their families, who’d been neighbours here in the upper plateau town of Curepipe, in Mauritius, was supposed to have been between Rahul and Lara. Until Lara had agreed to another proposal that had taken her back to London, and then Reema Kiran had fallen on Neha as the backup solution for her son’s bride.

  Blinking, she pulled herself out of that path leading nowhere. It didn’t help that she’d loved Rahul with all she’d had, ever since the day she had spotted him in the next-door garden, he all of sixteen while she’d been on the cusp of turning fourteen. Her family had still been living out of boxes following their move from London, where she and her two other sisters had been born and raised.

  He hadn’t loved her …

  She jumped from the couch and clutched the book in her hand. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel showed her it was close to five p.m. The children would be home soon—she better not let them catch her reading such steamy and frankly, silly, material. She’d always snuck the books in when Rahul had been away—guess that had become second nature to her.

  She plumped the cushions, then went up the stairs to her bedroom, where she stashed the novel at the back of her underwear drawer. Neha then came back downstairs, taking a turn into the kitchen as the kids would surely be starving. Well, not Susanne, her daughter, who wanted to be a model and thus steered clear of anything ‘carbs’. But Kunal, her eldest, would be coming from the gym, and he would be needing fuel. Rishi, the youngest, well, he was a growing boy—these always needed food.

  However, once at the sink, she stopped in her step at the sight greeting her from the window. Two beautiful women were heading towards her house, crossing in from the opening in the hedge separating her property from the one next door.

  A groan escaped her. What were her sisters doing here? Quiet just went out the window. Her two siblings weren’t favourite people on her list when she craved some peace. The two could talk the hind leg off a donkey all while Neha remained there like the odd one out. Mind, she loved her sisters, but she’d never had the easy camaraderie the other two shared.

  Gravel crunched outside, and a knock sounded at the back door. The frosted-glass panel then swung wide open, and the two women walked in.

  “She hasn’t got any pot on the stove, so I won,” Diya, her younger, petite sister, said.

  The devil’s spawn. Diya was every mother’s worst nightmare, a tomboy who’d had no respect and no concern for rules and propriety when she’d been growing up. At twenty-eight, married and a parent to four boys, Diya still inspired fright and tremors in their mother and in both her sisters, as well as the poor soul who’d had the ill-fated luck to fall in love with her and marry her. No one knew what she could be up to at any given time.

  “Doesn’t mean she remembered there’s dinner at Mum’s tonight,” Lara, her older sister, replied.

  “Dinner at Mum’s tonight?” Neha squeaked.

  Sod it, she had completely forgotten how they’d all go eat at her parents’ place on the next public holiday. Today.

  “Aha!” Lara exclaimed. “I won.”

  Neha stood straighter as the two women settled on the tall bar stools at the kitchen counter. Both had dressed in jeans and tailored shirts, but while Diya’s looked like a rabid cat had attacked the fabrics with its claws, Lara’s resembled an outfit straight out of a fashion magazine. With her understated makeup, Lara epitomized the perfect modern woman confident in herself. A far cry from Diya, with her sparkly blue eyeliner, and Neha, with her comfortable skirt and cotton blouse.

  And that’s where it hurt. Diya couldn’t and wouldn’t give a damn, for anything, and Lara effortlessly achieved perfection in everything. The effortlessly bit made Neha cringe. Why couldn’t she, with all the exertion and struggle she put into her life, manage such flawlessness? Lara had a husband—a rich and successful doctor!—as crazy about her today as the first day he’d set eyes on her; she’d always been expected to be acquainted with great career heights, and her position as Managing Director of one of the most successful conference centres in the Indian Ocean wouldn’t contradict this. And the eldest of the Hemant girls had picture-perfect children who also remembered their manners whether with family or strangers alike—

  “Earth to Neha,” Diya said, waving a hand in front of Neha’s eyes.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You’re alone? Where’s the gang?”

  Best she cut her losses. And find out if, or when, the hordes might descend on her place—everyone strove to escape their mother’s vicinity, and she being next-door meant her house was the perfect getaway. Good thing she’d had time to stash the novel away.

  Stepping closer to the island, she drew a stool and sat down.

  “All at Mum’s place. Dad’s over the moon to have all the grandkids, and Mum’s tipsy to have the sons-in-law there to boost her ego and tell her what wonderful girls she brought up.”

  She had to laugh. Lara had summed up their family pretty well.

  “Where are the kids?” Diya asked.

  “Suze and Rishi should be home any minute. Ballet and maths tuition.”

  “And Kunal?”

  “At the gym. Again.”

