Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)

by Nalini Singh

  Madhuri’s terrible experiences held her back.

  The memory of Anjali Kumar’s bitterness with her squash-playing and unhelpful groom held her back.

  Raj was her boyfriend now.

  Would it be the same if he was her husband? Would he take her on dates full of adventure and make love to her with naked passion? Or would everything change, the weight of expectation and culture forcing her into a mold she would never fit?

  38

  Son of an Owl

  Most of the next three weeks were swallowed up by the manic preparations for Madhuri’s wedding. The most important of which, of course, was Madhuri’s wedding suit. Her sister drove Nayna crazy waiting for the shipment to arrive—and then it did, and Madhuri organized a viewing party. Her, Nayna, their mom, Aji, and two of Madhuri’s friends.

  Anjali was one, Madhuri’s university friend, Jaci, another.

  “Can I bring Ísa along?” Nayna asked her sister.

  “Issie’s welcome anytime!” An ebullient Madhuri wrapped her arms around Nayna and squeezed. “Tell her I expect her to wear a sari to the wedding. I’ll pick one for her!”

  The store had closed to the public at four, opened at five for Madhuri’s viewing party. Once inside, they were treated to chai and coffee as well as sweets and savory snacks hot from the oven. “I think my future brother-in-law must’ve dropped a hell of a lot of money,” Nayna murmured to her best friend.

  Ísa nodded wisely and ate another savory before saying, “How is this going to work anyway? The doc who’s marrying your sister ordered a whole bunch of things. What happens to the rest, the things Madhuri doesn’t want?”

  “Well, she’ll probably pick a few outfits today. The wedding’s over several days—and she might decide to keep something back for an anniversary party next year.” Because her sister would be having a big anniversary party, of that Nayna was certain. “The rest, I’m guessing that Sandesh is going to resell to the store, probably at a loss. Which is why we’re all being treated so well.” She didn’t think her brother-in-law had any intention of going into the clothing business himself. This was all for Madhuri’s benefit.

  Ísa nodded. “I guess it’s not too bad a deal. He gets a happy wife and they get a profit.” She winced. “Oh my God, I just sounded like my mother. Profit and loss, all while I’m about to look at wedding clothes.”

  Nayna patted her friend on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen odd flashes of the Dragon in you through the years, but the fire breathing never takes full hold. Read a few romance novels, throw in a lot of poetry, and you’ll come out whole on the other side.”

  Ísa nodded solemnly at the prescription. The two of them had been swapping novels and poetry books forever. “Did you read that new historical?” Ísa began, but then Madhuri squealed and all heads turned toward her.

  The store owner had personally wheeled out the first rack of garments. Nayna’s eyes widened at the shimmer and sparkle on display. Each and every one a designer outfit worth thousands upon thousands of dollars. Single pieces of art for Madhuri’s delectation.

  Everyone gravitated toward the garments, each of them choosing their favorites for Madhuri to try on. A few pieces, Nayna discarded at once.

  “Maddie would never wear this shade of red,” she said to Ísa. “Says it makes her look like an old tomato.”

  Ísa pointed to a dark pink outfit. “Not traditional red, but I think your sister might like it.”

  Nayna agreed. “I’m pretty sure Madhuri is going for knockout, not so much traditional as unforgettable.” Her sister had already spoken to a hairstylist about having a “wild” hairstyle—by which she meant something that hadn’t already been done but was stunning. Not a flower bun. With Pinky Mehra added in, they’d already been to four weddings this year where the brides had gone for the elegant look popularized by a Bollywood actress.

  Madhuri examined each and every garment with care, cooing over the beadwork or the Swarovski crystals or the expensive fabric before finally deciding which one to try first. Most of the garments the doctor had ordered were skirt-and-tunic combos where the tunic didn’t display too much flesh—if any. Modesty was applauded in brides. However, he—or the shop owner who’d created the order—had also added a number of designer saris.

  “I’ll be back soon!” Chosen outfit in hand, Madhuri disappeared into a changing room.

