A Model Fiancé

by Kaye, Nikky

  Like Vegas and the curtained First Class pod on the way over, the cool, sleek hotel room with triple-paned windows sealed out the messy, broken world. We were in a glossy, air-conditioned bubble, and the lights and sights and sounds of India glimmered outside it.

  At some point, I knew, the bubble would pop.

  So would I.

  But it wouldn’t be tonight.

  We had time, and that’s what I told her. I tried to ignore the puzzled crease as I kissed her forehead and went back up to my room to jerk off in the shower.

  After another few hours of sleep, our driver Rohit met us in the lobby and we piled into a Mercedes to go meet Mr. Sharma. Now we were discovering the joy of Delhi gridlock from the cool comfort of the car.

  Audrey couldn’t stop looking out the window, asking me questions I couldn’t answer and pointing things out I would never be able to un-see.

  Yes, that’s a dead dog. Yes, people live there. No, I don’t know what that sign says.

  The air was hazy from exhaust and pollution, a yellowish cast over everything like a fine pollen. I saw people biking on side roads while wearing masks over their face.

  “Is this normal for this time of year, Rohit?”

  “It is much worse in the summer, sir. You are here at a good time. Monsoon season is over but winter hasn’t begun yet. It is much cooler than a few weeks ago.”

  “Cooler?” Audrey murmured, her gaze on the shimmer of heat hanging over the vehicles. “Ugh. I can’t imagine what summer is like.”

  “I only came once as a kid, and it was for spring break I think. I was seven.” I frowned, wishing I could remember more, but it was just flashes in my mind. I definitely recall throwing up at some point.

  Five lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic lurched and stalled until finally we veered toward Connaught Place. It was hard to distinguish between actual traffic and cars that triple and quadruple parked on the pavement in front of carved pillars fronting old colonial buildings.

  Rohit pointed to the colonnades, telling us that the two rings of shopping streets were the biggest and busiest in the city. The frenetic feeling permeated the car and went right into my nervous system—like an injection of adrenaline that made my knee move up and down. It was almost too much to take in—global chain stores next to bars and old movie theaters. Every bit of space was full, studded with food carts, tourists and businessmen, and the little three-wheeled green and yellow auto-rickshaws.

  “I remember those,” I muttered. “I thought it was so much fun riding in one.”

  Audrey leaned over me to look out my window. “They look like death traps. Fun death traps, though.”

  The warmth of her breast against my arm calmed the butterflies in my stomach, and her smile was the only thing in my vision for the briefest moment.

  “We’ll take one later, maybe.”

  Rohit parked and turned us over to an assistant who guided us from the lobby to Mr. Sharma’s office.

  Before we went in, Audrey asked if she could use the restroom for a moment. She slipped her hand in mine then pulled me around the corner.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Do I look okay?”

  At first I thought it was a panicked rhetorical question, but then I realized that she was anxious about her appearance. I took in her khaki linen pants, light blue blouse and cross-body purse.

  “Yeah, you’re good.”

  “I mean do I look like a backpacking student? Or do I look like your fiancée?”

  “What if my fiancée was a backpacking student?”

  “Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re expecting your fiancée to be beautiful and fit and stylish and—oh crap.” Her face fell, her eyes focused on the orthopedic flats she’d paired with her outfit.

  “Hey.” I touched her chin and lifted her face to me. I needed to see her smile again, just so my heart could breathe. “You’re good.”

  Her lips curved, and she reached out to finger my shirt. I just wore plain charcoal pants and a white shirt, but they fit well. “You look nice, too.”

  “Do I look like your fiancé?” As soon as the teasing words fell out of my mouth, I realized that I was reminding her of the asshole that broke her heart. “Sorry.”

  The way her hand flattened on my chest smoothed out any anxiety I felt over meeting the CEO, but brought tension of a different kind.

  “Dev, it’s fine. If you’re thinking about Darren… Well, you’re better in every way.” She drew closer and went up on her toes to kiss my cheek shyly. “Actually, you’re pretty much exactly what I always imagined.”

