Chapter 5
My biji thinks all of this is a bad idea.
First the engagement. Although she definitely thinks that the ring is amazing.
“Chalo, uss khote de puttar ke bhai ke pass toh thodi akal hai,” she mutters when I show her the ring. Followed by, “Haye rabba, anguthi toh dekh lo. Hamari kudi vargi haigi. Ek dum, first class.”
Resting my head on her shoulder, I roll my eyes. “Biji, translation please.”
She looks to the side and grabs my face.
Planting a big kiss on my forehead, she says, “I love the ring. It’s pretty. Just like you and I don’t know how those two could be related, let alone twins. When one clearly has excellent taste while the other still can’t get his head out of his ass.”
It takes me a few seconds to gather my wits about me and whisper, “Thank you.”
She waves my compliment away. “But are you sure, meri bacchi?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Because all of this is too soon. Being his girlfriend is one thing, but getting engaged is…” she trails off, shaking her head.
“It’s going to be fine. This is the right decision.”
It is.
I’ve thought about it and my decision to say yes is the right decision. My decision to trust Shepard is the right decision. Because what made me trust him in the first place still stands true: I can’t be trusted because my heart still belongs to the one who doesn’t know what to do with it. And if Shepard can fix it, fix me, then I should let him.
Besides, minus a few road bumps, the plan is the same.
To be the best fiancée to him.
Taking a bite out of her Pop-Tart, she says, “I still don’t like that you’re going on the road.”
Pop-Tarts are her favorites, so I bring them with me almost every visit. Along with kulfi, an Indian ice cream and gulab jamun, an Indian dessert. Usually, we watch movies, but today, we’re simply lounging on her bed, eating Pop-Tarts and shooting the shit. While her admirers go in and out, bringing her roses.
I twirl one in my hand. “Why not?”
Roses are my favorite flower.
I know, I know. I dream about the pink magnolias enough, but they’re my second favorites.
My top favorite will always be roses. They’re pretty and pink and velvety. Plus, they also remind me of a certain someone and his mouth. So ever since I’ve met him, I’ve taken to stealing some from my biji.
It’s pathetic, I know.
But no one has ever given me roses, so my options are kind of limited. I could go out and just buy them, but I think that’s more pathetic than never receiving one.
So stealing it is.
She looks back at me. “Because he’s going to be there.”
I squirm, hugging the rose to my chest. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m engaged now.” I show her my ring again. “It’s all good. I’m moving on from him. And this time I really mean it.”
Aside from what happened in the bathroom yesterday, that is.
Okay, I know what I did was bad. No matter how much he tried to absolve me of it. And I also know it can’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again. My only excuse for this one time is that I have no excuse.
I did it willingly and with my complete volition.
I betrayed my fiancé.
And the only thing I can do now is that I never do it again.
“Well, maybe this will help him get his head out of his ass. Seeing another man’s ring on your finger.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do here, Biji,” I tell her one more time. “You know that. I was never trying to do that.”
She huffs and looks away.
With that thought, I say goodbye to Biji and go home to pack. My mother, of course, isn’t happy about me going on the road with the team. But since I’m engaged now and Shep was extremely happy when he heard about me joining him, she couldn’t stay no. She did say she’d regularly check up on me though.
It takes me a day to get my affairs in order: taking a leave of absence at college for the next few weeks, which my dean wasn’t happy about, but since I’m a rich, spoiled girl and he knows my dad, he let me go with the condition that I turn in my assignments and complete my homework on time.
I also let my drama professor know that I’m going away. This one hurt me a little bit because right after the play, he had told me about this great drama camp opportunity. He said that I should apply for it and that he’d help me. He said I have a gift and that he’d be honored to help me reach my goals. I just about broke down crying. Anyway, at my news of going on the road, he was a bit disappointed, but he assured me that we could discuss my application over Zoom calls. Not to mention, I could join the classes via Zoom.
Shepard picks me up for the bus the next day. I’m cautiously positive about the days to come, but then the first thing I see when I board the bus is him.
It’s one those big buses with rows of seats up front, which are all full, and a couple of private rooms in the back in addition to the bathroom. There are a couple of booth-type thingies too, all the way in the back, just off the private rooms with a table in the middle, which is where he sits, tucked away in a corner with a clipboard.
