She had a sense of humor, that one, he’d thought somewhat sourly while straightening the cuff links she had left for him on the dresser. They were white gold Frankenstein’s Monster heads. He had blanched when he had first seen them, and would perhaps never have worn them at all if not for her taunting him. “Its by Stephen Webster Arnav. Does that make them more wearable for you?” Arnav had thrown her a dark look and then slid the cuff links in through the slits in his french white shirt that was almost monkish in its simplicity - if not for the superb tailoring. His was a charcoal Burberry two piece, of virgin wool. A straight pants with sharp creases encased the long, runners’ legs and a jacket with notched lapels emphasized his lean built. Arnav believed in classic styles, and stuck to them, much to Khushi’s amusement. Maybe it was the loss of wealth that he had suffered in his late teens that made him cling to his style more. You don’t know what you have until its gone after all. For Khushi, it had been the opposite. Maybe because she hadn’t seen what he had before. Maybe that made her more complex and him more…. boxed in? He shrugged, tying on a Grey and Charcoal Purple lace printed tie in an Eldredge knot on his neck. Arnav didn't like the tie. To him, even the muted color was too… bright. Too hip. It made him feel conspicuous for all the wrong reasons, but Khushi had snickered, and won. “An Alexander McQueen, Arnav. Don’t tell me that you won’t wear his ties!” She won too often these days… and he didn't care to examine why that was exactly. Arnav straightened the offending tie, unaware that even the tie couldn't take away from him the air of a turn of the century french priest (albeit a sexy one) - a fact that would have appalled Mr. Raizada had he known it. Even the black Breil chronograph watch submitted to the air of restraint and turn of the century understated glamour. Arnav found himself tugging on that same knot he tied so carefully some hours ago as he looked at the hotel. This wasn’t his first hotel but somehow, this was the hotel he had invested most in emotionally and it was a thought that terrified him.
The Frankenstein’s Monsters head glinted in the light of the overhead chandeliers as he strode from guests to guests, playing the perfect host who probably gave a damn. Serving drinks, remembering names, asking after family members - all the while his eyes sought hers. After the initial hitch in her game, she had slid smoothly into the role of the gracious hostess. In fact, so skillfully had she slotted into that role that Arnav had barely seen her and for some reason, her eyes avoided his even while she stood right next to him, singing praises of the new chef, the trainer at the gym, the bakery, the bar - even the barista didn’t explain her litany of praises. Naivedyam was a hit too - or so it seemed. The sweets were flying off the shelves, both the complementary ones and those she had up for sale. It was going so well! Arnav knew he should be excited and the long line of businessmen in his blood danced kathak on a calculator at the interest and the buzz created around the hotel but, the man in him was… wary. It was not everyday that he was torn in two and maybe that’s why he found it so hard to do what came so naturally to him, everyday. Arnav looked up to see her dart around, smiling. Something felt unsettled about tonight. He couldn’t wait for it to end so that they could pack up and go back to Delhi, as soon as they could. Mumbai wasn’t his town.
She had seen him. Him. What was he doing here? Her eyes searched the hall over and over. Her breath coming in short gasps. There she had been, thinking about finally breaking free of the gilded cage that her life had become- and as she’d glanced up there he’d been. As if he was an Angel, sent by the Gods. Her good luck charm. The go-ahead that she’d been waiting for. She resisted the hysterical urge to laugh that bubbled up her throat, and turned towards the door again, her fingers fisting the silk of her pallu as she searched for him. How could someone so broken as her, still have such hope in her heart, she wondered. and yet, her eyes still desperately roved the hall for a glimpse of him. Could she even think about him? Could she be allowed to? After what she had done? After how she had trampled all over his heart… over both their hearts? She could still remember the beautiful way his Mocha eyes crinkled when he laughed. The little jolt she had learned to expect every time that slight dimple in his left cheek flashed. She could still hear the desperate plea in his low voice when he had asked her to come away with him… be his forever… assuring her that he would go to the ends of the Earth to keep her happy. Oh, she had believed him. He probably still would go to the ends of the Earth for her, but was she deserving of such a gift when all she had done was to walk away from him over and over and over again?
