Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
SUNAINA
W hen I opened my eyes, the sun was just creeping over the edge of the horizon. I stared at the dim light streaming in through the windows and wondered how I was going to get through the day.
Viren’s arm held me firmly tucked into his body as he spooned me from behind, and I had no inclination to get out of bed. But we needed to set some rules before we went downstairs.
Because while sex with Viren was mindblowing, spectacular, and every other superlative I could think of, it did not alter the reality of our marriage one bit. He had made that crystal clear last night before he made love to me.
“I can feel the wheels in your brain turning at warp speed,” he growled into my ear.
Oh, help! Viren had a panty-melting baritone at any given time of the day, but the sound and feel of it rumbling in my ear when he was still groggy from sleep was simply lethal.
He turned me over for a good morning kiss, but I placed a finger over his lips.
“First things first, we need to set some ground rules before we set off a riot downstairs,” I said sternly.
Viren nipped at my finger and then sucked it into his mouth, making me moan.
“Stop distracting me, Mr C,” I scolded, swatting at his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
He shook his head sadly.
“This is the reward I get for making you come three times last night.”
I rolled my eyes and went on.
“We cannot let Sufi and Daima know we’ve had sex. If they ever find out, they’ll up their little matchmaking game, and when things do fall apart, as they will eventually, they will be heartbroken. And I can tell you right now, if they get involved in our business, you can kiss your amicable divorce goodbye.”
Viren’s jaw clenched at the reminder of the end of our relationship, but he could hardly blame me for trying to minimise the damage to everyone who was so invested in our relationship.
“Fine! State your terms,” he said grouchily.
“My terms are very simple. No touching or kissing, except when we are alone in our bedroom.”
“I accept. In return, I have my own terms,” he said. “You will not meet, call, text or even think about that smarmy quack as long as we’re together.”
“For fuck’s sake! Dhruv is neither smarmy nor is he a quack. He’s a very well-qualified neurologist who heads the neuro department at Mumbai’s biggest hospital. And I’m thinking of having him check you out for brain damage,” I snapped.
“I’ll damage every part of his body if he comes anywhere near me,” growled Viren.
“This jealousy is very strange,” I said primly.
“I’m not jealous. I’m merely a good judge of people, and I don’t trust that snake,” he replied, stretching his arms over his head, drawing my attention to his biteable biceps and perfect pecs. Show-off, I thought with an eye roll.
“May I suggest you tend to the wildlife on your side of the family and leave my friends alone? Now, can you show me how to turn on that shower, please? It looks complicated.”
“Sure,” he replied, with a grin that I did not trust. “I’ll show you how to use it.”
I was right in not trusting that grin because Viren’s idea of help was far more hands-on than I had expected. The quick shower I had planned turned into a leisurely exploration of each other’s bodies that ended in frenzied lovemaking. As a result, we were quite late to breakfast, and the whole extended family were already going into the dining room when we went downstairs.
I was convinced our activities of last night and this morning were written all over my face, and I went to extra pains to avoid Viren. He sat at the head of the table, and when Tahira went to sit at his right, he frowned at her.
“That’s my wife’s chair,” he told her point-blank, and she flushed angrily before she flounced over to the chair next to her aunt. I was about to sit in my usual chair between Aisha and Sufi, so I was very surprised to hear that. He gave me a meaningful look, and I realised he wanted us to portray the perfect happy couple in front of Laxmi Aunty, who was watching us like a hawk.
She looked disappointed when I sat down next to Viren. Daya Bua, who sat opposite me, gave me an approving smile, and I tried very hard not to roll my eyes at this drama. I mean, we were pretending to be happily married for half this crowd while also pretending to be completely indifferent to each other for the other half of the same crowd. I didn’t know if I was skilled enough to pull off such a deception.
Like when Viren got some butter on his chin while eating his paratha, I was tempted to wipe it off because that’s exactly what a loving wife would do. But Daya Bua and Sufi were watching me as closely as Laxmi Aunty and Tahira, and they would know our status quo had changed if I so much as looked at Viren. So, all I could do was nudge him lightly with my knee, and when he looked up, I kept my eyes on my plate as I scratched my chin once to indicate the spot where he had butter. Luckily, he got the hint and wiped it off with his napkin while I smiled at Aisha and coaxed her to eat one more paratha.
Tahira left to attend a meeting immediately after breakfast, and Viren’s aunt took Laxmi Aunty to the club to reminisce about the old days when Deven and Disha were alive. I didn’t know how Viren’s Chachi could even be civil to the woman who was trying to steal her granddaughter away. Did she have no loyalty? Or was her hatred of me greater than her love for Aisha?