It’s not as if I wasn’t expecting to see him, but for a few seconds, I can’t take my eyes off him.
I’ve of course seen him in his athletic T-shirts that show off every single bulge of his sculpted muscles, every single flex as he moves and breathes, and those gray sweatpants that he wears with them. But this is the first time I’m seeing him after that night.
After what happened.
After how he…
And as if he hears my thoughts, he looks up.
His eyes landing on me.
Like he knew I was standing there all along and maybe he did. He flicks his gaze over my features and he licks his lips.
All rapidly. All quickly.
As though he was doing it as an afterthought before going back to his clipboard. But I’m the one who has to suffer the consequences. I’m the one whose steps falter to the point that my fiancé has to grip my hand, steady me, and ask, “You okay?”
I press my hand in his. “Y-yes.”
He looks me over before saying, “Come on.”
After that, I keep my head down and decide that it’s best if I don’t look at him at all. No good can come of this. But then I realize we aren’t stopping. As in we keep going down the aisle until we reach the last couple of seats. Just before that booth-like thingy where he is sitting. And before I can protest—although I’m not sure what I’ll do to protest; the rest of the seats are filled anyway—Shepard is stepping aside so I can slide in and he’s taking a seat beside me.
Which is how I come to spend the next three hours, all tight and rigid in my seat, all squirmy and hyperaware, my body tingling and that ache in my pussy. So I’m relieved when we reach our destination and check into a hotel. But as it turns out, even that poses a problem for two reasons.
Number one: when we go to the reception, it occurs to me that I may have to share a room with my fiancé. The fact that I’m balking at that should be indication enough that I’m not the best fiancée in the world and Shep is better off without me. But then he says that we have two separate rooms.
“Yeah, since you were a last-minute add-on,” he explains with a shrug, “and my room isn’t that big to begin with, it’s just better if you have your own space. Plus, on the road, I need to focus, yeah? I need to focus on my game, on the plays and whatnot. You’d just be in the way. So it’s really for the best, babe.”
I’m not going to lie, I’m a little… hurt. I didn’t know he thought that I was in his way. Not as his fiancée but as his best friend. But I wave it all away and grab the keycard that he then gives me before dropping me off at my room two floors down from his room.
And then comes problem number two: my room happens to be on the same floor as his. Something Shep casually mentions as he’s dropping me off. I start to freak out at the news and feel a certain type of excitement that again does not bode well if I want to move on.
But it is what it is, and I’ll have to deal with it. Besides, it’s not as if we’re going to run into each other or anything. He’ll be at practice and I’ll just hang out in my room. I’m on the bed, doing just that when I hear a knock at my door. And just by the two authoritative thuds on the wood, I know who it is. With a pounding heart, I jump off the bed and open the door to reveal him.
With a thick frown and super angry-looking.
“Hey,” I breathe out.
His still-bruised jaw tenses. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
At the sight of him, all my good sense vanishes and I’m just… needy. Still, I keep my wits about me and say, my words coming out as a question, “Uh, this is my room.”
His jaw tenses harder and his chest punches out with a large breath. “Why is this your room?”
I swallow and then blurt out, “I’m not going to do it with you.”
“What?”
Oh God.
Why did I have to say that? Why the fuck did I have to say anything regarding that?
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
He studies me for a second. “If by it you mean fucking, then you can relax. I’m not here for that.”
My thighs clench at his fucking. “Right. Of course I didn’t?—”
“Although it’s curious that that’s the very first thing you thought of.”
“I’m…” I blush. “I mean, can you blame me after what happened? It was a mistake and?—”
“What happened,” he says, his eyes glinting, “was not a mistake.”
My heart’s pounding. “But it can never happen again.”
He watches me for a second before saying, “Was this your idea? Staying in two different rooms?”
I’m a little thrown off by his change of topic and how he didn’t agree with me about it not happening again, but I let it slide. Because I didn’t even want to talk about it in the first place. Me and my stupid mouth.
“No, it wasn’t. It was his.” Then, “He said that rooms were booked separately and he needed his space to focus.”
“What?” he bites out.
“Yes, that’s what he said and?—”
He breathes out sharply, stepping back. “I’m going to go have a talk with him.”
“What?” I step forward, grabbing the sleeve of his T-shirt. “No. You’re not.”