  Excited to see her sister all dressed up, Nayna sat down in one of the provided chairs, Ísa on her left and her mother next to Ísa. Her grandmother sat beside Shilpa Sharma while Anjali and Jaci were on Nayna’s other side. All of them had champagne in hand—the doctor must’ve spent a lot—and snacks nearby.

  “Anjali, how are your boys?” Nayna’s mother leaned forward to ask. “Is Avinesh looking after them tonight?”

  A curl of Anjali’s lip. “Him?” A snort. “He’s out having a beer with his squash mates. I dropped the boys off at my parents’.” Her smile morphed into intensely real. “Honestly, they are the light of my lives.”

  They all cooed over the adorable photos of her boys the other woman showed around.

  Anjali then dropped into conversation with Jaci while Nayna’s grandmother and mother chatted. Nayna wasn’t attempting to eavesdrop, but with Anjali and Jaci right next to her, she couldn’t avoid overhearing the other woman’s continued thread on her husband.

  Any love Anjali’d once had for Avinesh appeared stone-dead.

  Nayna wouldn’t be surprised if she opened the paper one day to find Anjali had murdered her husband using a frypan and a meat tenderizer.

  “This is going to be a long haul,” she murmured to Ísa, who’d also caught a little of Anjali’s discontent. “Thanks for the company.”

  “Are you kidding? All these gorgeous clothes and the yummy food? I’m so in.” Her best friend lowered her voice. “Did she just say her husband eats her head?”

  “It makes sense in Hindi,” Nayna reassured her while struggling not to laugh—Anjali was now literally translating animal-related Hindi insults into English but replacing harsh swear words with words she clearly found easier to say, with hilarious results.

  “Son of an owl?” Ísa repeated, mystified. “Donkey poop?”

  Nayna’s stomach ached with the force of holding in her laughter.

  It was as well that Madhuri walked out in the first outfit at that moment, or Nayna would’ve lost it. Her sister was ravishing. Everyone gasped and the two store dressers ran forward to arrange the dupatta over her hair, positively astonished by her.

  “You look like a movie star!” one of them said. “Madhuri Dixit.”

  Her friend disagreed. “No, she’s Aishwarya Rai in Jodhaa Akbar. You know, when she had the brown contact lenses.”

  Loving the attention, Madhuri showed off by strutting down the room and back. “What do you think?”

  The consensus was that she had a winner.

  Madhuri laughed. “It’s just the first one!” Then she went back into the changing room, calling out, “Ma! Can you come help me?”

  Their mother got up at once. Nayna didn’t interrupt or offer to assist too. This was important to their mother—she’d missed Madhuri’s first wedding, and it was giving her so much joy to be involved in every aspect of the second.

  Ten minutes later, Madhuri appeared in another astoundingly beautiful outfit. The gasps were louder this time.

  “This one!” Anjali cried. “Lord, Madhuri. You’re going to knock Sandesh’s eyes out.”

  When her sister looked toward Nayna, Nayna got up and took her hands, just shook her head at Madhuri’s loveliness. “You know you’re going to look beautiful in everything,” she said, well aware where this was going. That, however, didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be the little sister who messed with Madhuri. “Maybe narrow down the color range?”

  “Are you kidding?” Madhuri put her fisted hands on her hips. “I’m not narrowing down anything!”

  Five outfits later—all of them stunning, with Madhuri a
vision of beauty in every single one, Ísa picked up a sweet and said, “I see what you mean.” She took a bite of the crumbly white barfi, the taste for which she’d picked up over the years while hanging out with Nayna. “I think I’m going to put on five kilos by the time she’s done.”

  Nayna snorted. “You’re still thinking too small.” Swallowing the last of a peda that appeared to have condensed milk in it, she said, “Ten kilos.”

  Ísa’s shoulders shook, and the two of them shared a laugh before they returned their attention to the next catwalk appearance by Madhuri.

  After trying on every single one of the suits, Madhuri began to try on the saris—and Ísa slipped halfway down her seat as if melting into a puddle. Nayna’s grandmother and Madhuri’s friends all laughed, as did Nayna.

