Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter
Twenty-three
“You know when you fall asleep and you stop breathing? When you’re married, there’s always somebody there to nudge you back to life.”
—Raymond Barone, Everybody Loves Raymond
The wedding was breathtakingly beautiful. An emotional Bollywood wedding song boomed from the speakers as Neha was carried to the altar in a small carriage, shouldered by Uncle Madhu, Papa, and two male cousins. Her skin glowed, and the grin on her face put Harsha’s extra-wide one to shame. She wore a gorgeous bridal lehenga that was neither gaudy nor glitzy, but sophisticated and stylish. Renuka Mishra’s custom-made designs were no joke. A heavy diamond necklace glittered at Neha’s neck, decorated with rubies to match her red lehenga, and a big but thin gold ring circled her small, sharp nose. Harsha followed along in the shadows, clicking picture after picture but leaving enough space for the videographers to capture the magic too.
She knew theirs was an arranged marriage, but Rohan had genuine tears in his eyes as his bride approached him, and Harsha was lucky enough to get the moment on camera. When the panditji handed them orchid garlands to exchange, Rohan whispered something in Neha’s ear, which made her giggle for almost half a minute before Uncle Madhu cleared his throat, and she snapped back to reality and put the garland around Rohan’s neck, blushing.
They really were in love, Harsha realized with a lurch as she looked at them through her lens. Despite her loathing for her cousin, she felt herself well up, a pebble in her throat, during Rohan and Neha’s seven rounds around the holy pyre that represented the vows they would make to each other to cement their marriage—and love—as eternal. Guests clapped and threw flower petals at the couple as they made their rounds, after which rose petal confetti dropped from the ceiling.
In the distance, all the way across the room, Harsha locked eyes with Veer, who had a beer in his hand. He looked handsome in a dark gray suit with a mint-green tie he must have bought to match her lehenga. He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling, then took a sip, and she zoomed in on him and clicked a picture before she could stop herself. She couldn’t wait to go up to him. It had been hours since she talked to him—and that was far too long.
Finally, when the ceremony ended and dinner was announced, Harsha headed toward Veer, but paused when Aunt Pinky approached her, a kind smile on her face. “I hope you caught all the big moments,” she said, touching a hand to the camera strap around Harsha’s neck, “but we want you to be present in them too.”
“Auntie—”
“Why don’t you hand over your duties to Vishal for the rest of the night? He works in the shooting department for one of your uncle’s movies.”
Harsha tried not to roll her eyes. “If there are so many people with filming experience here, why did Neha even ask me to do this?” she snapped.
“I thought you understood why, Harshu.” Aunt Pinky sighed, fiddling with the pallu of her saree. “She wanted you here for longer than just one night, and this was the perfect excuse. We all knew you wouldn’t stay otherwise.”
“Wait, what?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Why would she want that?”
Aunt Pinky smiled wryly. “Maybe you should ask her that yourself. Have a nice time, beta. I’ll ask Vishal to take over for now.”
Harsha found Veer at a dinner table. He had already kept a plateful of piping hot food ready for her, along with a vodka soda. She accepted the meal gratefully, taking a bite of the delicious tandoori chicken. She was starving. “How did you like the ceremony?” she asked Veer.
He paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “It was beautiful,” he said finally. “I don’t say this about arranged marriages often, but I think Neha and Rohan chose well.”
“They chose well indeed,” she agreed, smiling at him, and he took her hand and kissed the back of it, as though he, too, knew she wasn’t talking about just one happy couple.
“How was your day, by the way?” Veer sipped his beer. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Harsha tried not to blush. “Neha flipped out on me while she was getting ready. I’m pretty sure there are three or four shots of her bridezilla death glare in my camera roll now.”
Veer let out a chuckle. “Well, now she’s the happiest woman in this room, so no harm done.” A server came by to clear their plates, and he added, “Want to dance?”
Her mind flashed back to that moment they’d shared at the anniversary party—the almost-kiss—and a humming filled her ears at the thought of touching her lips to his, at long last. God, she wanted that more than anything else. “Yes, please,” she said.
Veer led her to the other side of the room, where couples already danced to the orchestral Bollywood music played by the band Uncle Madhu had hired. Harsha swayed to the melody, licking her lips, her arms wound around his neck. “It’s such a romantic night,” she remarked.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes flitting to her mouth. “Mm-hmm,” he said, gulping. “It really is. I can’t believe we’re here. Together.”
“You know what’s funny?” Harsha tightened her grip on him. “The day we discussed the contract at that café, I thought you hated me. I was scared this plan would flop.”
Veer grazed her shoulder with a stray finger, smiling when she shivered. “I never hated you,” he said, “and I never will.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as he spun her around. “Not even if I say I’ve been keeping something from you?”
He pulled her back into his arms, his eyes kind. “Not even then. But what’s the secret?”
“I overheard you and Deepika at the boutique that day,” she admitted. “You told her the truth, and she said you’re…” Harsha left the words hanging.
Veer stopped swaying. “You know?”
Harsha nodded. “The weird thing is, despite my obsession with the contract, I didn’t really care that you told her the truth, because all I could focus on was her saying you could fall for me.”
“Well”—Veer’s eyes flicked to her lips—“she wasn’t wrong.”