I knew she had always wanted Viren to marry Tahira, but he had never shown any interest in her, even before I came into their lives. That had nothing to do with me. The least she could do was be kind to the man who provided for her like a son. Viren did everything that Deven would have done for his parents, even though he and his aunt did not really get along. His uncle was a reserved shadow of a man who had never gotten over his son’s death. He kept to his wing of the house and rarely joined us for meals, preferring to eat in his suite.
The staff cleared the dining table, but Viren, Daya Bua, Sufi, and I sat there to brainstorm the arrangements for the social worker’s home visit. The butler interrupted our plans with a gentle cough.
“Sahab, Sarang Ji and his wife are here to meet you.”
“Please show them in,” said Viren in surprise.
It was a little early for a social call, but Sarang Sharma was one of his oldest friends and was welcome at Chaudhry House even in the middle of the night. He was also one of the country’s leading music directors. Sufi liked to call him the composer with the golden touch because of his track record of churning out hit after hit. The last seven albums he composed for Viren’s company, Silver Records, had hit platinum in record time.
Sarang was one of the few classically trained composers of our times. He had trained for years under Bhargav Pandit Ji, a renowned singer of the Rampur-Sahaswan gharana of Hindustani classical music, who had established a large gurukul in Rewa. Last month, Sarang had married his guru’s daughter, Tarana, in a simple affair at the gurukul.
To my surprise, instead of taking his new wife on an extended honeymoon, Sarang and his wife returned to Mumbai immediately after the wedding, and he was back in his studio the next day. That was no way to treat a wife, and Daya Bua lost no time in scolding him for being such a workaholic. But I had a feeling it was more than just that. I had a feeling there was something seriously wrong with Sarang and Tarana’s marriage. For one, they seemed to actively hate each other. I had seen them glaring at each other more than once.
“The sex can’t be that bad, Sue. Sarang looks like he knows his way around the bedroom,” Sufi had murmured wickedly in my ear when we had the newly married couple over for dinner.
I had shushed him but felt really bad about the state of their relationship because Sarang was a dear, and Tarana looked like a very nice person. I wished they’d get over their differences and make an attempt to save their marriage.
But as they walked into the dining room, it didn’t look like there was any better understanding between them. They still acted like the other didn’t exist. I had seen complete strangers be nicer to each other than these two.
Tarana gave Daya Bua a lovely woven basket filled with goodies from her hometown, Rewa. I hadn’t even heard of any of the sweets except the decadent-looking jalebi, but the Mahua ki puri looked very promising.
“I can only look at those sweets from afar,” I said with a sigh, staring longingly at the basket that Daya Bua carried out of the room. “I’m on a diet.”
Viren frowned at me.
“What rubbish! You don’t need to be on a diet,” he exclaimed. “You’re perfect as you are.”
“How sweet,” said Tarana, and I rolled my eyes.
“He’s just making sure I don’t pass on these insecurities to Aisha,” I quipped.
“Or maybe he just likes your curves,” murmured Sufi.
I pressed my foot into his instep and he squealed in pain.
“Shut your trap before I shut it for you,” I hissed, ignoring the knowing look Viren cast at us.
“I thought you’d be glued to your studio at this hour,” he teased Sarang.
“Dude, I can’t get any work done until you fix this issue with Ria’s contract,” grumbled Sarang, throwing his sunglasses onto the table.
I noticed Tarana gritting her teeth when Sarang mentioned Ria Ghosh, the reigning queen of playback in the film industry. I wondered if she’d heard the same rumours that I had and if that was the cause of the tension between the couple.
At one point, Sarang and Ria were rumoured to have been dating. And quite seriously. It got to the point where she refused to work with any other composer. Together, they created music magic, but while Ria was completely smitten with Sarang, I hadn’t seen any signs of him reciprocating her feelings. And I was sure that chapter in his life was closed for good now that he was married to Tarana.
“The problem is entirely on her side,” retorted Viren. “She’s being extremely unreasonable. And if she doesn’t mend her ways, I’ll be forced to replace her, Sarang.”
“Are you out of your mind? I’ve just spent the past month composing nine new songs just for her. No one else can do justice to those songs,” argued Sarang. “I dare you to find another singer like her.”
“It’s not impossible, my friend. Everyone’s replaceable,” said Viren in a hard voice.
“Sunaina, I need to talk to you,” whispered Tarana, looking very pale.
