Chapter 18
Six months had passed since the glowing sunset proposal at Marine Drive.
The city of Mumbai was bathed in the warm, golden light of late November. The heavy monsoon rains had long given way to pleasant, gentle winter breezes blowing off the Arabian Sea.
Today, the grandest luxury palace hotel in South Mumbai was transformed into an ethereal wonderland.
Millions of fresh, fragrant white jasmine flowers, crimson Indian roses, and imported Italian olive branches from Lombardy draped down from towering marble archways.
The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood incense, sweet cardamoms, and blooming flora.
It was the day Mumbai had been anticipating for months: the wedding of billionaire Akhil Raheja and travel journalist Shruti Malhotra.
Inside the grand bridal suite on the top floor of the palace hotel, the room was a hive of cheerful, elegant activity.
Shruti stood before a grand, gilded full-length mirror.
She looked like a queen straight out of a royal fairytale.
She was dressed in a custom bridal lehenga created by India's top couture designer in collaboration with a renowned Italian lace atelier.
The heavy silk skirt was a deep, radiant scarlet red, meticulously embroidered with intricate gold zari thread, real pearls, and subtle Italian floral lace patterns around the hem.
A heavy net dupatta was draped gracefully over her head and shoulders, secured by a delicate gold maang-tikka resting against her forehead.
Her dark hair fell in polished, cascading waves, and a Kundan necklace studded with uncut diamonds and deep green emeralds highlighted her golden collarbones. The canary yellow diamond and emerald engagement ring sparkled brilliantly on her left hand.
Standing beside her, fixing the pleats of her bridal veil, was her mother, Kavya Malhotra. Tears of overwhelming, maternal joy glistened in Kavya’s eyes.
"You look so beautiful, beta," Kavya whispered softly, cupping Shruti’s glowing, golden cheek. "Your father and I couldn't be prouder."
"Thanks, Mom," Shruti smiled radiantly, hugging her mother tightly. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the bridal suite flew open.
Myra Khurana, Shruti’s maid of honor, burst into the room. She was wearing a stunning, fitted blush-pink silk saree with silver embroidery. She held a silver tray containing fresh sweets and a glass of champagne, her face flushed with excitement.
"Shruti! Oh my god!" Myra shrieked, dropping the tray onto a side table and running over to inspect her best friend. "Look at you! You look like an absolute goddess! Akhil is going to completely lose his mind when he sees you walking down that aisle!"
Shruti chuckled, her heart fluttering with a mix of nervous anticipation and deep, pure happiness. "Is everything ready downstairs, Myra?"
"Ready?" Myra laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. "Darling, the baraat procession outside the palace gates is pure, glorious chaos! Half of Mumbai’s elite and half of Italy’s aristocracy are dancing in the streets!"
Shruti raised a curious eyebrow. "And how is the groom holding up?"
"The groom looks like a royal king," Myra smiled warmly.
"He’s standing in the courtyard with Raghav and Vihaan.
But speaking of Vihaan..." Myra thinned her lips, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks despite her attempt to look annoyed.
"...that annoying cousin of Akhil's has been following me around all morning! "
Shruti’s eyes lit up with playful, sharp amusement. "Vihaan has been following you?"
"Yes!" Myra huffed, adjusting her silver earring. "He had the nerve to tell me that my blush-pink saree matched his pocket square! Then he stole a piece of my gulab jamun and claimed it was 'corporate tax'!"
Shruti burst into a fit of giggles. Over the last six months, as wedding preparations brought both families together, a hilarious, banter-filled attraction had slowly blossomed between the outspoken Myra and the playful, charming Vihaan.
"You know, Myra," Shruti smirked mischievously, nudging her friend's elbow, "Vihaan has been asking Raghav about your favorite restaurants in South Mumbai for the past two weeks."
Myra’s jaw dropped slightly, her cheeks turning even redder. "He... he has? Well... he better take me somewhere expensive if he expects me to tolerate his terrible jokes!"
"I'm sure he will," Shruti smiled warmly, taking her best friend's hands into hers. "Thank you for being here with me, Myra. For everything."
"Always, babe," Myra squeezed her hands, her eyes tearing up. "Now, take a deep breath. It's time."
***
Meanwhile, in the grand executive suite across the palace corridor, the atmosphere was equally vibrant.
Akhil Raheja stood near the marble fireplace, adjusting the cuffs of his royal velvet bandhgala sherwani.
The sherwani was a deep, commanding navy blue, featuring subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs, paired with a cream silk churidar and a dark velvet shawl draped over his broad shoulder.