“Payal,” she turned as she heard the despised voice behind her. He was already weaving on his feet, the bastard, she thought frowning up at her respectable husband who was already quite drunk. “Take the Car home. I will be late tonight.” He frowned and then belched, as she stared at him a moment longer, “Now.” The menace in his voice sending an involuntary shudder up her spine, even as she fought against the panic mingled with fear that raised its ugly head inside of her. Would she never be able to live without feeling like this? And her resolve strengthened. She would. Starting now.
As she wordlessly turned and walked away from her soon to be ex-husband, her eyes caught a movement outside. There they were again, the couple she’d been watching earlier. The love between them was a tangible thing, even from where she stood. The soft smile that the woman offered the man, as he tenderly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, before touching his lips to her forehead was just that. Pure Love. The kind she had experienced with him once. The kind that she had longed for these three heart breaking years. The kind only her Prince could give her. And the last barrier inside Payal broke. As she strode out the doors of the Raizada Royale, she knew that she was going after what her heart had wanted since that day four years ago in a small cafe, when she had met the mate of her soul. It was time to live happily like she had always deserved. And if she had to win him over again, then so be it.
Five minutes later found her firmly ordering her ex-husband’s driver to go home park the car and leave, without her. Her tone heeding no arguments from him, and the flash of temper in her eyes as he started to object stopping him mid-way.
She watched the expensive car drive away, a sneer curling her lip as she thought of the soulless creature that had bought it for the last time, and turned to the road.
And then, her eyes snagged the gold and mocha ones that had been watching her for some time now. Her heart leaped, soared, then settled back in the place it had always belonged to. Finally. She was home.
This really was a very well thought out hotel launch, Anjali thought caressing the jewel colored drapes of Nauvari sarees that had been used instead of normal canopy materials to line the great hall. It was a traditional Maharastrian saree and Anjali was smart enough to understand its blatant mass appeal even while admiring its beauty. Someone very savvy had blended the two seamlessly and she admired that. She wondered if the much enthused Khushi K. Gupta had anything to do with the decor. Anjali didn’t keep up with the famous and the limelight lovers, but she had to be quite deaf and blind not to know about the Raizada and his right hand man, or woman in this case. The name had jumped at her in the passing when she was at Delhi some time back. Some supermodel scandal with the young Mr. Raizada and speculations. The usual page 3 blatherings really. She had dropped the paper without looking at it again. Her mother’s family were Raizadas, too so, she had briefly wondered if he was a distant cousin of sorts but had never bothered to look into it any further. What was the point? Family was a thing of the past to her. There it would stay for the rest of her earthly days.
Anjali looked around searching for her husband. He had wanted her to really meet Khushi Gupta and had run off to fetch her. Anjali had no fears concerning him or her, she knew Shyamji too well but what piqued her curiosity was how highly he spoke of her. It was not like Shyamji to enthuse over anything. She watched as her husband darted about, looking around for the elusive Ms. Gupta when someone else came into her view. It was young Mr. Raizada himself. Courtesy dictated that she went up to her host and thanked him for a lovely party and it most certainly had been one. Plus, it would give her an opportunity to observe the younger man closely. He made her… curious.
Anjali slowly sauntered towards the younger man with a polite smile pasted on her face. The young man in question was surveying what lay before him in a very lord of the manor-ish manner, lips stretched in a smile that didn’t quite reflect in his eyes. She politely tapped him on the shoulders and when he turned around, she smiled.
“Namaste Mr. Raizada, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Mrs. Jha. I’ve heard a lot about you and your lovely partner from my husband, Shyam Manohar Jha? He speaks…. oooooomph!”
Her breath came out in spurts when the younger man’s eyes widened and he pulled her by her arm through the crush, through the writhing bodies, the congregating chatters, through the waiters carrying drinks and the women handing out free Naivedyam mithais, completely unnoticed in the swing of the party. He kept dragging her until she was pulled behind a thick grecian column near the amrapali pool she had admired so much not quite half an hour ago. Anjali was outraged. She sputtered, thinking of all she would tell him, and then Shyamji when this was over. Really? She understood that the younger crowd had a rather casual outlook towards life but this was… this was an outrage! She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind and damn the torpedoes when a vulnerable sound broke from his lips and froze her blood, and her words in mid-tirade.
“Di?”