  Poking her head out of the changing room where their mother was putting her into a sari, Madhuri said, “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m trying to slide into another time and dimension where you actually choose a garment before midnight!” Ísa called out.

  “Just you wait until it’s your turn. I’ll be the one calling time,” Madhuri threatened, but the response was lighthearted. Madhuri had been missing for a large chunk of Nayna’s and Ísa’s teenage years. And Ísa was deeply loyal and fiercely on Nayna’s side. As a result, she’d always looked askance at Madhuri. However, because they both loved Nayna, the two had come to an accord that allowed such jokes.

  “Okay.” Nayna’s mother bustled out and took a standing position on the other side of the chairs, her face glowing. “Madhuri, we’re ready!”

  Madhuri stepped out. And the entire room went silent.

  Of a luminous shade of gold with a thick gold-on-gold border, the sari caressed Madhuri like a lover without being the least bit indecent. It shimmered like it was lightning given form despite being heavy with embroidery and glittering crystals.

  The premade blouse that came with it echoed the embroidered border and fit Madhuri nearly perfectly. A little more taking in at the sides and it would be an absolutely perfect fit. It had a scoop neck and a simple back, but the way the sari draped over everything, the exquisite work on it…

  Nayna pressed a hand to her heart, her throat thick. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered.

  Beside Madhuri, their mother was crying. Madhuri’s own eyes shone wetly before she took their mum into her arms. “I can’t believe I’m going to wear a sari to my wedding,” she blubbered out. “God, it’s so traditional.” Despite her attempt to sound disgusted, it came out delighted and slightly shocked.

  But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this was the one. It took Madhuri’s beauty and turned it transcendent. She looked as if she’d stepped out of another time, an Indian princess ready for her prince. Nayna wouldn’t be surprised if her sister’s wedding photos ended up in a magazine somewhere. Especially as Madhuri had—by working her contacts—found an award-winning photographer to record the event.

  When the shop owner finally found his voice again, he tried to steer Madhuri toward the section that sold twenty-two-karat-gold jewelry, but she was having none of it.

  “I’ll be wearing my mother’s, my nani’s, and my aji’s jewelry,” she said with a deep smile aimed at Aji and their mother. Their maternal grandmother, their nani, had passed on, but she’d left her jewelry to her daughter, and so Madhuri would wear both families’ histories when she walked to her groom.

  Aji dabbed at her eyes while Shilpa Sharma continued to sniffle. Nayna got up and hugged both her mother and sister at once.

  “I’m so happy for you, Maddie.” Pulling back, she cupped her sister’s face in her hands and smiled. This, she thought, this was the relationship they would have now.

  As adults in charge of their own destinies.

  No resentments, no shadows of the past. They were forging into the future in different directions, each choosing her own path but always family, always sisters.

  “Ninu,” Madhuri whispered in her ear after the tears had passed, “how much has Anjali had to drink? I’m sure she just muttered something about the offspring of a buffalo.”

  39

  Broken Hearts Can Be Mended

  It was eleven o’clock at night by the time Nayna finally returned home. She’d offered to take Anjali home, but Madhuri had said she’d look after her friend. Nayna had helped out by parking Anjali’s car in the bridal boutique’s private back lot for Anjali to pick up when she was sober. She and Ísa had still been giggling over Anjali’s repertoire of badly translated insults when they pulled out of the lot in Nayna’s car.

  “Sad to see a grand romance come to this,” Nayna had said afterward.

  “I remember you telling me about the proposal with the plane and the picnic.” Yawning, Ísa had stretched out her body. “All that is nice, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t sound like the two actually ever had any talks of substance—I mean, she seems completely surprised by who he is.”

  Nayna couldn’t disagree with her friend there.

  Once she’d dropped Ísa home and made her way to her apartment, Nayna went to call Raj, she was missing him so, but decided against it at the last minute. He was getting up at the crack of dawn to take advantage of the summer light, and she didn’t want to interrupt his sleep. She’d messaged him from the shop earlier, giving him a rundown of events.