A small gasp broke through her teeth. Veer pried her hands from around his shoulders, holding them tightly in his grip. “Let’s go back to our room and talk?”
She squeezed his fingers, loving how perfectly he fit with her. “Let’s go,” she said.
As they headed to their room, still hand-in-hand, Veer couldn’t stop the strong feeling of déjà vu from sinking in. The last time they’d shared an electric moment like this was when they returned from the anniversary party, and Veer had had to rush to the shower to avoid his impulses.
But now…it wasn’t just sexual tension hanging in the air between them, thick and all-consuming. It was equal parts heavy and light; it was the perfect alchemy of electric chemistry and unwavering fondness.
It was love.
Harsha unlocked the door with a beep, and once they had their shoes off, they sat down on the bed, facing each other. Her curly hair fell to her waist, bare above the lehenga skirt. God, she was beautiful, and he wondered if she felt the pull between them too. If she couldn’t resist it, either.
“So,” she said, grinning, “you wanted to talk about something?”
Veer took his hand in hers, kissing the side of her wrist. “Can I start by saying how proud I am of you?”
Harsha interlaced their fingers. “Proud of me?” she laughed. “Why?”
He ran his thumb in a zigzag along her knuckles, noting how her chest rose and fell from that singular movement. “We’ve talked about your work a few times, but tonight was the first time I saw you in your natural element. When you were taking the photographs as Neha walked up to the altar, I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
Her cheeks turned scarlet. “You’re supposed to look at the bride, not me.”
Veer pressed his other hand to her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Harsha, but that’s not all you are. You’re passionate, you’re kind, you’re brave. And you never stop being those things. How could I ever look away from you? I’m always so in awe of you.”
A tear trickled down Harsha’s cheek and onto his hand. Veer brushed it aside with his thumb and said, “This week has been a lot, hasn’t it?”
“It has.” She hesitated, then pulled him into the pillows, half-sitting up, resting her head close to his face. “Can you hold me?”
“Of course,” Veer said. He put his arm around her, brushing a lock of her curls away from her eyes as though on autopilot. Maybe because he’d done this a hundred times while they’d practiced, so it was second nature now.
Or maybe because he just couldn’t stop himself from doing it, charade or not.
Harsha stared up at him through her lashes and licked her lips. Veer gulped, his mouth dry. That look in her eyes…maybe it was just the magic of the wedding in the air tonight.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
“Veer?” she whispered. She let that word out in a ragged breath, her fingers clasping his free hand.
“Yeah?” he asked. He forced himself to look away, at his half-open messy suitcase and her closed one; at the bright white comforter underneath them; at their feet, nearly touching.
“Look at me.”
His heart pounding, he turned to her. Her eyes were latched on to his, her face blank. She was still holding his hand, and Veer was afraid to let go, afraid he’d wake up and this would all be a dream, that he had never been anything more than her barista, that she was still with her ex.
The thought killed him.
She cupped his face with her hand and touched their foreheads together. “I really want this,” she whispered.
“Want what?” he whispered back as his pulse raced.
She trailed a line down his pant leg with her foot, and he shivered in response. “This. Us. Do you too?” she asked.
Veer held his breath. He did. He so fucking did. Because he was in love with her, and this was all he’d wanted for weeks. But why did she want it? Did she love him too?
Harsha leaned closer to peck him on the cheek, and sure, they’d done this countless times before, but god, it set off something inside him that he didn’t want to hold in anymore; he simply couldn’t.
“I do,” he said, crushing her lips with his own. Harsha pulled him in closer, her arms winding around his neck. When his hands grazed her bare waist, she let out a breathy moan and opened her mouth to give him better access.
Veer tasted the vodka on her tongue and moved away, touching his forehead to hers. “Are you sure about this? We’ve both had a drink—”
She nodded, whispering, “I want you, Veer. I’ve wanted you long before tonight,” she admitted. “So badly.”
That was enough confirmation for him. He cradled her face with his left hand, weaving his other hand through those mermaid curls. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed in between kisses. “My beautiful pixie.”
Harsha gasped as his fingers undid the strings that held her lehenga blouse together.
“Is this okay?” he asked, resting his hand on her belly.
Harsha pulled the zipper down in response, then sat up and peeled her blouse off. Veer looked at her for a beat, marveling at her breasts, her skin, the pinkness of her face as she breathed in and out heavily, waiting for him to make the next move.
And he did. He tugged his tie over his head, and Harsha helped him take off his jacket and unbutton his shirt. His hands were shaking so bad, whether with anticipation or anxiety, he didn’t know.
It was definitely her body lotion that was strawberry-scented, because as Veer trailed his lips down her neck and chest, his hands exploring underneath her skirt, the aroma was so strong he wanted to have her then and there.
But no, he would savor every single second of this moment, every single inch of her body. She was beautiful, she was perfect, and now, finally, she was in his arms. He wouldn’t rush a thing.
So he touched her, kissed her, worshipped her, hoping his lips wouldn’t let slip the words running through his mind over and over again that he had never imagined telling anyone before.
She unzipped his pants. I love you. She tugged at his chest hair and moaned when he bit her lower lip. I love you. She looked him in the eyes and smiled. I love you.
And finally, after twenty-seven years of living, Veer understood the difference between sex and making love.