Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
ISHA
I was still reeling from Veer’s words when he dragged me around to the front of the house. Our mothers and Nandini Aunty were clearly lying in wait, even though they made a huge pretence of looking at the tiger lilies when we approached.
“Why are you guys still here?” I demanded.
“I was just showing them the flowers,” said my mother ingenuously.
“In the dark? Even the flowers are asleep, Ma. Why aren’t you?”
“Because the two of you dropped a surprise on the whole family and disappeared without a word,” she retorted. “What do you expect?”
“Is this true, Ranveer?” asked his mother.
“Yes, Ma. Isha and I are going to be married,” he replied, putting an arm around me.
Was it my imagination or did his mother look slightly disappointed? I ignored the pang in my heart because I was used to it. I had yet to meet a prospective mother-in-law who didn’t look disappointed when she saw me, because every Indian mother wanted a tall, slim, beautiful bride for her son, and I was none of those things.
And after nine years of coldness, I couldn’t expect Veer and Diya’s mother to warm to me overnight. She used to hate the sight of me after Bhai Sa betrayed Diya, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why her daughter didn’t discard me like a used tissue when her relationship with my brother went south so badly.
But she let none of those feelings show as she gave me a warm smile. I bent to touch her feet and there was a collective sigh from my mother and Nandini Aunty.
“She’s always been such a good girl,” murmured Nandini Aunty.
“Don’t you believe it, Aunty,” exclaimed Veer. “She’s a wildcat. She’s likely to blow my head off with her rifle if I don’t keep her happy.”
“That pleasure is reserved for me, asshole,” said Bhai Sa, as he came around the corner.
“Dheer, be nice to my Jamai Sa,” snapped Ma. “And why are you here without Diya? Is she alone in the hospital?”
“I just came by to pick up some of her things, Ma. And I’m glad I did because someone needs to stop this madness. Don’t let anyone bully you into getting married, Isha,” he said bluntly. “I know you’re desperate to inherit Gulab Mahal, but we’ll find a way to break the will. Or, I’ll find a way to buy the house for you even if I have to make a deal with the Goels. Hell, I’ll even build you a spanking new replica of Gulab Mahal if you’re so hung up on it. You don’t have to get married if you don’t want to.”
I wanted to cry because no matter what, there was one person who was always firmly by my side. My brother would move heaven and earth to keep me happy. And yet, it was not his job to fix my problems. He had a wife and child to care for, and I couldn’t allow my problems to get in the way of that. Even now, I was keeping him from being with Diya in the hospital.
Which was why I swallowed my tears and smiled at Bhai Sa.
“I know I don’t have to get married. But I want to,” I insisted.
“Fine, if that’s what you want, pick someone who will cherish you, Isha. Not someone who spent the past nine years treating you like dirt,” he replied, shooting a scathing look at Veer, who sneered at him in response.
“Interestingly, I told my sister the same thing when she was about to marry you,” he drawled. “And yet, here we are. If we go by our past behaviour, I’ve treated your sister far better than you’ve treated mine, Dheer. By that yardstick, we have as much chance of being happy together as you did, if not more.”
Bhai Sa looked uncomfortable at the mention of his past, but he held his ground.
“I made up for how I treated Diya. What remains to be seen is if you can do the same with Isha,” he retorted.
“I give you leave to shoot me with her rifle if I don’t,” agreed Veer.
“What does Diya need?” asked Ma hastily, to distract Bhai Sa, and the ploy worked.
She led him upstairs to pick out whatever Diya needed for her hospital stay, and Nandini Aunty tactfully led Veer’s mother away, giving us some privacy.
Veer grabbed my chin and raised my face to his.
“I meant what I said, Isha. You can cut my heart out if I ever hurt you,” he promised. “And I know I’ve been an absolute beast to you, but I swear I will make it up to you.”
The words sounded beautiful, but they didn’t impress me much because I’d been hurt by this man once too often. I smiled at him bleakly.
“You can’t undo the past, Veer. You can’t unsay those hurtful words, nor can you erase them from my memory. All we can do is make the best of what we have now. It’s only for a year,” I reminded him.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared into my eyes. It felt like he was trying to peek into my soul, and I lowered my eyelashes instinctively to keep him out.
