Marriage by Arrangement

by Sophia Singh Sasson

  Rani shook her head. “You’re not understanding her.”

  He frowned. While he wanted Rani’s perspective, she didn’t know Divya. Arjun talked to Divya almost every day. How could Rani be so confident in saying he didn’t understand his sister?

  “Divya doesn’t want to work just to buy things. She wants to work to have a sense of purpose, of independence. To do something meaningful with her life. I don’t think you can appreciate what it’s like for an intelligent person to sit at home all day with nothing to do. It’s maddening.”

  “She has lots of things to do. There is staff to manage, social events to plan, charity work. My mother is always complaining about how busy she is.”

  “But those aren’t things that satisfy a young, educated woman who doesn’t want to be a socialite. She wants do something that is uniquely hers, and have control over some aspect of her life.”

  “It seems you’re speaking from personal experience.”

  She nodded. “My ex-husband’s family didn’t have your kind of wealth but they were comfortable. My in-laws asked me to quit my job, which I foolishly did. My days were filled with shopping and social events that I couldn’t care less about. I’m guessing your sister lives a similar life. Working is not about the money, it’s about independence. Of the many things I lost during my marriage, the one I lament the most is my career. I was almost at the point of making senior architect at RKS when I left. After the divorce, I had to start at the bottom of the junior level because I’d been out of the game so long. Divya doesn’t want to become obsolete.”

  Arjun spread his hands. “So what do you suggest I do? My mother will not agree to let her get a job. I’ve already tried to convince her and she is firm on this point.”

  “What is Divya qualified to do?”

  “She studied law.”

  Rani chewed her lip, and he found himself staring at her. “Your business is big enough that you surely need lawyers.”

  He nodded. “Of course. I have a couple in every city that we have a hotel.”

  “So hire her for your legal team in the Jaipur office.”

  “Jaipur is an hour away from our home.”

  “Do you do the commute?”

  He rubbed his neck. It could work. “We have a trusted driver who could take her every day.”

  It was a nice idea. His brother, Sameer, had no interest in working for the family business, and Arjun could use a trusted person to take on some of the responsibilities of the company while he was in Vegas. He was tired of having to wake up in the middle of the night to get on the phone with someone in India.

  “It’s a potential solution. Thank you, Rani.”

  The crowd became louder as the warm-up act wrapped up and introduced Russell Peters. Rani started laughing at one of the jokes. Arjun hadn’t heard it. All he could focus on was the way her mouth crinkled, and the happy sound of her giggles and laughter. He’d been with a fair number of women in the last several years; all of them had been socialites who clearly understood that he wasn’t looking for an emotional attachment. His relationships were always physical. None of them had made him want to connect emotionally like this.

  “Am I really more amusing than the comedian?” Rani turned to him, grinning.

  He smiled sheepishly. “You certainly are more beautiful.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. He took a breath to keep from leaning over and kissing her irresistible lips. As if reading his mind, she suddenly snapped her head back towards the stage. He took a long slug from his glass of whiskey.

  So what if we work together? The project would be over in less than six months and he’d be returning to India to a lifetime of obligation. If she was attracted to him too, what was wrong with a brief affair? He knew how to be discreet; he would protect Rani, and make sure there would be no fallout for her at RKS. After all, what happened in Vegas could stay in Vegas.

  Five

  The show was over but Rani didn’t want the evening to end. The warm October night and the irresistible sparkle of the Vegas strip made her link her arm with Arjun’s as they walked down Las Vegas Boulevard. The streets were packed with crowds spilling from all different directions, loud and clumsy and infectiously happy.

  “How about a walk to the Bellagio fountains? It’s about a mile,” Arjun suggested.

  Rani had easily done the walk before but not in killer heels. She almost refused but she didn’t want the evening to end. The only thing waiting for her at home was an online movie.

  As they walked, their conversation turned back to food as Rani recalled her favorite dishes at the endless eateries and hotels lining the Strip. When they got to the New York-New York hotel and casino, Arjun looked at the large Statue of Liberty dominating the fake city skyline.

  “Do you think I should’ve built a large replica of the Taj Mahal?”

  Rani laughed because she knew from the look on Arjun’s face that he was joking. It was funny how in the short time she’d known him, she could already read so many of his facial expressions.

  “You still can. We can add a giant dome to the roof and four pillars at the corners of the building. Then we can have it painted in a faux marble look. I could do the architectural drawings tomorrow if you like. The only thing is, you’ll have to change your plans for the restaurant from a Michelin star chef to a team of short order cooks that can put out large buffets. And you’ll have to change the plans for the casino. Forget the high roller tables. Think quarter slots.” They both laughed at the thought. The Mahal hotel wasn’t going to cater to regular tourists like most of the hotels on the strip. The casino was for serious players only. The rooms were luxurious and exclusive. The restaurant would cater to the most discerning foodies. High class all the way.