I nodded and pushed my chair back.
“We’ll leave you to your very boring discussion,” I said, with a smile.
As we rose from the table, I noticed Sarang’s eyes tracking his wife even as he kept talking to Viren. But she didn’t see it because she was too busy stalking out of the room in a temper. I smiled ruefully as I followed her to the covered verandah that wrapped around the whole house.
She looked glum as she leaned against the railing.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked gently.
“You mean apart from the fact that my husband is so obsessed with another woman that he won’t ever give anyone else a chance?” she asked bitterly.
“Do you mean Ria?”
“Who else? She’s all he can think about. Ria’s contract, Ria’s schedule, Ria’s riyaz. It’s strange how my entire life revolves around my husband’s work wife.”
“Sarang is not the kind of man who would cheat on his wife,” I murmured. “As far as I know, they are just colleagues.”
But I couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Even if he wasn’t cheating on his wife, Sarang spent far too much time with Ria. Sure, it was all in the studio, but still. It made his wife look like a fool. I’d be heartbroken if Viren humiliated me like that. Not for the first time, I wondered why Sarang had married Tarana at all if Ria took up so much space in his life.
“I’m just sick of playing second fiddle to Ria,” said Tarana. “And I’m sick of being the perfect wife and bahu.”
“What do you mean, babe?” I asked warily.
She turned around to say something but stopped and stared at me hard for a few seconds.
“You look different,” she said.
Then her eyes widened.
“Ohmigod! You’ve had sex!” she yelped, and I slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Are you out of your mind?” I asked. “You don’t know me well enough to say something like that!”
“Sorry, but I have a sixth sense for that sort of thing, and I have no mental filter, which is a very bad combination. You’ve always had this untouched virgin quality about you, but now…now you’re giving full sex goddess,” she said with a wicked grin.
“Am not,” I argued.
“Are too,” she insisted. “And I’m very happy for you.”
Fuck! If Tarana could read me so easily, so could Sufi. I really didn’t want the details of my sex life to be common knowledge. That’s it! I was never having sex again. Viren and his magic dick were never getting anywhere near me again. This was far too embarrassing!
“Okay, stop turning so red,” cried Tarana in alarm. “Your family will never forgive me if I make your head explode.”
“You are a menace,” I informed her. “I always thought you were this innocent girl from a small town. But you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “I might have grown up in a small town, but I’m not dehati in the least. I was born to be a star, Sunaina. Unfortunately, I became a bahu. Ugh!”
I stared at the woman in front of me, wondering how I’d slotted her so incorrectly. She was right. She wasn’t a small-town girl at all. She had the same quality I had seen in so many other women in this city of dreams. She was ambitious as hell. I wondered how far she’d go to make her dreams come true.
“What do you mean by star?” I asked carefully, hoping she didn’t mean a social media star.
“Are you still taking on new clients for your business?”
Oy, this was exactly what I was worried about.
I was a social media manager for several mid-level influencers. None of my clients had ever made it really big yet, but they were growing steadily. I was still waiting for that breakout star who’d go massively viral, but I knew for sure that a society bahu with stars in her eyes was not it.
“Umm…yes…but I’m quite selective about the kind of work I take on,” I said politely.
In reply, she pulled out her phone and played me a video.
“Is that you?” I gasped, staring spellbound at the sight of her singing a mash-up of a classical bandish and Unholy.
Holy crap! Tarana was no society bahu/wannabe influencer. She was a music professional!
It wasn’t just the singing, which was amazing, of course, but it was also the presentation. The way she looked and carried herself. She owned the screen!
“Tarana Sharma, you were right,” I breathed. “You were born to be a star.”
“Pandit,” she corrected me. “Tarana Pandit. I haven’t taken Sarang’s name.”
“Why not?” I asked curiously.
We were married to the kind of men whose name was their identity. And it was but natural for them to want their wives to take their names. Viren had been quite clear about the fact that I had to take his name if we were to convince the adoption agency that we were in a stable marriage. He didn’t want to give them a reason to doubt our relationship.
“Because my marriage destroyed the career I aspired to. I have no intention of allowing it to destroy my identity, as well,” she said starkly.
“Delayed, not destroyed,” I replied. “Your marriage might have delayed your career. But nothing can destroy your bright future, Tarana.”
“So how about it?” she asked. “Will you take me on as a client?”
I held out my hand, and she gripped it unsmilingly.
“Welcome aboard, Tarana Pandit. Let’s make you a star.”