Besides she would have plenty of time to cry later.
Rihaan paced his bedroom like a caged animal. The Maharaja had asked him again to accept Nadira’s hand in marriage. It had been difficult to ward him off. But however his head commanded his muscles, his tongue refused to form the words. Still he couldn’t delay for ever.
Was he doing the right thing? For the first time in his life he knew uncertainty and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
Was he adjusting his loved career for a shot at playing the royal prince? The script he had started now promised to develop into a novel. He could continue to write but would being a Maharaja affect that? Would they want nothing but snippets of royal affairs from a Maharaja? Would he even have time to irrigate and ripen his creativity or would his dreams become buried under the responsibilities he was planning to take on?
It would be his own will, he reminded himself. People did find time to juggle duties with dreams. He was only doing what was right.
Was he, though?
What about what he was missing right now. Saira’s warmth. Her laughter… the honesty he loved—
Loved? Where had that come from? He wasn’t into love. The key word in his dictionary was responsibility now. In fact it began and ended with it.
A knock sounded on the door, almost sending relief through him as the stream of his thoughts was broken.
‘Saira!’ Not the person he wanted to see. The one woman who posed danger to the course his life was set on.
She looked anything but dangerous. Soft, tremulous mouth, huge dark eyes. Her slight build gave the impression of a small girl, clad in jeans and a T-shirt that hugged her curves and dispelled the same impression.
‘Can we talk?’
She moistened her lips nervously and desire banked with difficulty, erupted like a flood. Talk was the last thing he wanted as torturing images of the previous night arose, the sheer eroticism pulsing in his senses putting paid to any sense he wanted to hold onto.
‘Come in.’ A wonder that his voice sounded only marginally hoarse when his whole being was on fire.
‘Well, of course, rather late in the day, but congratulations over the prospective coronation,’ she said, her voice too bright.
‘Save them for the event.’ His own dampening response surprised him.
‘I may not be here then.’
His head snapped up. ‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘Rihaan, you are going to begin a new life. You’ll be settling down… people will need your attention… Me? I have to get on with my life.’ As though reminded, she added, ‘I’m planning to take up dress designing; I need training and I want to get to it, like right now. So if you could just sort out my flight back—’
‘No!’ The denial was instinctive. He attempted to temper it, conscious that he had startled her. ‘At least stay for the big day.’
She drew in her breath slowly, as though preparing herself. ‘Rihaan, be honest. You don’t want me here. I’ve heard your engagement with Nadira will be announced simultaneously at the coronation. It would be awkward to say the least and after what passed between us…’ She swallowed and turned away. But as though hooked to his, her gaze came back. He inhaled sharply at what he saw there. Anguish. Yearning. Regret.
‘Saira!’ Something broke inside him and he couldn’t keep from touching her, catching hold of her arms. But she was shaking her head, denying him the right. ‘Let me go, Rihaan. It would make things impossible.’
‘Then let’s make them simple. Marry me and stay here. Be my wife… my queen.’
The shock of what he had said swept through them both. He let her go, feeling hit by a tornado. He swept a hand over his face.
Silence like the end result of an explosion stretched, drawing tension taut to an even finer degree than before.
‘Oh God…’ She tried a laugh. ‘Last night can’t have been that good.’
‘I mean it, Saira.’
Pain ripped through her, leaving her feeling raw, exposed, vulnerable. Even more vulnerable because he was finally letting her see what he was feeling.
Or, rather, what he was feeling right now, she told herself. The heat of the moment. The purple haze of passion that hadn’t yet abated.
You don’t want to marry me Rihaan. I’m not worth it…
The words echoed in her brain. She didn’t want to sound like a tortured broken creature so she bit them back. Marry Rihaan. Oh God! Tears were already starting. Any minute they would flood over.
‘I’m honoured, really,’ she managed. ‘A proposal by a prince. One doesn’t get many of those!’
‘You want me,’ he said with conviction. ‘You like me enough. We can build on that.’