NK watched her walk towards him. He’d needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts, and he’d walked out for a breath of fresh air. To steady himself against the blow that his heart would be getting as the night wound its way toward its end. He would once again see her walking away from him. Knowing that she was miserable and helpless to do anything about it. He’d just closed his eyes to the sparkling night in front of him, when he’d heard her. He had turned and seen her standing there, eyes flashing, lips pursed, nose flaring as she bullied the already cowering driver to go without her. He’d watched as she had tossed the the garish coloured pallu of her saree over her shoulder as if to free the hand that had been trapped under its weight, she had turned her back to the Hotel in a decidedly firm way, as if she never wanted to go back to the place again- and then she had looked straight at him.
His breath had caught somewhere in his chest, as he’d met those coal-black eyes and held. He could have sworn a current sparked between them, as her chin came up. She had started walking towards him, with deliberate slow steps, and he saw a new strength in those eyes. He couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to, as he watched her destroy the distance between them- again with a decided finality- and take his hand in her much smaller one as she finally reached him.
He looked down at their entwined hands and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked into her eyes again, closing his mouth- trying to decide how to react. Should he crush her to himself? Throw her over his shoulder and make a run for it? Or be polite and ask how she was? Or should he kiss her full tempting lips and to hell with the consequences? In all the mess that was his mind, only one thing was clear to him- he couldn’t leave her hand, even if his life depended on it. He wouldn’t. And as he recognized this fact, his grip on her hand tightened. You’re not getting away from me tonight, love, his eyes told her, not without killing me first.
The smile that had been playing on her lips widened, and she stepped into his warmth, as her other hand came up to lightly caress his cheek. Her head tipped back as her nose delicately nuzzled his. Her breath washed over his lips as she whispered for him alone, “Take me home, love.”
He didn’t know how they got to his apartment. He had a vague impression of driving back with her hand always touching him. Caressing his thigh as he changed gears, firmly gripping his hand as he steered the car towards their destination. Always in contact with him. As if reassuring him as well as herself that it was not a dream. That this was real.
Now he closed the door to the flat and turned to face her. Watching as her eyes hungrily roved over his face. As she strode towards him, her hands stroking and petting his chest as she gently pushed him back against the door. His hands came to rest on her waist, as she rose on her tiptoes, her eyes falling closed, as she rested her full soft lips against his. And a shudder rippled through him. All the thoughts, concerns, questions, doubts that had been buzzing around his mind, muddling him- were thrown out the window. All he cared about, really cared about, was the woman in his arms. His woman.
His hands gripped her waist tighter, his lips opening under hers, capturing hers urgently. He pushed away from the door, turning them only to change their positions. He trapped her against the door, as his lips scored her jawline, caressed her cheek, licked up a path to her earlobe, nibbled lightly on it. His fingers etched feather light circles over the quivering flesh of her exposed belly, even as she whispered his name over and over again, like a prayer. Her trembling hands cupped his cheeks, her mouth opening as she claimed his lips again. Her teeth biting on his lower lip, her tongue soothing, laving, licking into his mouth. A possessive growl was ripped from his chest as he yanked her to himself, bending to scoop her slender form into his arms, never breaking the kiss as he strode inside the house.
She sighed, as they came up for air, his lips traveled her cheek, down her neck as he moved over her. His hands busied themselves in pulling out the ugly garish saree that covered her. Each and every trembling touch stoking the wildfire inside her. Her hands stroked his back, pulled his shirt out, travelled under it… her nails gently scoring his back. She smiled as another shudder racked his big lean body. And then his lips were there again. Claiming her. Possessing her. Purifying her.
She didn’t realize when their clothes were shook off. But she did remember the electricity that zipped up and down her spine when she felt his skin on hers. His warmth drenching her soul. She remembered his groan when she kissed his neck, when she rolled him over and rolled on top of him. She remembered his trembling hands cupping her cheeks, stroking her hair back from her face, as he smiled at her, brought her down for yet another kiss. Whispered his love. Over and over again.
And then she could not wait any longer. She wanted all of him. Forever. But when she had moved to take him, he stopped her.
“Payal…” he had whispered, his hands framing her face, his eyes boring into hers. “Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?”
And this, she had thought, is why I fell in love with you. She had smiled, bent down to kiss him. To burn away all the doubts. To reassure him. And he had smiled back. His eyes shone, with equal parts of relief as well as love, as he moved over her once again. She watched as he took care of her protection. Smiled as he parted her thighs, and sighed as he entered her.
They were, finally, one.
- 11:11 AM
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