Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
VIREN
Trouble in paradise?
Music mogul Viren Chaudhry’s wife seen partying in London with handsome stranger. Click to read the full story.
“What the fuck is this?” I growled, clicking on the link.
“We must have got papped last night without our knowledge,” said Sufi, looking worried. “It’s a picture of Sunaina and Dhruv.”
I stared numbly at the picture of my wife balancing a cocktail on her head as that motherfucker leaned forward to place a slice of lime on the rim of the glass.
“Where the hell were you when this was happening, Sufi?” I snarled.
“ Hey! What do you think happened between us?” snapped Sunaina, but I ignored her because right now, I couldn’t even bear to look at her. I didn’t even know she had this side to her. In all the years that we had been married, I had never seen Sunaian look so…abandoned. So…happy. I had never brought out this fun side of her. But it popped up right on cue as soon as this guy appeared out of nowhere.
“I was right next to Suanaina, Mr C. They just cropped me out of the frame. Someone took this picture on purpose to discredit Sue,” said Sufi angrily.
I stiffened in anger as I read the whole article. It mentioned that Sunaina had been seen cosying up to a strange man, and there were references to a Reddit thread. I clicked on that and was horrified to find the details of our marriage laid out for everyone to read.
My temples began to throb as I read the whole thread before I handed the phone back to Sufi, who went pale when I showed him the thread.
“This is our personal life, Sufi. How the fuck did it land up on the internet ?” I yelled.
“Language,” scolded Aisha. “You’ve been dropping f-bombs all morning, Chachu.”
“Sorry, baby. But this situation calls for f-bombs,” I said apologetically.
“What’s going on, Viren?” asked Sunaina worriedly.
“Someone posted the details of our life on Reddit last night. This article about your night out tracks back to the thread that says…” I choked over the words because I didn’t want to discuss this in front of Aisha.
“Aisha beta, this talk is for adults only,” said Daima, hustling her out of the room hastily.
I could hear Aisha’s protests as Daima forced her to go ride her bike in the garden. I waited for her to return before I went on.
“It says we’re married in name only. And there’s a lot of speculation about why I married Sunaiana.”
“Let them say what they like,” said Daima, with an angry snort. “Who cares about barking dogs on the internet?”
“It’s much worse, Daima,” said Sufi as he went through the comments. “They are trashing Sunaina, calling her a gold digger. Mr C, did you see this comment by the original poster that’s hidden away at the bottom of the thread? When someone asked why a billionaire would marry a nobody, the OP replied, saying they are almost positive you married her to secure Aisha’s custody.”
“How the hell would they know that? The details of our marriage contract are supposed to be secret. Do you think there could be a leak in Ranvijay’s office?” I asked.
Daima snorted again. Meaningfully. I looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t have to look so far, beta. I bet there’s a leak right here in our house,” she said furiously.
“No one living in our house would dare to say anything to the media, Daima. My staff is loyal to me.”
“And what about people who don’t live in your house?” asked Sunaina coldly. “Do you think they are bound by the same loyalty?”
“I don’t have time for riddles, Sunaina,” I snapped.
“Wise up, Mr C. The Reddit thread went up last night, and the article with my picture was released this morning. Who else could be behind it but Tahira?”
“I think she’s right. In another comment, the OP mentions that the two of you share separate bedrooms. How would anyone know that fact unless they have spent a night in our house? I’m sorry to say this, Mr C. But the source of this leak has to be either Tahira or your aunt,” added Sufi.
“Track it down, Sufi. Find out who posted this shit,” I said angrily.
If it turned out that Tahira was behind this smear campaign, I would make her sorry she ever set eyes on me. Because this shit could mess with Aisha’s adoption. If the social worker assigned to our case suspected our marriage was fake, she’d never sign off on it. And Ajit wouldn’t stop trying to get his hands on Aisha’s money until she turned eighteen. He’d keep filing for custody on some excuse or another. That was more trauma than any child should have to take.
“On it, Mr C. But you need to do some serious damage control immediately.”
“Like what?” demanded Sunaina.
“Date night,” replied Sufi. “I’ll book a table for you at the Ritz…no…wait. That looks very staged. Right! You’re going to take Sunaina for a picnic. I’ll arrange for you to be papped while you’re feeding her chocolate-dipped strawberries or something.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” said Sunaina bluntly.
“Too bad you’ll have to cancel your plans with your boy toy,” I said with savage satisfaction.
At least something good had come out of this whole mess.
“None of this would have happened if you had kept your girlfriend in line,” she hissed.