“What’s the deal with that house?” he asked and my eyes flew open.
“Gulab Mahal?”
Veer nodded in reply.
“It used to belong to my uncle.”
I explained the house’s history to him and my connection to it as we walked into the house. I couldn’t decipher his expression as he listened to me.
“Are you laughing at me?” I asked abruptly.
“Far from it,” Veer replied. “I was admiring your enthusiasm about the house.”
“That sounds like something people say when they want you to stop droning on about something boring,” I grumbled.
“Fine! I was admiring your lush lips and imagining what they’d look like wrapped around my…”
Before he could finish that statement, I tripped over my own foot and went sprawling to the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asked shakily.
I pushed my unruly hair out of my face and glared at him as I sat up and dusted my hands off.
“Stop laughing at me,” I hissed. “This is your fault.”
“Well, you wanted to know what I was thinking,” he complained, reaching out to help me up.
I pushed his hand away and stood up on my own steam.
“I’m going to bed,” I said stiffly, as I hobbled towards the staircase. “Goodnight, and I hope the bed bugs bite. I hope they suck you dry, you asshole.”
“I was hoping you’d do that,” he replied drily.
I drew in a sharp breath, wondering how my mother would react if I beaned her precious Jamai Sa with her favourite Ming vase sitting so pretty on the console table by the staircase. I wondered whom she’d miss most - the man or the vase.
“Don’t even think about it,” warned Veer. “You’ll set off a full-scale war with the Jadhwals if you kill me. And my parents will take Diya back home, for sure.”
“They can try,” I said with a snort. “Bhai Sa will shed rivers of blood before he lets anyone take his Diya from him.”
I was the picture of injured dignity as I went up the stairs, and only when I was out of Veer’s sight did I run straight to my room and shut the door behind me firmly. I wished I could shut his words out as well, but they followed me to bed, tormenting me in my dreams. I tossed and turned in bed all night, dreaming of Veer and his promise of fucking me on every flat surface in his palace.
My dreams always ended just as he was about to enter me, and I’d wake up frustrated, drenched in sweat and sopping wet. At one point, I was tempted to pleasure myself to take the edge off, but I knew it wouldn’t even be close to the real thing, and in the state I was in, only Veer would do.
I punched my pillow in frustration, and when I imagined it to be his smug face, I punched it a few more times just for the heck of it before I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was quite late in the morning. I lay in bed for a while longer because I knew what was awaiting me downstairs - a full interrogation by the mummy committee. Followed by wedding planning. I’d rather have my teeth extracted without anaesthesia than plan another wedding so soon after Diya and Bhai Sa’s anniversary extravaganza. Even if it was my own wedding.
The fact that my mother and Veer’s Ma would start picking out my wedding clothes without me finally drove me out of bed because I knew they’d saddle me with a whole lot of heavy outfits that would only make me look bigger than I was.
When I went down for breakfast, the mummy committee was out in full force and my fiancée was nowhere to be seen.
His mother shot me a disapproving look and looked at the big Dutch clock on the mantlepiece pointedly. I ignored the look and wished them all a serene good morning.
“Beta, we were just discussing the wedding date,” said my mother, as she passed me a plate of aloo parathas. “I’ve asked Pandit Ji to find us a good mahurat.”
“It needs to be soon, Ma,” I replied, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“Are you still obsessed with that house?” she scolded.
Of course, I was! Why else would I be getting married? But there was no tactful way to say that without offending everyone present, so I kept my mouth shut and took a sip of coffee.
“What will you do with that house, though?” asked Veer’s mother curiously. “Will you rent it out?
I turned to her in surprise because what kind of question was that?
“I’m going to live in it, of course,” I replied.
She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“But we live in Jadhwal! How can Veer campaign successfully in his constituency if he doesn’t live there? And how can the future Maharaja of Jadhwal live in his wife’s house like a ghar jamai?” she asked, sounding scandalised.
That thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I had only been thinking about the immediate future, mainly about getting the deeds to Gulab Mahal transferred to my name as soon as we got married. I had given no thought to where we would live after the event.
“The future Maharaja of Jadhwal will live wherever his wife wants to live,” declared Veer from the doorway. “And if the future Maharani wants to live in her dream house, then that’s what we’re going to do.”