He’s not looking at me, though. His face is dipped, and his eyes are on my hand fisting his T-shirt. The heat of his dark gaze is enough to let me move it, but I stand firm.
And call out, “Stellan?”
He lifts his eyes. “What?”
I want to say other things, other important things, but I end up asking, “Is that what you really want? Me sharing a room with… him.”
I shouldn’t have asked him that. It’s none of his business.
But God, I…
I couldn’t help myself.
His chest moves again. Not only that, though. I see the vein on the side of his neck pulsating as well with how tight he’s holding himself.
“No.”
“So then?—”
“What I want doesn’t matter, does it?”
I let a few beats pass before I say, “Well, this is what I want. I want a separate room and I want space, so.”
He does the same, letting a few beats pass before speaking. “You’re all alone here.”
I let go of his sleeve and fold my arms across my chest. “So? I live in a house all alone.”
“That’s because your parents are dickheads.”
“No, they know that I can handle myself,” I tell him. “That is to say I can handle myself, thank you very much.”
He grits his teeth. “You’re not fucking welcome because you can’t. Because what the fuck are you going to do if someone sneaks into your room in the middle of the night? Dance him to death?”
“For your information, there’s a thing called hotel security, okay?” I raise my eyebrows. “They have that here. And secondly, there’s another thing called a lock. This thing here”—I point to the knob—“you turn it a certain way and it locks the door. From the inside, okay? So you can rest easy.”
And I give myself credit for not stumbling my way through that speech because all through my explanation, he doesn’t move his eyes away from me. He doesn’t look anywhere else, least of all the knob I was pointing at. And gosh, he can be scary like this.
All authoritative and commanding.
Then he flicks his eyes downward, taking in the fluttering pulse on the side of my neck, my trembling chest, my bare arms, my night pajamas as a whole. Making me realize they’re skimpy. Spaghetti-sleeved top with a wide neck and short shorts. All lacy and baby pink.
I curl my toes on the carpet as he takes his time perusing my body.
And I bite my lip when he reaches my feet and takes in my curled toes.
Then, bringing his gaze up, “If someone wants to sneak into your room in the middle of the night, trust me when I say, no amount of security or locks guarding your door is going to stop him. A firing squad even couldn’t stop him. He’ll bust through your door as he’s taking bullets after bullets just so he gets to look at your face before he takes his last breath, yeah?”
My heart is racing.
My breaths are messy.
And gosh, that ache in my tummy has traveled down to my pussy now.
“Y-you would,” I whisper.
“What?”
I lick my trembling lips. “You would stop him.” His nostrils flare and I keep going, “Your room’s on the same floor, isn’t it? Shep told me when he was bringing me up. So you could guard my door, if you’re so worried about someone getting in. You’re my self-appointed bodyguard anyway.”
Things flash in his eyes then.
Dark things.
Fiery things. Molten things.
Possessive things.
“We both know that’s not what I am,” he rasps. “Because that’s not what you need.”
“You think I…” I clutch the doorknob tightly, shifting on my feet, trying to get rid of the hurt. “I need a daddy?”
“I think you need someone to take care of you and keep you safe twenty-four seven,” he growls.
I blush, shifting on my feet again, and he notices my movements.
I know he noticed them before, but this time, he takes a whiff, a visible whiff of the air as if smelling me. Like he did the other night and holy God, I melt.
I melt right there on the floor at his feet.
Somehow, I try to put words together. “Fine then. The job’s already yours. Can I please go to sleep now?”
Because this is too much.
His proximity. His authority.
His care.
No, Isadora. He does not care about you. Not really.
Not how you want him to.
The fact that I just want to kiss him and kiss him. I even taste him on my tongue and we’re standing six feet apart.
He looks me over one last time before stepping back again. “Lock your door.”
I roll my eyes before sing-songing, “Yes, Daddy.”
The last thing I see before I shut the door in his face is his flared eyes and tight fists.
So yeah, that’s just day one.
Over the next few days, we develop a routine. Lots of bus travel where Shep and I sit in the same seat and he sits right behind us. I’m not going to say that my awareness of him has lessened. Oh gosh no. I still feel his gaze, and I still tingle and hurt everywhere, but I will say that I think I’ve learned to handle it better.
Besides, I have homework.
Ew.
Which I have to do myself.
Double ew.