‘I wanted you, it’s true, but only for one night,’ she corrected. ‘It was supposed to be a night, that’s all. Not a lifetime. I like going to the beach but I don’t like bringing the sand home.’ Must be the stupidest thing to say to the man who’d just proposed to you. ‘I might want you but I certainly don’t want a husband.’ Did that sound any better? Hell.
‘What would happen to the united front father and son are supposed to put up?’ she asked more practically.
‘We’ll worry about that later. First tell me your proper answer. Tell me what you want—’
‘I don’t know what I want, Rihaan,’ she said with some violence. ‘I’m still finding the way out of the darkness. It isn’t easy. And you’re just making it impossible for me…’
It was a dream, a golden dream that she was being drawn into. And every word he spoke drew the net a little tighter around her. To be wanted like that was a fulfilment that made her tears flow. A rich sensation that seeped through her. But she knew too he had spoken without thinking. Who could trust the highs of emotion? She had felt them herself but it had all been a mirage that shattered cruelly for her. When it hadn’t lasted with Munish, who had professed to love her, what hope did she have with Rihaan who merely desired her?
Rihaan wasn’t Munish. She knew he’d stand by her, no matter what. She didn’t doubt his integrity. He had that solid core of loyalty and decency which had shielded Nadira while taking the brunt of his father’s reaction on himself. He would never let a woman down.
But what of his own wants? She had seen his fierce desire to be reunited with his family, she had seen the pleasure mixed with regret when he’d stepped onto his land. She had witnessed his moistening eyes when he’d hugged his mother. Everything that spoke of his attachment to his roots.
Could she take him away from all that? Force him to break his father’s word once again and possibly cause another family rift? What would happen when he found she wasn’t enough to make it all worth it…
Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to come between a man and his family again. She wouldn’t force him to choose.
Family formed ties that were very hard to break. Lines that were carved in stone. She couldn’t let him break those. Ultimately he would hate her for it.
‘I can’t, Rihaan. I’m tempted—yes, I won’t deny that—but I can’t. Just… don’t ask me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was cold, falling on her ears like ice chips. ‘I said too much. Forget it. All of it.’ He flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture.
In that minute distance began to form between them. She could see it, a chasm that was a crack, growing with each second that ticked by, and crazily she wanted it to stop increasing.
‘You asked me so I won’t leave without telling you. But I have to go. Just have my flight arrangements seen to, please.’
‘Of course. Anything you want.’
Be happy.
The words came to her lips but, try as she would, she couldn’t say them. For herself it wasn’t possible to be happy. For him she was doing what she could. Promising him something he would later realise was the biggest favour she could have done for him. I won’t come between you and your family.
If that ensured his happiness… Well, it had better. Surely she couldn’t do mo
re.
CHAPTER TEN
One year later, Mumbai
SAIRA TOOK A deep breath as the last model stepped onto the ramp. The best dress had been kept for last. A wedding creation. Saira had painstakingly worked at the brilliant orange bandini long skirt which tapered till the knees then flared, the hem adorned with crystals. The gold bodice with ivory beads also was a throwback to her Rajasthani inspiration for the collection. Claps resounded and she breathed a sigh of relief. They liked it!
It had been long, hard months of work, but she’d finally done it.
She couldn’t quite believe the number of notables gracing the occasion. A high profile fashion editor, photographers, the lucrative media presence so essential for a designer’s debut. In the fashion world her mentor was spoken of with reverence and he had himself taken pains on her behalf to snag the limelight. Her brother-in-law had pitched in with sponsorship.
The support she had received had overwhelmed her. Friends, and even friends of friends, who were in Mumbai had turned up. New media acquaintances, even her mentor’s fans. Her papa had put through a good luck phone call earlier in the day, obviously at her mom’s insistence but even this much thaw was enough to open her heart and, by the time she put down the phone, they had been ragging each other almost like old times. Vishakha, seated in the front row with her baby girl sleeping in her lap and a glow on her smiling face, was another cheering presence.