His mother looked very upset at his words, but Nandini Aunty played peacemaker.
“Uff, Raji! You sound so gawaar with all that ghar jamai stuff! Ranveer would be called a ghar jamai if he moved into Trikhera Palace after the wedding. But Gulab Mahal will be Isha’s own house, not her family’s property. As for campaigning in his constituency, it’s a mere twenty-minute helicopter ride to Jadhwal. He can commute there every day. Politicians do it all the time. Do you think any of them live in their constituencies when they can live it up in big cities?”
I shot her a grateful look before I turned to peek at my fiancé, who had thrown himself into the chair next to mine. He looked fresh and rested, as opposed to the swamp witch vibe I had going on. My heart rate sped up as I stared at his perfectly chiselled jawline. When he picked up a butter knife to slather his toast with butter, I couldn’t take my eyes off his gorgeous forearms and powerful hands. I stifled a sigh as I shot a covert look at his broad shoulders. How was this man so beautiful? And how in the world would I even match up to him?
I knew what people would say when they heard about our upcoming marriage. I was prepared for the trolls who would claim that he married me for money. But Veer was just as wealthy as my brother. So they would jump to the most obvious conclusion in light of his recent scandal. That he had married me to clean up his image. This time, I sighed with misery. Why else would a man like him marry a woman like me?
“Beta, you haven’t touched your paratha,” complained my mother. “Do you want a fresh one?”
“This is fine, Ma,” I replied, breaking off a small piece.
But as I raised it to my mouth, the ghee glistening on the surface made me pause. There was something very unappetising about the thought of that ghee turning to fat that clung to my hips. Or deposited in my arms and on my abdomen. Ugh! It made me want to throw up.
I set the morsel back on the plate and pushed my plate away. My mother tutted when she saw that.
“Beta, please don’t start the dieting thing again. Remember what your therapist told you,” she said worriedly.
“Haye haye! Therapist?” squawked Veer’s mother.
I took a deep breath and fought off the shame that threatened to overcome me when someone mentioned my therapy sessions. There was nothing to be ashamed of, I told myself. Therapy was as essential as a life-saving drug. If I had diabetes, I’d take meds for it, and I wouldn’t be afraid to own up to it. So why shouldn’t I accept that I need therapy?
This was a familiar script and I knew it by heart, but for once, it wasn’t as effective as it normally was. Because today, Veer was sitting right next to me. And if I spoke about why I needed therapy, he’d know I was flawed. Broken.
But he needed to know, and the sooner the better. Yet, the words just wouldn’t come.
“I didn’t know she needed therapy, Didi,” exclaimed his mother.
I was trying to sink deeper into my chair when Veer spoke.
“Everyone needs therapy, Ma. Only the brave actually go out and get it. And you forget that Diya also took therapy for years,” he said quietly.
“That was only a bit of counselling for when she missed Dheer,” stammered his mother. “Diya is perfectly fine otherwise.”
“Well, I’m not, Aunty,” I said firmly because I refused to hide from the world ever again. “I’ve struggled with an eating disorder for years, and I have to see a therapist every week to help me deal with it. I’m doing much better now, but it gets triggered by stress, and I’m probably always going to be a work in progress. If you feel that makes me defective or it’s not something you want to associate with, we can all walk away from the marriage right now with no hard feelings.”
“Over my dead body,” said Veer, as he took the paratha off my plate.
“Arre! Why are you taking her food? How is she going to fight this thing if she doesn’t eat?” asked his mother.
But I was relieved he did it because the sight, smell and stress of eating the paratha was making me sick.
Veer grabbed my hand under the table and gave it a tight squeeze.
“She will fight it the way she fights every other obstacle. With courage and grace,” he said firmly. “And no one is going to try and force-feed her ever again. Aunty, please text me a list of Isha’s safe foods. I’ll make sure to stock them in our house as well.”
Veer had no experience of how to deal with an eating disorder, but he had jumped into the deep end just to defend me. My lips wobbled and tears welled in my eyes. Just when I thought I had a grip on the marriage thing, he went and upended all my plans because how could a temporary marriage be enough with a man who was proving to be so addictive?