  Me too.

  The meeting flew by, more a “meet and greet” than sitting down and doing any business. I put my palms together at my chest and bowed as I’d been taught to do.

  “How are you?” Mr. Sharma asked of both of us. He was my height, with a barrel chest and long legs. His light-colored suit was obviously bespoke, but he wore it casually without a tie. He seemed relaxed and jovial, like we were old friends. It was a far cry from the meetings I’d had with the stiff company reps in New York. Maybe it wasn’t as conservative as we thought.

  His smile was infectious, I discovered. “We’re good.”

  “Ah, I know you’re good. But how was your trip here? Flight okay?”

  “Amazing,” Audrey said. Her pink cheeks made me wonder if she was recalling the freshly baked cookie or the way I licked her come off my fingers.

  I added, “Thank you so much for the opportunity to visit your beautiful country.”

  “You are the one bringing me a beautiful opportunity,” he said to us, nodding his head toward my fiancée as he shook her hand. His gaze flicked down. “But where is your ring?”

  Ring? Oh fuck.

  Audrey looked to me with wide eyes. We hadn’t even thought about that. I looked from her hand to Sharma’s expectant smile. Her face. Sharma again.

  “Um, we left it in the hotel safe,” I said. “Audrey was worried she’d lose it.”

  He nodded. “I am disappointed not to see it, but I understand. Do you have a wedding date set?”

  More blinking. “No, sir,” Audrey croaked.

  He stretched out his palms and smiled. “I hope you don’t think me intrusive. My only daughter is getting married soon, and it seems to be the only business I can attend to these days. I had to get her permission to have this meeting with you,” he joked.

  I relaxed a bit. It wasn’t some kind of test, just the natural curiosity of a father who, from my limited knowledge of the customs, had a guest list of a thousand people and possibly the need to procure an elephant.

  Yeah, that shit would distract me, too.

  There was a cursory knock on the door before an assistant came in with a tray of tea. The spicy, sweet fragrance of the chai made me momentarily homesick.

  It was a smell I associated with my mother, who boiled her tea on the stove every morning and afternoon. Her stainless steel tin of spices was always on the counter. She would reach into the small bowls nestled inside with her slim fingers to pinch a few cloves or crack a cardamom pod before throwing them in the pot of water and tea.

  “Dev?”

  Audrey’s voice pulled me back. She was holding a cup of tea out.

  “Thanks,” I said. Her expression was as warm as the tea.

  Sharma beamed. “You must give me your birthdays. I can have your charts done so you may find the most auspicious wedding date!”

  Relaxation time over.

  Audrey looked at me with another “what the hell is he talking about?” expression.

  I mouthed, “I’ll explain later” to her and then thanked my new boss. “That’s very generous of you, sir.”

  “Dev, this is first and foremost a family business. Everyone who works for us is treated like family.”

  He motioned us to a large seating area on one side of his office.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Sharma looked proud and serious. “We take our cues from the pas
t and the future. Even as we expand into areas we never dreamed of, Hessa is still—at heart—the small store started by my father.” He paused for us to appreciate this. “It is very exciting that you are with us at this time.”

  “Th-thank you, sir. It is exciting for me as well. For us.”

  Whoa. This was much more… intimate than I’d expected. I thought luxury groups were a lot more… corporate. It was humbling to see that Mr. Sharma really saw his empire as a family business, despite the billions of dollars and revenue streams across varying industries.

  It was impressive, and I couldn’t help but be… impressed. For the first time I thought about this job from the perspective of the client and the company, not just the money.

  Audrey sat sipping her tea as the CEO and I discussed the plans for the next week, mostly photo shoots and appearances.

  “Unless we can get you in front of the camera, too,” Sharma joked with Audrey. From the deer-in-headlights look on her face, she wasn’t about to take that one for the team.