  However much it pained her that her son was into violent martial arts, she knew it was for the best. They’d been living in Cape Town, South Africa when Rahul had been declared missing. The children had been hit hard by the news, and she hadn’t kno
wn how much in Kunal’s case. When one day, she’d received a call from the police informing her that her son had been involved in a backstreet fight, she’d learnt of the extent of the emotional damage on him. On the sly, he’d started to train into Muay Thai and had busted a local gang member with his ‘skills.’

  Never mind that he’d already had a black belt in karate by then. She’d thought it all harmless fun, a boy channelling his hormones and energy. But that had been a scare, forcing her to get a grip on herself and her family. She’d ditched the guilt plaguing her whenever she recalled how she’d, for one instant, wanted out of her marriage that very morning when the call had come. People always said, “Be careful what you wish for.” She knew it all too well. Within a couple of weeks, she’d packed them up, put the house for sale, and come back to Mauritius, to their family home that had belonged to Rahul’s family for generations.

  After the brush with the law back there, she’d known her son would come looking for some violent practice here, too, whether legally or illegally. She’d thus signed him up for kickboxing and Muay Thai training at a gym run by a former boxer who’d turned to training the next generation of Mauritian athletes. At least with him, Kunal would be in good, responsible hands. She trusted the man after having met him a few times and asked around about his reputation. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her son.

  “Goodness gracious, Neha. I’ve never seen you frown so much. Another few like the ones you’re giving us, and you’re gonna need Botox,” Diya said.

  “Dee.” Lara’s tone held a warning.

  “No, seriously.” Diya turned her intensively mascara-ed eyes onto Neha. “Stop worrying so much about the kids. You gotta let them live a little. And get a life for yourself, too, in the process.”

  Don’t you start. However much she didn’t want to start a verbal argument with the family’s sharpest tongue, she had to put a stop to this. They always got on her case, but backed off when she put her foot down.

  “Dee, they’re teenagers. Of course I’m gonna be worried.”

  “Bull. I’ve got teens at home, too, in case you don’t know.”

  Right—Diya’s two stepsons. Angels, both of them. Not like her lot.

  “Dee does have a point,” Lara said.

  Neha bit her lip to refrain from replying. What would they know about her existence? They weren’t one parent down in their households. Though she’d always manned the family unit alone, knowing that Rahul wasn’t coming back was something else. He hadn’t been declared dead, legally or otherwise, but he’d been actively missing for over two years now.

  And he wasn’t coming back. She knew that. Too much time had passed for him to have been caught in an accident or with a lost cell phone—the scenarios she’d told herself had been most likely upon first hearing the news. She’d clung to them at first, when panic was making her break into asthma attacks every so often. She’d lived with her inhaler almost glued to her hand for weeks.

  “Face it. When was the last time you did something for you? Or for fun? Like go to the spa,” Diya asked.

  “She always says she doesn’t have time, Auntie Dee,” Suzanne said as she breezed into the house and joined her aunts at the counter.

  Inside her, Neha groaned. Just what she needed, Suzanne joining the clan against her. Her daughter had started pestering her about ‘getting a life.’ As much as she was happy her little girl was back to being her obnoxious self after the near-breakdown following the news of Rahul’s disappearance and the Goth and punk-rock stage back then, Suzanne was still too much of a handful under any circumstance.

  “All that beauty stuff is not for me.” Who had time for all that? She had a house to run, thank you, and three hellions to raise. She stood. “Anyone want a cuppa?”

  “Now, who’s playing hooky?” Diya asked. The beautiful young woman who could still pass for a teenager scrunched her delicate features. “Goodness, Neha. That blouse of yours was in style when? Two decades ago? And when did you last tweeze your unibrow?”

  “Don’t bother.” Suzanne rolled her eyes. “What Mum needs is a makeover. Her look is so passé, it’s scary.”

  “What you need is a purpose, like a job,” Lara said.

  “And who’ll take her when she looks like this frumpy desperate housewife?”

  “Dee, shut up, will you?” Lara scolded.

  For once, Neha agreed with her. How could they discuss her as if she weren’t in the room?

  “I don’t want a job, thank you. I’ve got one that satisfies me plenty,” she replied.

  “Dirty laundry and in the kitchen all day with a cleaning spray stuck to your hand. Yeah, right, Mum. You loooove your life.”

  Well, true how, painted this way, her world looked drab, but what if she got her kicks out of doing laundry? The corporate world scared her a little—okay, a lot!—and she’d always known her fortes were being the good wife, mother, and homemaker. She’d been raised to be the perfect Indian household daughter-in-law, and unlike her sisters, she’d never had any problem with that.