He looked impossibly handsome, regal, and formidable. The small cut above his left eye had healed into an almost invisible line, leaving his sharp jawline and dark, intense eyes looking as striking as ever.
Standing beside him, helping him adjust his gold brooch, was Raghav Malhotra.
Raghav was dressed in a matching maroon sherwani. He looked at his best friend through the mirror, a proud, brotherly grin breaking across his face.
"Still can't believe it," Raghav chuckled, shaking his head. "Mumbai's most eligible, stubborn bachelor... actually getting married."
Akhil turned his head, a slow, lazy smirk curving his handsome lips. "Are you complaining, Raghav? Because if you have objections, you're about six months too late."
"Complaining? Hell no!" Raghav laughed, clapping Akhil firmly on the shoulder. "I'm just relieved that someone finally took you off my hands. Now I don't have to listen to you brood over hotel spreadsheets until two in the morning."
A soft knock echoed at the suite door, and Vihaan Arora stepped inside, holding two crystal glasses of vintage scotch. He was wearing a sharp cream sherwani with a blush-pink silk pocket square that matched Myra’s saree perfectly.
"Baratt is assembled near the main courtyard gates, chief!" Vihaan declared cheerfully, handing a glass of scotch to Akhil. "The dhol drummers are ready, the horse is decorated, and the Italian delegation has officially tried Indian sweets for the first time."
Stepping into the suite right behind Vihaan were Gia Moretti and Leonardo Bianchi, who had flown in from Lake Como and Milan specifically for the wedding.
Gia looked gorgeous in an elegant mauve-pink silk saree, which she had learned to drape with great pride, while Leonardo looked sharp in a dark Italian linen suit with a traditional Indian marigold garland draped over his neck.
"Akhil, amico mio!" Leonardo smiled warmly, giving Akhil a firm, brotherly hug. "Congratulations! The entire team in Milan and Como sends their warmest blessings."
"Grazie, Leonardo. Grazie, Gia," Akhil smiled, his dark eyes filled with genuine affection for his European friends.
Gia stepped forward, placing a small, beautifully wrapped velvet box onto the table. "This is a traditional gift from Chef Matteo and the staff at Villa Raheja, Akhil. A box of silver-wrapped almond bombonieri sweets and fresh olive branches from the villa's garden terrace."
"Tell Matteo I will thank him personally when Shruti and I return to the lake next month," Akhil promised softly.
Vihaan checked his watch, grinning mischievously at Akhil. "Alright, brother. Time to ride the white horse. And try not to look so terrifying when you dance in the baraat! Myra is watching from the balcony, and I don't want you scaring my future date."
Raghav raised an eyebrow at Vihaan. "Future date? Vihaan, are you flirting with my sister's best friend again?"
"I am not flirting, Raghav," Vihaan stated with mock seriousness, adjusting his pink pocket square. "I am simply conducting market research on high-society romance."
The entire room erupted into hearty laughter as Raghav shook his head with an amused sigh, guiding Akhil out towards the grand palace courtyard.
***
The baraat procession was a glorious, breathtaking fusion of Indian celebration and joy.
Loud, rhythmic dhol drums echoed through the South Mumbai avenue, accompanied by brass band music playing energetic wedding tunes. Fireworks lit up the afternoon sky in showers of gold and crimson sparks.
Vihaan led the dancing near the front of the procession, performing energetic bhangra moves while teasingly pulling Myra, who was watching from the low terrace balcony, to join in the fun.
After a minute of mock reluctance, Myra laughed, stepped down the terrace stairs, and joined Vihaan on the dance floor, both of them laughing freely as they danced together under the falling flower petals.
Akhil rode a majestic, white Marwari horse decorated with royal gold trappings. He sat tall and broad, his dark eyes scanning the high palace balconies, his heart beating with a quiet, intense anticipation that no corporate deal had ever brought him.
By five o'clock in the evening, as the sun began its slow descent over the ocean, the formal wedding ceremony began under the open sky on the palace’s grand seaside lawn.
The wedding mandap was a masterpiece. Built over a raised marble platform facing the dark blue Arabian Sea, the four pillars of the mandap were wrapped entirely in fresh white jasmine, red roses, and green Italian olive leaves.
In the center, a sacred copper fire pit flickered gently, sending sweet-scented smoke into the cool evening breeze.
Akhil took his seat on the silk cushions inside the mandap alongside the priest, his posture tall and steady.
And then, the traditional wedding flute music began to play.
The entire seaside lawn fell into a quiet, breathless hush.