So I spend the long hours on the bus, trying to do what God only intended I have someone else do for me. Until one particularly frustrating day I get a text:
Wildfire Thorn
Is it history?
I stiffen at his message and first go to hide it from Shepard. But then I remember that he’s up front, shooting the shit with some of the guys: Ledger, Riot, Isiah. Actually, he’s been doing that a lot. As in, we sit together for a little while and then he gets up to go talk to the guys, leaving me alone with the only person sitting in the corner, his twin brother. He’s uber popular, plus the captain of the team, so I totally get it. I do miss my best friend, though; I’m not going to lie, but again, I won’t complain. I have no right to.
I will simply trust him and the process.
Looking down at the phone, I tap out a reply.
Isadora
No. Math.
Wildfire Thorn
Ah, that’s why you look like your dog died.
I roll my eyes at the phone.
Isadora
I wouldn’t have a dog. If anything, I’d have a cat.
With long, sharp claws. ?????? Who’d look at everyone with disdain including me and especially you.
And second, how do you know what I look like when you’re soooo busy with whatever’s on that clipboard?
Wildfire Thorn
It’s hard to be busy with my clipboard when you sigh every five seconds and disturb me.
Isadora
Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know the sound of my breathing was so objectionable to you. ??????
Wildfire Thorn
And why don’t you sheath your kitty’s claws and tell me what your assignment is about?
I sit up straight then.
I so, so want to look behind me.
God.
I so want to look at his face.
Just once.
Because he’s asking to do my homework, isn’t he?
But I can’t.
Not only is Shepard up ahead, in my line of vision, but also because if I do look at his face, I may spontaneously combust. With a pounding heart, I type out:
Isadora
So you can do my homework for me?
Wildfire Thorn
So that in turn I can focus on my work, yes.
I breathe out loudly.
Just to annoy him.
And I swear I hear a deep but low chuckle from behind me.
It settles in my belly as a warm, sticky puddle of something sweet.
Isadora
You don’t have to be so mean about it. Math is hard. ????????
Wildfire Thorn
Not for me, it isn’t.
Isadora
That’s because you’re weird. ??????
Wildfire Thorn
I’m also the guy who’s going to get you a passing grade on your homework.
So how about we wrap up this chitchat and you let me help you.
I don’t.
I will not stop chitchatting with him.
Isadora
I have no clue how your baby sister hasn’t killed you yet.
If this is how you treat people her age, I don’t want to have anything to do with you. ??
Wildfire Thorn
If she had, you’d be failing every class right now. So you should really thank her.
And second, you’re younger than my baby sister. There’s a difference.
Isadora
Yeah? What’s the difference?
Wildfire Thorn
The difference is that you call me by a name that gives me the right to take care of you in all the fucking ways. So stop arguing with me and let me do my job.
I groan loudly, throwing my head back.
Again, I hear a chuckle, low and deep, and again it settles like a gooey puddle of something sweet.
Isadora
Fine, you win! ??????
And then I email him the assignment and shut my stupid laptop.
Wildfire Thorn
You should save that response for the future.
Isadora
Yeah, why?
Wildfire Thorn
Because you’ve got a habit of arguing with me and I have a habit of winning them.
So from then on, he does my homework and writes my assignments.
Which again cannot be good for the cause—me moving on from him—but he won’t budge. I don’t even know how he has the time to do any of it, but his response is always, you’re on the road because of me, so it’s my responsibility.
Which he is super big on, of course.
Being responsible.
Doing the work.
Doing his job.
As days pass, I notice that that’s all he does, though.
He works.
He sits in a corner either busy on his clipboard or watching game replays while discussing strategies with Coach Thorne. But he never, not ever, gets involved with the guys. He hardly ever talks to them outside of work talk. Even Coach Thorne does that and I still maintain that he’s so scary.
Which leads me to conclude what I already knew: he’s alone.
He’s lonely.
Despite having siblings, he’s still the outsider. And then there’s the fact that he believes he’s dangerous, a shitty brother, which I don’t understand.
So I decide that I have a responsibility too.
Despite what he did and what my cause is, I’m going to draw him out of his hard, icy shell. I’ll somehow make it so that he isn’t as lonely. Especially when so many people are around and especially when they’re so nice.