  “Shit.” The Bellagio fountains were in sight when Rani’s heel got stuck in a pothole. Just in time, Arjun caught her from falling face-first onto the sidewalk.

  “Ouch, ouch!” Her heel was wedged into the sidewalk so tight that she couldn’t lift her foot out. Arjun bent down and unstrapped her shoe. She stood on one leg while he extricated her shoe from the hole. Then he half carried her to a nearby bench. He bent down on one knee and gently lifted her leg.

  His warm hand on her foot sent a delicious signal right to her core.

  “You’re ankle is bleeding and swelling up. I’m calling Sam to come get us.”

  “Good idea.” It didn’t feel like she’d broken anything other than her pride, but her ankle was hurting. She shouldn’t have worn the stupid heels.

  While they waited for Sam to make his way through the clogged traffic, they watched the Bellagio fountains from afar. It was a spectacular show of water and light timed to music. Arjun put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him to keep the weight off the ankle. For the first time in years, Rani felt weightless.

  When Sam pulled up, Arjun helped Rani half hop, half walk to the car. As soon as they were seated, Sam roared back into traffic.

  “My condo isn’t far from here. We will go there first and get you bandaged.”

  “There’s no need to do that. My roommate is a doctor. I’ll be better off going home.”

  “Your apartment is a fifth floor walk-up. No way are you hobbling up that many flights of stairs without us icing that ankle and making sure it’s okay.”

  “Are you always this bossy?”

  “Do you even have to ask? I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Is that a promise that needs to be made?”

  He gave her a big smile and her resolve melted. That dimple!

  They arrived at a shimmering glass high-rise building with yellow accents in the city center. Rani knew it was one of the most exclusive residential condos in the city. Sam pulled into an underground garage, and once again Arjun supported her as they made their way to a private elevator.

 
Her heart skipped a few beats as they got to his floor and he punched in a code to open the door to his condo. I’m going to be alone with him. In all of her naughty dreams, she had not pictured him in bed, but now that was all she could think about.

  She gasped as she entered the apartment. The doors opened to a great room with thirteen-foot ceilings and a wall of windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower, and the south Strip. This is his rental?

  “Let’s get you on the couch.” His arm was around her, his body close to hers as he helped her across the room. His closeness made her heart flutter.

  He made quick work of getting a first aid kit and cleaning and bandaging the cut on her foot. Her ankle was swollen but she rotated it and it didn’t hurt.

  “I don’t think it’s twisted. It just looks worse than it is.”

  He pulled an ottoman close, lifted her leg and set her foot on it. “How about you elevate it and I’ll get some ice.”

  Arjun went into the kitchen and returned with a bag of frozen peas, which he placed on her ankle. She winced at the cold.

  “This is quite a rental.”

  He smiled. “It belongs to a friend of mine. He’s letting me use it while I’m here. The building is run like a hotel with full concierge, room service, all sorts of amenities.”

  “Are you going to miss Vegas when you go back to India?”

  He shrugged and stared out the window. “I’m looking forward to being on my land again.”

  “Well, the Vegas lights are only fun for so long. I’ve had a hard time feeling at home here too.”

  “Where do you consider home?”

  “California, I guess. It’s where I was born and grew up.”

  “Why don’t you feel like you belong there?”

  She looked up into his honey-brown eyes. She’d never said out loud that it didn’t feel like home. “I’m from a very traditional Indian family. When I went to school, my friends were American and I wanted to do the things they did but it’s not the way my parents lived at home. I couldn’t have boys call me, even if they were just friends. I wasn’t allowed to go out after dinner, even when I was in high school. In the end I was always torn about whether I was Indian or American and no place felt like I belonged.”

  “Have you been to India?”

  “Yes, I have some aunts and uncles in Delhi. India feels even less like home. Everyone there treats me like an NRI—nonresident Indian. To them I’m too Americanized and to my American friends I’m too Indian.”

  She hadn’t meant for the conversation to get so serious and personal. She looked away from him towards the view.

  “I guess that means you’re what they call an ABCD. An American-Born Confused Desi.”

  She laughed at the expression, with its use of the colloquial Hindi term for Indian people. “Yes, that’s exactly what I am.”

  “Well the way I see it, home is a feeling. A place where you can be yourself, feel at ease, shed the persona you show the world. For now, make my temporary home yours.”

  He shrugged off his jacket, then rolled up his sleeves. She watched his chest muscles flex underneath his shirt and felt a little light-headed.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She hated to admit it, but she was. The show had run late and it had been more than three hours since they ate dinner.

  “I could eat. Maybe we can order a pizza or Chinese?”

  “No way.” He strode over to the open kitchen and she turned so she could watch him. He busied himself taking things out of the refrigerator. “I think I have everything I need to make lamb saag.”

  Her jaw dropped. She’d shared with him that it was her favorite dish. “You’re going to try and make lamb saag now?”

  “Why not? I’m not as bad as you think. I hired one of the best chefs in India to teach me how to cook.”