“ My girlfriend? ” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes. How else would she know our sleeping arrangements?” asked Sunaina stubbornly.
“Arre! Maybe she went snooping around the house,” cried Daima. “Viren is not the type to sleep around when he’s married, beta. You know him better than that.”
“Do I? I’m coming to realise I don’t know him at all, Bua. Did you see how she was draped all over him when they came down together for breakfast?”
I couldn’t believe this! Was that what she really thought of me? That I would go from almost making love to her in the hallway last night straight to Tahira’s bed?
“We did not come down together . I met her outside the dining room, and I couldn’t very well shake her off when she wound her arm around mine. She’s our guest,” I said stiffly. “And let’s not forget whose picture was splashed across the tabloids this morning. It certainly wasn’t mine.”
“Guys, stop fighting,” hissed Sufi. “These are not the faces we want to show the public.”
“I’ll tell you what I want to show your public,” muttered Sunaina, holding her middle finger up until Daima swatted at it.
“Sue! Work with me, please,” said Sufi, glaring at his bestie.
Sunaina crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me.
“I want to go home. I’ve had enough of this vacation,” she declared.
“That’s fine with me,” I snarled.
“Nobody’s going home until I’ve spammed the internet with pictures proving you’re both head over heels in love with each other,” snapped Sufi.
“What’s the point, Sufi?” asked Sunaina wearily. “It’s all going to end soon. Why are we even bothering to do damage control?”
“Because we’re not going to let that cow win, Sue! You and Mr C can end your marriage whenever you like, but it’s going to be on your terms. We’re not going to let Tahira embarrass you or the boss just because she wants to throw a hissy fit. If she wants a social media war, we’re going to bring it. I can’t wait to DM her a picture of Mr C kissing you under a big oak tree in Hyde Park.”
“Wait! What?” yelped Sunaina. “There’s going to be no kissing!”
“Oh, gorgeous. There’s going to be so much kissing,” announced Sufi gleefully, and I felt my throat close in panic.
“Arre! Are you planning a PR campaign or making dirty videos?” asked Daima.
“Ooh, that gives me an idea. Mr C, how open are you to the idea of leaking a sex tape?”
“Not at all,” I replied firmly.
When I had sex with Sunaina, it was going to be behind closed doors, not in front of a camera. Wait! What was I even thinking? I was never going to have sex with Sunaina! This was all Sufi’s fault. He was putting ideas into my head!
The plan was to distance myself from Sunaina slowly and painlessly so that we were living completely separate lives by the time the divorce was finalised. Instead of going along with my plan, Sufi was talking of sex tapes. The man was absolutely demented.
“Sufi…babe…I ask this with all the love in the world. Are you high? ” screeched Sunaina. “I’m never going to have sex with Viren.”
Well, she didn’t have to be so rude about it.
“So it’s settled. You kids are going for a picnic. A clean, PG-13 picnic in the park,” said Daima, trying to hide a smile.
“Umm, Daima, he’s going on a picnic with his wife, not his grandmother,” protested Sufi.
“Beta, just make sure their pictures end up in Hello! magazine, not on a porn site,” she said sternly.
“Even better, Daima. I’ll make sure their pictures end up on Instagram,” said Sufi, with a wink. “Now, I’m off to tell Aisha the afternoon tea is off because we have to break the internet. Meanwhile, you guys go change into something less dreary.”
I looked down at my clothes and wondered what was dreary about them.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Sunaina and I asked in unison.
“Oh, gorgeous…I can’t even begin to tell you,’ said Sufi, giving us both disappointed once-overs. “You with the boring death metal t-shirt, Mr C, and you with that sasta ganji from Causeway, Sue. I thought I’d raised you both better.”
“Umm, gorgeous …you didn’t raise us at all. And what’s wrong with Viren’s t-shirt? It’s his favourite band,” argued Sunaina.
“Yeah, and your ganji is lovely. Don’t listen to him,” I told her gruffly because it was. I didn’t recognise the colour because it was one of those complicated shades between green and blue, but it hugged her curves in all the right places.
Daima clapped her hand on her head and walked out of the room without a word.
“That was rude,” murmured Sunaina.
“Very,” I murmured back.
“If the two of you are done with this mutual and inexplicable back-rubbing, can we get back on the very important topic of your clothes?” asked Sufi snottily.
“Fine! I’ll change into a dress if that will please Your Majesty,” said Sunaina with a sigh.
“Good, and let’s go with a loose white shirt with shorts for you, Mr C,” ordered the tyrant.