  My new boss leaned forward. “We’ve worked with lots of models over the years, Dev. But now you will be the only face of our brand, worldwide. We want people to see you and think of Hessa.”

  No pressure.

  That explained the exclusivity clause in my contract. It made sense they didn’t want me doing spreads for other products, other brands. This was probably just going to be a few photo shoots, and the generous remuneration was to make up for the fact that it was all the work I’d do this year.

  I looked over at Audrey, who was sitting back quietly. Her eyebrow lifted at me while Sharma went on about the products I’d be pimping and what sounded like a grueling schedule while we were here. It looked like I’d be seeing more of stores and malls than my hotel room.

  Meanwhile, Audrey was assigned a personal guide for some sightseeing. We’d probably barely see each other, a fact that left me feeling deflated. I was counting on at least one day for us not to even get out of bed—and not on separate floors.

  Maybe I’d been over-thinking the importance of being engaged for this job. They couldn’t possibly expect us to be engaged for three years, right? Maybe we could “break up” at some point without too much fallout.

  It startled me when Sharma reached out and grabbed one of Audrey’s hands, then took one of mine and pressed our four fists together over the polished marble coffee table. His eyes shone and his grin was wide.

  “Congratulations again to both of you. When we saw the pictures of you getting engaged, we knew you were the right person for this job. You are going to represent our promise to commitment and quality, Dev. Welcome to the family.”

  Maybe not.

  12

  Audrey

  India was… overwhelming.

  After the meeting, two Mr. Sharma’s trusted PR underlings—one man and one woman—had taken us on a little tour of Janpath Market before taking us to see some eighteenth-century astronomical instruments nearby.

  Meanwhile, I felt like I was an alien on a new planet.

  It was hot. Crowded. Despite the revving of motorbikes and horns honking, people thronged in every direction I looked—though nobody seemed to be in a big hurry. The clicks and chuffs of voices around me battered me like a windy day on the beach, each strange little sound stinging my senses.

  And the smells… Diesel fumes, fire, sweat, sewage—I wondered if they’d be in my hair and in my pores by the evening. Twice daily showers would be normal here, I thought.

  The kaleidoscope of odor was disorienting. One moment the wafting smell from a food stand would make my mouth water, and the next I’d see an animal—like, livestock!—in the road and realize I had to watch my step.

  While we were walking around, Dev grabbed my hand from time to time, swinging it easily between us. The warm squeeze of his fingers was like an anchor, reminding me I wasn’t in this strange place alone. Although he hadn’t been here since he was a kid, he fit in better.

  When we stopped at shopping stalls, his smile was contagious. The first time he nodded and said “acha” I thought he’d sneezed. Then I heard the word spoken around me, and figured it was some kind of Hindi word for “okay” or “thanks,” rather than a flu epidemic.

  It was obvious why the company chose him; he slipped into the culture like sacred cow shit on the street. He blended in and stood out at the same time. His was the “super nuclear hotness” that made you feel better about yourself instead of inferior. It was kind of extraordinary, but that was Dev Sharpe for you.

  As I watched him, my heart swelled with pride. He deserved this job, and he was perfect for it. I was proud to be with him, proud to be his… what? I wasn’t really his fiancée. A girl could get her heart broken if she believed that kind of lie. If anything, I was an old friend he wanted to fuck. But why? I wasn’t beautiful, didn’t have a degree or a job or a home or—damn, when I thought about it that way, even I didn’t want me.

  It’s not that Dev was perfect himself. I had a voice memo on my phone of him snoring on the plane that proved that. For some reason, though, I wanted to be perfect for him.

  Unfortunately, as we moved on through the hectic streets of Delhi, I felt more and more like a balloon with a pinprick-sized leak. Sweat had thoroughly soaked the bottom of my bra and the crotch of my panties, and the air seemed thicker than before. Plus, I was thirsty as hell.

  “What time is it?” I asked Dev.

  He shrugged. “Maybe three? Check your phone.”