  She still couldn’t fathom it. “You have room service, and I’m sure you could hire a cook if you want. Why would you want to toil away in the kitchen?”

  “So I can cook for a beautiful woman with the hopes of impressing her.”

  Beautiful woman, ha! The charm sure is on tonight. But she couldn’t deny the fact that she was enjoying his attention, as fake as it might be. He was surrounded by fine-looking women every day, yet he’d made her feel like she was one in a million tonight.

  “Thanks for the compliment but it’s not necessary. I’m hardly in the class of women you’re used to being with.”

  “And what class might that be?”

  “Women who are tall and skinny enough to be on the cover of the Victoria’s Secret catalog.”

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “That may be your idea of beauty but it is not mine.” He began chopping an onion.

  “What’s your idea of beauty?”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked straight at her. “You, Rani. You are my idea of beautiful. You’re intelligent, talented, and don’t need a pound of makeup or fancy clothes to make you attractive.”

  Her heart thumped so hard she could feel the pounding in her ears. She was glad he wasn’t close to her to see her tremble at the very idea of him wanting her. Not even in her wildest fantasies did she imagine this conversation with him.

  “Your idea of beauty is not only different than every man on the planet, but also every Indian. Especially every Indian.” She could tell from the way he averted his eyes that he knew what she was talking about. In India, complexions ranged from almost white to almost black and the fairer a woman, the more beautiful she was considered. Growing up, she’d been told, Rani, you are not fair, tall or slim so you must be smart if you want to marry a good man. Her mother’s words were not malicious but matter-of-fact. And they’d been echoed by every well-meaning aunt in her family.

  It was a part of her culture that Rani both loved and hated. People were brutally honest. An American aunt would disingenuously reassure her if asked whether she looked fat in a pair of jeans. An Indian auntie would point out her big butt before she even asked.

  “I don’t view things that way. What you’re referring to are the antiquated beauty standards of my parents’ generation.”

  It was the perfect answer. One she wished she could have taped and replayed to her mother and every Indian woman of a certain generation. While the choice to marry Navin had been hers, the prejudices she had grown up with had influenced her decision-making. Navin was a successful, well-off Indian man who was much darker complected than she was. She’d liked the idea of joining a family where she was the lighter-skinned one, rather than the one who was constantly being handed skin bleaching creams.

  Arjun held up a wineglass and she shook her head. She did not want to feel uninhibited with Arjun. She was already drunk on him.

  “Mango lassi, then?”

  She nodded and he retrieved a crystal glass containing the yellow beverage from the refrigerator.

  She stood and gingerly put weight on her ankle. It seemed better. She made her way to the island and perched herself on one of the stools.

  “Are you sure you’re okay on that stool?”

  She nodded and he handed her the glass.

  She took a long sip and sighed with pleasure. “Wow, this might just be the best mango lassi I’ve had. Did you make this?”

  He shook his head. “The head chef at one of my hotels in India made it. I had him overnight it.”

  “You had him mail mango lassi from India?” She laughed as she pictured a dripping FedEx envelope making its way across the Pacific Ocean.

  “Why not? People have special meals shipped all the time.”

  Normal people did not have their meals shipped across the globe. They eat mediocre takeout or go to the frozen section of their grocery store to get their exotic fix.

  He threw onions into a pan and while they sizzled, he added a bunch of spices. Then he began
chopping tomatoes and garlic.

  “The mango lassi alone is fine for me. You really don’t have to go through the trouble of cooking.”

  “Rani, I’m trying desperately to impress you.”

  He did not just say that! She took a sip of her mango lassi, not trusting herself to speak. Her lips quivered on the glass and she barely tasted the cold liquid.

  He added garlic and tomatoes to the pan, then some cubed lamb. The air filled with the smell of spices and sizzling meat. Rani’s stomach growled as the familiar smells permeated her breath. It had been two years since she’d had her mother’s home-cooked Indian meals. Two years since she’d talked to her parents.

  “Is everything okay?” Arjun was looking at her over the steam rising from the pan.

  She realized there were tears in her eyes. “Yes, it’s just that my mom’s kitchen smells like this and it’s been a while since I’ve seen my parents.”

  He lifted the spatula from the pan and walked around the island to where she was seated. “Here, try this.” He blew on the spatula before holding it to her lips. She carefully took a bite. The spices tingled on her tongue.

  “Mmm, yum. Maybe a touch more salt.”

  He took the spatula and finished the bite that was left on it. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  They chatted easily about the comedy show while Arjun cooked. He made some basmati rice as the meat simmered. When the lamb was almost done, he cut some spinach and added it to the pot.

  While waiting for the rice to cook, Arjun checked her ankle.

  “Don’t worry, it’s still attached to my leg.”

  He let his hand linger a second too long and Rani’s nerves jangled. She switched to talking about the hotel, desperate to remember that he was her client. When the food was ready, he spooned some rice and lamb saag onto a plate and handed it to her.

  “This smells amazing.”