  “Communications science and media management. That was your major for the degree you got in South Africa, innit?” Lara asked.

  How did she remember? Neha must’ve mentioned it just once, in passing. But maybe her mother had thought it best to spread the news far and wide as often as she got the chance.

  “But I’m not looking for a job. Now cut it out. Who wants cupcakes?”

  She went over to the cake stand on the opposite counter where she retrieved a tray of frosted vanilla little cakes in their paper cups.

  Diya reached for one. Lara swiped a little butter cream off Diya’s cake.

  “Have one,” she told her sister.

  “No, thanks,” Lara replied.

  Hmm. Lara probably didn’t want to disrupt her faultless figure which, even after three pregnancies, resembled a statuesque model’s.

  Gravel crunched again outside, and a knock resounded. A tall, blond young man with a sobbing toddler in his arms pushed the door open.

  Diya shot out of her seat and reached for the baby. “He woke up?”

  “And started crying for you, Mum,” the lad replied, gently placing the child’s head on Diya’s shoulder.

  The sobs stopped the minute the kid placed his cheek on his mother’s shoulder.

  “Oh, Luke. Mummy’s here,” Diya crooned in his ear, looking like a responsible adult in the blink of an eye.

  “Hey, Matt,” Suzanne called out.

  “Hiya, Suzie.” He walked into the kitchen towards Neha. “And how are you, Auntie?” he asked as he dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Hmm, cupcakes.”

  “Go ahead,” Neha said with a smile.

  Suzanne waited until he’d wolfed down the treat, then she tugged at his arm and pulled him out of the kitchen. “You’ve got to see this. I stumbled on this video today on YouTube…”

  The rest of her words drifted incoherent as they went upstairs to her room.

  “These two make a stunning couple, don’t they?” Lara asked. “And it’s obvious Suze’s got a major crush on him. Matthew is the only one who gets away with calling her Suzie.”

  “But nothing’s gonna happen there,” Neha said in a rush. Her daughter was too young to be thinking about love and men.

  Though Neha herself had had her sights already set on a boy by the time she’d been Suzanne’s age. But she’d been old-fashioned—something her daughter was not. On that front, she was glad of this fact.

  “Matthew’s her cousin by marriage only.” Diya bestowed a tender glance on the baby who had gone back to sleep on her shoulder.

  Neha couldn’t shake the image of Diya with her eldest stepson in her kitchen. At sixteen, Matthew could pass for twenty, a grown man already. He and Diya seemed to be of the same age, in fact. “Don’t people mistake Matthew for the twins’ father?”

  Diya rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Half the time when I’m alone with him and one or both of the babies, people give us these dirty looks, li
ke we’re teenage parents or something. Then, their jaws drop when Matt calls me Mum.”

  They all laughed.

  “Is it my fault if I don’t look my age? Speaking of which—” she stared right at Neha. “—you could seriously lose five to ten years off your face with a better haircut.”

  Oh, no, here we go again. Tenacity was a big, bad trait of Diya’s.

  “Don’t start.”

  “What about the job?” Lara said. “The kids are all into school now, and you’ve got a degree gathering dust in a forgotten drawer. Why not put it to good use?”

  “I did the degree to kill time, and also because the campus was so close to our house. Rahul thought it’d keep me busy since we had household staff in South Africa.”

  “Think about it.” Lara would not let her off the hook. “Neha, sweetie, money doesn’t grow on trees. How long do you think you can keep on like you’ve been living?”

  Her sister did have a point here, and she cringed.

  “I can manage.”

  Lara gave her a brook-no-nonsense glare. “For now. Tell you what. I was on the phone just yesterday with a university friend. He and his business partner have opened a branch of Global Village Media Studios here. You know, the Internet TV and radio station. I kept thinking you’d be perfect for a job there with your qualifications.”

  Neha put her hand up. “Don’t get me wrong, but no. It would seem too much like favouritism if I landed a job there when you’re friends with the owner.”

  Lara chuckled. “You’ll go through the interview process like any other candidate. Swear to God.”

  Suddenly, the idea of a job didn’t appear so dreadful. Finance-wise, she lay nowhere near the red, but for how long could she keep this up? She’d enrolled the kids in private school, which did cost some dough. Their savings wouldn’t run forever …

  “What do you have to lose?” Lara asked.

  Nothing, and she’d gain a purpose. The image of her with a dirty apron and a cleaning spray in her hand, as Suzanne had pointed out earlier, materialized in her mind, and she flinched. That wasn’t her real purpose in life, innit?