  He’d been doing paperwork for the business but had paused to send back a sexy photo featuring his face and naked upper body. The sight of his lightly furred chest lovingly caressed by the desk light had curled her toes, but what had made it even sexier was the smile creasing his cheeks. Only Nayna ever got that smile.

  She’d all but sighed into a melted puddle… then had to hurriedly hide the photo when her mother sat down next to her. Hugging the memory close, she’d just kicked off her shoes when her phone rang in her hand.

  “Raj,” she said, answering at once. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

  “I’m at the hospital.” A strain in his voice she’d never before heard.

  Nayna was already shoving her feet back into her shoes. “What’s happened? Are you all right? I’m on my way.”

  “My father’s had a heart attack.” Other sounds behind him, machines beeping and the echo of an intercom summoning a doctor. “He collapsed while he and my mother were watching TV. I got him in the ambulance with Ma, and I just arrived at the hospital with Aditi. We don’t know anything yet.”

  “I’m getting in my car. I’ll see you soon.” Her heart thundered; Raj was as close to his family as she was to her own. If anything happened to his father, it would devastate him.

  * * *

  Raj was waiting for her near the elevators; Nayna had messaged him when she got into the parking lot, to find out if they were in the ER or had been moved to a cardiac ward. Going straight to him, she hugged him tight. His arms squeezed her with crushing strength, but she didn’t care. She was ready to give him anything he needed.

  “How is he?”

  “In surgery,” Raj told her, his voice rasping. “It’s bad.”

  Nayna just held him and let him hold on to her until he was ready to draw back.

  “Ma and Aditi are in the waiting room,” he said. “Komal was on shift in another ward, but she got her charge nurse to replace her, and she’s helping make sure we’re kept updated. I haven’t been able to reach Navin—he went out for a friend’s bachelor party, probably isn’t paying attention to his phone.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Nayna ran her hand down Raj’s back.

  He leaned into her for a second before leading her to the waiting area.

  Sangeeta Sen took one look at her and burst into tears. Enclosing her in her arms, Nayna rocked the older woman while Raj took care of his baby sister. More family arrived as time passed—Raj’s father had two younger brothers, and Raj’s mother had an older sister. All but one came with their spouses.

  Jitesh Sen’s remaining brother was based in Taupo, several hours so
uth of Auckland, and was already on his way—with his wife and Raj’s paternal grandparents. Depending on traffic, they’d reach the hospital in about two and a half more hours.

  The only one still in the wind was Navin.

  Komal, dressed in the dark blue of a nurse’s scrubs, had a pinched look about the eyes when she walked in to give them the news that the surgery was progressing well. “Navin’s not replying to my messages,” Nayna heard her whisper to Raj. “He’s probably drunk. That’s what he does when out with that group.”

  “I’ll keep trying to track him down,” Raj said. “Give me the numbers you have for his friends. Nayna, do you have a pen?”

  Digging one out of her purse, Nayna walked over. He took the pen and pressed a kiss to her temple before returning his attention to Komal, who gave Nayna a jagged look. Then the other woman was passing on the numbers, and Nayna went to sit with Sangeeta and Aditi again. When Raj’s sister curled against her side, Nayna threw her coat around the teenager and hugged her close.

  Aditi fell asleep for about forty minutes, woke fuzzy-eyed and in need of the restroom.

  As she wandered off in the right direction, Sangeeta Sen, her face wan, said, “Raj beta, Nayna bitia, can you find some strong tea?”

  The two of them left to see what they could rustle up. Once away from his relatives, Nayna took Raj into her arms again, running her hands up and down the powerful column of his back. She’d noticed how everyone leaned on him, the older adults as well as his younger sister. They all looked to Raj as if expecting him to have the answers.

  Even the cardiac nurse who was liaising with the surgical staff spoke to Raj, so the immediate family must’ve nominated him as their lead contact. Twice, after speaking to the nurse, Raj had taken his mother aside and talked to her alone. Decisions being made, Nayna had realized, the doctors asking for Sangeeta Sen’s approval of certain actions.