Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
DIYA
D heer took my lips in an achingly sweet kiss that was at odds with his words. I should have been outraged at the way he took it for granted that I would just fall into his arms. And I was, but there was no way I could resist his kiss.
I forgot the callous way he had admitted that he fell for another woman nine years ago. I forgot that I hated him with all my heart. I forgot everything but the feel of his lips on mine. I kissed him back hungrily, digging one hand through his thick, curly hair, and running the other up and down his broad back.
The doorknob dug into my lower back when I arched my back, but I ignored it. I ignored everything but the feel of him in my arms. This felt right. For some stupid, fucking reason, this felt so right.
Dheer’s hands crept up my sides until he cupped my breasts and squeezed them. I moaned into his mouth, arching my back to his touch. After my shower, I changed into a loose pair of pants and a linen shirt. His nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons on my shirt and parted it to expose me to his burning, hungry gaze. I had worn much skimpier bikinis for photo shoots, but I had never felt conscious. For the first time in my life, I felt shy of his gaze on my body.
He stroked the side of my neck and I shivered as it sent tingles straight down to my core. His hand moved lower until he reached the lacy edge of my black bra. He pushed it down and bent his head to suck on a nipple. I gasped at the feel of his lips on me.
His other hand kneaded my butt and I wound a leg around his hip trying to get closer to him.
“Dheer,” I moaned.
He picked me up and I wound both my legs around his hips as he held me up against the door.
“What? Tell me what you want.”
“Kiss me,” I breathed, dragging his head back to me.
He crushed my lips with his and laughed huskily as I sucked hard on his tongue. I could feel his hardness against my core, and I moved my hips up and down slowly, moaning at the delicious friction. I was sopping wet by now, and desperate to feel him inside me.
But Dheer dragged his lips away from mine with a groan.
“Not like this,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. “You will be mine, but the first time I make love to you, it won’t be a rushed affair up against a door. It will be in a bed. Our bed.”
Damn him! How could he reduce me to this shaking, aching mess of desire? Did I have no self-respect? I wanted to tell him again that I would never be his, but I had a feeling it would take only one kiss from him to make me capitulate. So I wisely kept my mouth shut as I pushed him away and buttoned up my shirt with shaking hands before I unlocked the door.
I finally found my voice and spoke without turning to look back at him.
“This means nothing. Stay away from me, Dheer because this won’t end well for you or me.”
I walked away with the tattered remnants of my dignity and a body that ached to be possessed by him.
When I got to my room, my mother was waiting for me with a team of women, and between them, they waxed, plucked and scrubbed me until my skin was raw. Then Dheer’s mother sent trays of jewellery for me to try on with my wedding clothes. Despite my insistence on a small wedding, my mother had convinced Padmini Aunty to agree to a small haldi function. Isha and I picked out a lovely yellow chiffon poshak and pearls for the haldi, and I chose a beautiful multi-layered kundan necklace and matching earrings and bangles with uncut diamonds and emeralds to contrast with my rose-coloured saree.
When I woke up the next morning, the palace was abuzz with preparations for the wedding, and you could practically smell the excitement in the air.
“This is the first wedding in our family in years, and even the staff is agog,” said Padmini Aunty happily as her darzi made some last-minute adjustments to the blouse I was wearing with my wedding saree. “Beta, you need to pick out the rakhdi you want to wear with your set.”
She was referring to the traditional maang tikka worn by Rajput women. I picked out one that matched my jewellery and was led away to dress for the haldi which was held on the big terrace on the first floor. The first sticky moment came when I refused to have the traditional mehendi drawn on my hands.
“Haye haye! What apshagun is this!” cried Dheer’s grandmother. “How can she be a Rajput bride without her hands and feet covered in mehendi?”
“I can’t help it, Dadi Sa,” I replied firmly. “I have a photo shoot in two weeks and I can’t have any stains or tattoos on my skin as per the terms of my contract.”
“To hell with the contract,” she snapped, stomping her foot and banging her walker on the floor. “You will do as you’re told. And your modelling days are over, my girl. The Maharani of Trikhera cannot be seen half-naked in public.”