I have to say that all the guys have been very respectful toward me. Maybe because I’m the boss’s daughter or because I’m the captain’s fiancée. Whatever it is, they don’t treat me like a pariah. I’m extremely thankful for that, especially because I was a little afraid they may keep their distance because of all the nasty rumors about me.
Since we’re all traveling together, I’ve managed to form some nice friendships. I particularly like Isiah—he’s hilarious; I also like Christopher; his mom makes the best baklava in the whole world and is very particular about parceling it no matter where he goes. Something that the team’s nutritionist isn’t very happy about. Ledger is cool too even though he more grunts than talks and is always on FaceTime with Tempest and their twins. Not to mention, Riot is one of the good ones as well. Even though he too is always FaceTiming Sophie, his three-year-old daughter, and Meadow.
So when the guys play poker to kill time, I join them and try to have him join us too. Not too blatantly but in subtle ways. Like laughing too hard with them so he takes notice. Or playing the damsel in distress who doesn’t understand a thing about poker and is losing. That is true, though; I don’t. And Shepard is so competitive that when we play teams, he won’t pick me or stop to explain the rules—which is surprising if I do say so myself because in the past when we’ve played games like this, he always made sure to stop and explain the rules to me, much to everyone else’s dismay—but it’s fine. It works to my advantage.
Or it should.
But so far, I’ve had no luck in drawing him out whatsoever. Even when the noise gets super loud, he keeps his head down and continues working.
God, the focus on this man.
The world would be burning down around him, and he wouldn’t let go of that stupid clipboard.
So then I try something different.
It’s my personal mission to introduce Bollywood movies to as many people as I can. Usually, they all watch game replays on this big TV up front or some other sports channels or even the news. But one day, I break the norm and make them watch one of my favorites.
It’s about this guy, a journalist who’s traveling to cover an event for his show. And on the way over, he meets a mysterious girl at a train station and falls in love with her. But turns out that mysterious girl belongs to a group of terrorists who are planning an attack on the capital on Independence Day.
It’s a tragic love story and I love it.
And I’m both happy and surprised to say that most of these macho, athletic men think so too. But since they’re ‘men,’ they show their frustration by cursing at the TV or by booing or throwing tantrums and stalking off. Isiah did that twice but came back both times. Riot kept grumbling, fuck this shit. Ledger simply walked away before the climax, saying, he doesn’t need this shit before the game. And Shepard glared at me several times during the movie. I even caught a few sniffles here and there.
Although throughout all this, he didn’t say a word.
He probably didn’t even look up from his clipboard even when this famous song came on. When the hero, since he’s the hero and since this is a movie, dances on the top of a moving train. From what Biji tells me, this song is one of the most iconic moments of Indian cinema and is so ingrained in the Indian pop culture that people talk about it to this freaking day.
I mean, it sparked a fucking debate among the guys.
It did. I’m not even lying.
They all wanted to chip in and argue if this could be done in real life. And I thought maybe now, now he’d say something. Just to dismiss the whole concept and quote physics and common sense that hey, this is foolish. But he didn’t.
So frustrated and bored because I had no interest in hearing the debate if he wasn’t going to chip in, I threw my hands up and said, “Okay, stop. I don’t care what you guys think. If a guy does that for me, if a guy dances on the top of a train for me, I’m his. For life. I’m giving up my freaking life to be his. End of discussion.”
Of course it wasn’t the end of discussion.
Because then the catcalling began and all the ridiculous comments about how Shepard needs to find a way to make this stunt happen to impress me.
Ugh.
In any case, all my ideas to draw him out have majorly flopped and at the end of the movie day, I’m not feeling very enthusiastic about things. So when we reach our hotel, I have an early dinner with Isiah, Riot, Ledger, and Shep at the restaurant downstairs before saying goodbye and going up to my room. They’re still back at the table, winding down, but I’m tired and miffed, and I just want a long shower before I hit the bed.
And just to mention, I’m still not rooming with my fiancé. Not that I expected to since what he said about needing his space during the season was pretty definitive but still. My room, as it has been for the past couple of weeks, on a different floor than his and on the same floor as his. Again, I’m not sure who’s booking these rooms, but somehow, they have a very uncanny and uncomfortable knack of putting me with the wrong twin.
But as soon as I step on the elevator, which is crowded and almost full, all my thoughts about hitting the bed vanish.
Because he’s there.