Twenty minutes later, he marched us to the car, and we drove to Hyde Park. What followed was an hour of pure torture as Sufi forced us to pose for romantic pictures that were really not romantic at all.
“Okay, let’s get one pic of you feeding the ducks. Mr C, please stand next to her and smile adoringly,” he instructed like a drill sergeant. “Smile at your wife, not at the duck!”
I turned around to glare at him.
“Don’t make me push you into the lake, Sufi,” I growled.
Just then, something poked me in the ass. I turned around in surprise and found a goose glaring up at me.
“Can I help you?” I asked warily, and the little feathered bastard came at me aggressively in reply.
He stopped to spread his wings and shimmy his tiny butt in Sunaina’s direction before he charged at me again. I threw a piece of bread at him thinking he might be hungry, but it only made him angrier.
“Stop that,” I snapped when he pecked at my leg.
“I think he can sense you like foie gras and paté,” said Sunaina, with a cackle.
The bird preened at her before he resumed his completely unwarranted attack on me, while my heartless wife just laughed and laughed.
“Okay, I got a few good ones here,” said Sufi, who was busy clicking pictures when he should have been rescuing me from the goose of death.
“I swear to God, if any of those pictures end up online, I’ll fire you for good,” I snarled.
“You can try,” he replied with a loud snort. “Shoo, birdie! You can’t steal Mr C’s wife. Come along, Sue, and stop flirting with dangerous birds.”
“This was so much fun,” she said, feeding the last of the bread to her new boyfriend, who I had to admit was a huge improvement on Dhruv. “What are we doing next?”
“Mr C is going to row you across the lake while you read a book,” announced Sufi.
“Where do you get these cheesy ideas?” I asked in disgust.
“Baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he said with a wink. “Now, get rowing.”
That was easier said than done. Sufi got into a paddle boat and followed us around, taking pictures and giving stupid orders while I rowed my wife around the placid lake.
“Stretch your legs out and relax, Sue. You look petrified,” he scolded.
With a groan, Sunaina stretched her long, bare legs out in front of me. How the hell was I supposed to concentrate on rowing with all this temptation right under my nose?
“Okay, stop rowing, Mr C. It’s time to take some romantic pictures with your wife. Sue, go sit on his lap and make kissy faces,” said Sufi.
“No, thank you,” replied Sunaina primly.
“Do it,” he snapped, and she rose with a weary sigh.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” she muttered as she stomped over to my end of the boat.
I set the oars down, ignoring my thumping heart as she climbed onto my lap.
It’s fake. It’s all for show , I told myself. But when I wrapped my hands around her waist and looked into her eyes, it felt far too real. Her pupils were dilated, and a pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, showing that she wasn’t as unmoved as she made out to be.
Sunaina wound her arms around my neck and turned to Sufi.
“How much longer?” she asked, wriggling a little to get more comfortable.
“Smile at your husband,” ordered Sufi.
Sunaina tried to smile, but her smile dried up as she stared into my eyes. Her full breasts brushed against my chest as her breath came faster. Her lips parted, and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Her face was so close to mine. All I had to do was lean forward and claim her plump, juicy lips in a long, wet kiss.
I tightened my fingers at her waist to keep her still because if she wriggled any more, my rock-hard dick was going to leap out of my shorts. She licked her lips, and I groaned under my breath. My wife was going to be the death of me.
“I think we’re done here,” I called out hoarsely, and Sunaina froze when she felt my hardness against her.
“Yep, all done,” she squeaked, clambering off my lap hastily.
In her haste, she knocked one of the oars into the water and I groaned in horror.
“Oops! Don’t worry, I see it,” she said, reaching for the oar that bobbed on the surface of the water, just out of her reach.
“Don’t lean too far,” I warned, but it was too late.
As soon as she leaned over the side, the boat began to rock. Before I could pull her back, she leaned too far, and the boat overturned. Sunaina screamed as we hit the icy cold water with a loud splash. She went under a couple of times before I fished her out of the water and held on to the side of the boat as I dragged her ashore, with Sufi holding her other hand. Thankfully, we hadn’t rowed too far from the shore before Sufi stopped us to take pictures.
He ran to get us some towels while I turned Sunaina onto her side and thumped her on the back to make her cough up all the dirty water.
“Stop hitting me,” she snarled.
“I’m just trying to save your life,” I replied, trying to hide my grin.
She looked so adorably grumpy with her dress all soaked and her wet hair plastered to her scalp. It almost made me forget we were just playing make-believe.
“Let’s just go home, please,” she groaned, and I didn’t blame her.
Our picnic had been a spectacular fail so far.