The last but one model returned in the asymmetrical orange-on-white tie and dye peplum teamed with a black corset. Her heart filled with pride. The major share of the proceeds would go to her sister’s charity project. Vishakha had a stake in opening a centre at Mumbai for the treatment of behavioural disorders in neglected children. A glow filled Saira to think she would be contributing to it. Doing something to make a change. Being someone.
Yes. She had arrived.
Yet this was no separate demarcating moment. Months of work and hours of sleepless nights had got her here. A long process had been set in motion and she seemed to be swept along in the flurry. This was a moment to step back and bask in the achievement. A breather, yes. But she knew so many projects demanded her attention that she couldn’t just say this was it. Time was short—too short to just stop and savour the moment.
No time even to think of what she had left behind.
She took a deep breath. That was a lie. Somehow her stupid heart did find time for that. She forced herself not to think of him, tried to concentrate on the rush creativity always brought her.
Even at the beginning of the show her mind had flown forward to her new project. A collection she had privately titled Amore Impossibile… Italian for ‘Impossible Love’.
She knew what had inspired it. The highs and lows of all she felt for Rihaan were reflected in the colours that broke through the walls of her mind and spilled into her pencil and computer drawings. Deep purples and black of unrequited passion. Overlaid by bright yellow of the lightness he had brought out in her. The orange of the challenges she used to throw at him.
The models were going for the final walk. Saira nodded to her assistant and stepped forward. It was time for her to take a bow.
She walked down the catwalk and accepted the bouquet, her smile widening as she blinked away an emotional tear. If one went by the audience response, it had been a success. She was lucky to have an enthusiastic audience. Almost half the spectators were out of their seats and their clapping filled the hall. Her stomach clenched in excitement. Bowing in acknowledgment and sending out flying kisses for their encouragement, she couldn’t be happier. Only one regret dampened it. She wanted… oh… Rihaan’s arms to return to. Oh damn, she had admitted it now. She wanted his smile to share it all with her. Sherry eyes glinting with admiration, darkening in passion…
The sponsors had been kind enough to stage a dinner. Music filled the banquet hall and even a dance floor had been set up.
The post-show excitement, the press interviews and receiving multiple congratulatory wishes, along with the incessant hard work of the days before had taken its toll. She felt beyond weary. Somehow the regret she’d felt earlier seemed to grow to a smothering blanket of despair. Why had she left him? Life had given her gold and she had mistaken the blaze for flame. The fear of being singed had made her withdraw. She had been too afraid to risk loving him. Too afraid of getting hurt.
She sipped her wine and wondered how quickly she would be able to decently slip away.
A momentary surge of defiance filled her. No, she wasn’t going to go all dull and moping now. Determinedly she stepped forward to the dance floor and her assistant made room for her. Such a crush. No one knew who was dancing with whom anyway. She began to sway with the music.
A hand tapped her shoulder. ‘May I have this dance?’
Blood drained from her face, her body clenching in instinctive fear. But nothing could stop the slow deep thump of her heart as she turned to face him.
The familiar yet not so familiar face. He had cultivated a shadowy-jawed look. Sherry eyes beguiled her as though she had stepped back in time.
But the strained look about his eyes hurt her. Was she imagining it?
He hadn’t married Nadira. She hadn’t been conscious she had been holding so tightly onto the fear that he had. But she knew the moment she looked at him it was true. She would have seen it. However inscrutable the dark gaze was, she fancied he couldn’t hide it from her if he had become someone else’s.
Fancied, she told herself. She did not know for sure. Of course there had been no announcement, but who knew? She might have missed it.
As though she didn’t feed the Internet search engines his name almost every other day.
But he was so press allergic. Still was, even after his secret was out. The media had practically leered over the revelation of Bollywood’s star scriptwriter’s hush-hush former life. However, he had borne it with typical snootiness and drawling comments.
Since then she had heard practically nothing about him till his book came out. The book that had started as the script he had showed her.
‘Rihaan.’ She had to say his name to convince herself of the reality of him.