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I could not tell the old bat to fuck off because she was my bridegroom’s grandmother. I had to respect her even if she didn’t deserve it.
“If I break the contract, your grandson will have to shell out fifty lakhs in compensation to the brand, Dadi Sa,” I said politely, hoping to resonate with the miserliness she was known for.
That was a bad call. The thought of shelling out so much money almost gave the old biddy a heart attack. I felt so guilty as I helped her into a chair. Dheer would never forgive me if I killed his grandmother!
“It’s okay, Dadi Sa. I know something better than mehendi. I’ve used temporary henna tattoos before, and they won’t violate my contract because they wash out within a week,” I said placatingly.
“Mehendi tattoos! What is the world coming to?” she grumbled. “Dheer! Beta, listen to me. I don’t think this marriage is in your best interests.”
Dheer gave me a quizzical look as he sat down beside his grandmother.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked very handsome in the gold sherwani he had worn for the haldi, and I tried not to blush as his gaze skimmed over me. I had washed off the haldi and was wearing a simple yellow and gold georgette saree. The rest of the women were getting traditional mehendi drawn on their palms, while two of the henna artists were prepping my temporary henna tattoos.
“She says she doesn’t want mehendi. What madness is this, beta? I think you should call off the wedding before it’s too late.”
Dheer held my eyes as he spoke to his grandmother.
“It’s already too late, Dadi Sa. And Diya can do whatever she likes. She’s the bride,” he declared.
“And we are the ladke-waale,” cried his grandmother. “Doesn’t that stand for anything?”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Dadi Sa,” he said, with a grin.
“Hmph. I don’t care for this modern nonsense,” she muttered, banging her walker on the floor again. “And what do you mean by letting her work after the wedding? How can the Trikhera bride be a model? People will laugh at us.”
“I will not be a model, Dadi Sa,” I replied coolly, with a challenging look at Dheer. “I’m a supermodel.”
“And we’re very proud of you,” he said gently, leaving me confused and conflicted. “Diya has every right to keep working after the wedding, Dadi Sa. I want her to be happy.”
That’s how he planned to keep me trapped in this marriage, I realised. By keeping me happy. The sneaky, scheming bastard!
“I’m flying off to Kenya in two weeks,” I informed him. “And I’ll be gone for around a month.”
“Maybe I’ll join you there after your shoot is over for a late honeymoon,” he said, stretching his legs out until his juttis rested against the leg of my chair.
If his grandmother weren’t sitting with us, I would have stomped on his big feet, but I restrained myself because the sight of me kicking his feet instead of pressing them like a dutiful wife would surely finish her off. And while I might have killed a man in self-defence, I was no murderer.
“I’d love that,” I replied through gritted teeth, wondering if I could feed him to a lion while we were there and pass it off as an accident.
“Which reminds me… I have put my smaller Gulfstream at your disposal.”
I froze in the act of sipping my nariyal-paani and turned to him in surprise.
“Your what?”
“My smaller private jet. It’ll make your travels easier.”
“Eww! I cannot use a private jet, Dheer! I’m a brand ambassador for the Gates Foundation’s climate change campaign,” I exclaimed.
“You’ll be spending way less fuel if you travel directly to your destination, instead of taking multiple flights,” he argued.
“Not if I’m travelling alone!”
“Fine, I’ll accompany you every time if you insist,” he said with a theatrical sigh, and I wondered what had just happened here. Somehow, Dheer had finagled an invite to ride along for all my work trips. Like I said, the sneaky, scheming bastard!
“But… I didn’t mean…”
“You can thank me later. Dadi Sa, I need to speak to Diya in private.”
“Hmph! In our time…” began his Dadi Sa, and he cut her off.
“Diya’s mother’s making a mess of the mayra display, Dadi Sa. Why don’t you go and set her straight?”
That was all it took to force her out of her seat. As she made her way to where my mother was arranging all the wedding presents sent by her brothers, I turned to Dheer. He no longer looked amused.
“What’s wrong?” I asked worriedly.
He looked around to make sure we were alone and then held out a photograph.
“Is this the woman you saw being killed?”