  I slapped my hand over my bag where it bumped against my hip. RFID-protected. Reinforced with steel cables inside the strap. With too many damn pockets. I did my homework, and I would not be a sitting duck for pickpockets. What good was all this protection if I took my phone out and held it in my pitifully weak, human hand?

  “Somebody might steal it.” I mean, it was a two-year-old smartphone, but it was my life.

  His loud laugh ripped through the cacophony of sounds around us. My head jerked back, my cheeks blazing and not just from the heat. Why was he laughing… at me?

  “Audrey, look around you.”

  “Hmph.” That’s all I had been doing. I’d been looking around so much I was dizzy.

  But as he waved his hand around, I saw that one out of every four or five people we passed had their own phone out and were busy talking or texting. How anyone could have their head down and still navigate the street was beyond me.

  Dev bent his head down to mine. “Baby, your phone isn’t your most valuable asset.”

  Then he pinched my butt.

  My backside tingling, I glared at him before scooting ahead to talk to Preethi, the PR woman. Apparently, she would be one of my guides again the next day while Dev was at his first shoot.

  “Do you know what you want to see first tomorrow?” she asked me, her voice trilling musically.

  “Something… quieter.”

  She nodded in understanding as I wrinkled my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth. The sights and sounds and smells around were rankling me, and my heart rate jumped with anxiety.

  Just when I thought I would gag from animal waste and raw sewage in the air the scent of flowers assaulted me, like I’d stopped in front of a bath store in the mall.

  A flower seller, using an upturned bucket as a stool, looked like she was blanketed in peppery carnations. Another next vendor held out garlands of marigolds and chrysanthemums that looked like giant, school bus-yellow caterpillars. As I was admiring them, Dev pressed up behind me.

  “Hold still,” he said.

  I froze, wondering what he was doing. Despite the crowded streets, nobody had come as close to me as Dev was at that moment.

  “You better not be picking my pocket,” I muttered.

  His low chuckle tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. “Later.” It was one simple word, loaded with promise.

  Then he reached around me to grab something from the outstretched hand of the flower seller, and fastened something to my hair, where it was pulle
d into a low ponytail.

  “What—?”

  “Hang on,” he said through two bobby pins between his teeth. I felt a tug and a poke, then another poke, a floral scent clouding around me. “Okay, shake your head a little, but not too hard.”

  When he stepped back, I felt the weight of a dozen smiles, but only saw Dev’s.

  I lifted my hands to my head, feeling the delicate little flowers pinned to the hair elastic at the nape of my neck.

  “Jasmine,” Preethi said. “It’s called a gajra, when it’s in your hair like that.”

  Jasmine? I’d heard of the night-blooming kind; the shrubs around my old apartment building smelled like cat pee. But this… The scent of this jasmine was like a balm on my chafed sense. I couldn’t describe it, but it felt like a cushion of calm around me.

  I lowered my hand, not wanting to accidentally crush the tiny blossoms. “Oh. Thank you.”

  Her male colleague—whose name I’d already forgotten and who had just slipped the flower seller some money—gave me an admiring look. I blushed. Or I was developing heat stroke. It was fifty-fifty, at that point.

  My hand went to my throat. “Can I get a drink?”

  He nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

  “It’s a very common hairstyle for weddings,” Preethi added with a knowing smile as Dev laced his fingers through mine.

  His middle finger bent and rubbed against my left hand where an engagement ring would encircle it. My pulse jumped in my throat.

  “Is it going to stay in?” I asked, looking between the two of them.

  She stepped forward and checked the back of my head. “It should, at least for the rest of the day. If you like, you can put it in the fridge in your hotel room tonight, and wear it again.”

  “Really?”

  Dev gently tugged me away a few feet, and whispered in my ear, “Or, you could keep it in and we can rub their perfume into the sheets as I drive into you.”

  Thump! Thump! My hand went to my chest. Definitely heatstroke… maybe. Our male guide—damn, what was his name?—reappeared to hand me a bottle of water.