Chapter 22
DAKSH
Daksh stared at the golden liquid in the crystal tumbler in front of him, the conversation between his father and brother swirling around him as he contemplated how much whiskey would make this evening bearable.
There wasn’t enough in the Scottish highlands, he decided, as his father slammed his hand on his impressive office table.
“Are you listening?”
He was listening. He just didn’t like what he was hearing.
“I asked you a question, Daksh.”
Daksh took his own sweet time swallowing what was left in his glass, allowing the premium scotch to sear its way through him, burning through the inexhaustible supply of hopes and regrets that lived in him.
A paperweight slammed into the wall behind him, falling on the carpeted floor with a dull thud before rolling to a stop beside his shoe. Ashish jumped, swearing under his breath. Daksh put his glass down on the side table beside him and leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees.
If his father thought throwing a paperweight at his head was going to faze him, then he’d forgotten how much further he’d gone in the past to break Daksh to his will. He’d never succeeded.
“Did you hear what I said?” His father’s clipped voice radiated fury.
“I think even the neighbours heard you,” Daksh said mildly, watching the vein in his father’s temple pulse.
“You will do nothing that could ruin this wedding.”
Daksh shrugged. “What could I possibly do?”
His father eyed him, hatred simmering in his gaze.
“You listen to me, you piece of shit. This alliance with the Thakkars is going to make this family’s wildest dreams come true.
We have Ashish to thank for it and I won’t have you fucking it up.
So, tonight,” his father leaned forward, his barrel chest resting on the table.
“You shut up, speak only when spoken to, and do nothing, I mean nothing that shows them the embarrassment that you are.”
Daksh gave him a mocking nod. “Your wish is my command.”
His father shook his head. “Why couldn’t you be more like your brother? What the hell did I ever do to deserve you?”
His father probably deserved a lot more than a useless son, Daksh thought, walking over to the bar in the corner and pouring himself another two fingers of Scotch. He watched the liquid spill over the cubes of ice in the glass. His father deserved to have his empire burn to the ground.
“Dad, give it a rest,” Ashish intervened. “The Thakkars will be here soon. Let’s just have a good evening together.
The Thakkars will be here soon.
Daksh’s gut clenched, his heart galloping in an unsteady rhythm in his chest.
She will be here soon.
Prasun Mathur stood, his chair scraping against the marble flooring with a screech.
He adjusted the silk kurta he was wearing and walked around the table to where Ashish stood.
His big, beefy hands came up to cup Ashish’s cheeks.
Daksh knew those hands well. They had been doing a lot worse than cupping his cheeks affectionately.
“I’m proud of you, my son,” he told Ashish. “By wooing this girl and marrying her, you have settled our family line for several generations.”
For some reason, the words had the colour draining out of Ashish’s face. “We were fine even before this, Dad.”
Daksh’s eyes narrowed as he watched his brother squirm under their father’s praise and affection.
“Fine?” Prasun made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Fine is not good enough. After you marry this girl, fine will be something we won’t even spit on.”
“Vedika.”
Ashish and Prasun turned to look at Daksh in surprise.
“Vedika,” he repeated. “She’s not ‘this girl’. She has a name. Vedika.” He tossed his whiskey back and met their gazes. “Use it.”
“Did I not tell you to shut up and speak only when you’re spoken to?”
“When have I ever listened to you, Pops?” Daksh mocked, giving his father his cockiest grin, the one designed to infuriate.
Down below, in the bowels of this mansion his family called home, a doorbell chimed.
“They’re here,” Ashish said, straightening his shirt and taking a deep breath.
Daksh’s heart galloped in his chest, almost threatening to break free from his rib cage and run amok. He was surprised his family hadn’t heard his erratic heartbeat, given it was pounding in his ears like war drums.
“Let’s go,” Prasun strode out of the room, following by Ashish. Neither of them glanced back to see if Daksh was following.
He stepped out of the room, walking to the balustrade and looking down at the foyer where people were gathering. A large horde of well-dressed people were milling around, greeting his family and exchanging hugs and introductions.
He noticed none of them. His gaze was drawn immediately to where she stood, on the periphery of a crowd that had gathered for the explicit reason to celebrate her.
She wore a simple, white chikankari salwar kameez that fell around her in voluminous folds.
Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, tendrils framing her pale, set face.
Her hands were twined together, fingers twisting nervously.
His idiot brother stood beside her, completely oblivious to her anxiety. Daksh’s own hands twitched on the balustrade, gripping hard to fight the urge to run down and take her hands in his own.
What the fuck was he doing, he thought angrily. This was nonsense. He should just –
But whatever it was he thought he should do, he forgot all about it in the next second. Because Vedika looked up, her wide, brown eyes meeting his.
And the world as he knew it, fell away.