‘Dance?’ he prodded. Eyelids dropped a fraction, making his gaze suddenly sexy. ‘Or are you afraid of loosening up with me?’
The words sent a thrill through her as she recognised them. Challenge her with her own words, would he? ‘Let’s dance!’ She stepped close and his arms came around her as she began to move confidently.
Mistake. She hadn’t reckoned on the flood of feelings the mere brush of those arms would release in her body. The mere closeness of that hard muscled body somehow evoked all the locked up memory of that night in the palace. His naked body. His touch. His possession. She looked up in the wine-dark eyes to find out what he felt.
And sucked in her breath. Movement stopped as passion exploded on every nerve, holding her in thrall. The sudden impulse to go away with him, taste that forbidden pleasure again rose insidiously. One sip more before she could let go.
Could she let go of it? A year and a total absence of him hadn’t decreased it.
Rather, it had increased its intensity. Added a poignant pain that made it all the more desperate.
Yet unending miles lay between them. How could she cross them?
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he growled in her ear.
She shook her head to clear it. ‘Rihaan, this makes no sense. Why did you come? Where were you, anyway? I didn’t see you.’
‘At the standing row in the back. I wasn’t going to miss your first moment of acclaim. I intended to remain on the sidelines and cheer you on. But once I saw you…’ he shrugged helplessly ‘…what can I say? I couldn’t stay away. I’m self-damaging, I guess.’
‘You shouldn’t say things like that,’ she whispered.
‘Why not?’ he asked with sudden roughness in his voice. ‘You taught me not to hold back.’ His arm slid around her waist. ‘You’re going to come with me. I mean it.�
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The gleam of aggression in his eyes thrilled her. But her heart had a rent in it. A fear she could not bridge.
He propelled her outside. Flagged a cab.
‘You’re kidnapping me!’ she gasped as he bundled her in.
‘Not every girl gets to be so lucky. Enjoy it.’ He leaned back, reassuringly patting the driver, who glanced back, alarmed at her words. ‘Chill, yaar, don’t worry.’
‘He’s royalty,’ she told the man, sudden crazy laughter bubbling up in her chest. ‘Oh, yes. Don’t you believe me?’
‘He’s going to charge me double for your lunacy.’ Rihaan pretended to groan. He addressed the cabbie. ‘Hey, don’t pay any attention to her. She goes in for drink binges. At least she did till I reformed her.’
‘Why, you—’ she gasped.
‘Achha mazaak hai, saab. Enjoy karo khoob enjoy karo. Great joke, sir!’ The man grinned widely, as Saira pummelled Rihaan.
‘You too, my friend.’ Rihaan turned to Saira and caught her wrists. ‘Hey, back off. Know what? I’m kidnapping myself too. My car is still there in the parking lot. I couldn’t even wait enough to get it out. You made me act like a crazy teen.’
His impatience sparked a thrill she tried hard to get rid of. ‘For all I know, you’re married and having a kid,’ she accused.
‘For all I know, you could be a grandma.’
Okay. She got the point. She was being silly.
‘Why didn’t you marry her, Rihaan?’
‘I thought your obvious question quota had finished?’
‘Oh, come on. What happened?’
‘I refused the ascendency, as any sane man in my place would have.’
‘You didn’t! But Rihaan…’
‘I told Maharaj I wasn’t fitted for the job as the woman I really wanted to marry would never fulfil his conditions.’ Saira felt her breath catch at the claim. He sensed her tension and said, ‘Yes, I know how you felt about marrying me. But I was entitled to my feelings, wasn’t I? Anyway, to get back to the events, when I did refuse to even become the crown prince, the question arose whether he had promised to get the Yuvraj married to Nadira or just me specifically. The Maharaj decided the Purohit would advise about that. Since I was no longer the crown prince, the Maharaj didn’t want Nadira to go ahead with the engagement, in case she’d feel cheated out of being the Maharani. Anyway, I told him he would have to excuse me on that score. His word had already been broken once when I was sent away and, in the light of all that had passed, he agreed to release me from the binding of it.’
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