CHAPTER 38
ROXANNE
The morning light felt too honest.
I moved through the house like a thief—avoiding Marcello’s gaze, avoiding myself.
My body had betrayed me again—and he knew it. And the worst part? A piece of me didn’t even want to deny it. He watched me, smirking like he knew my dirty little secret and planned to use it against me.
The car I’d hired was waiting outside—mine was still a wreck, like everything else.
Marcello grabbed the keys before I could.
“I’ll drive,” he said—like it was his right.
I snatched the keys from his hand without looking at him.
“This isn’t Italy. It’s India. The roads and the people are unforgiving.”
He didn’t argue. The silence in the car was suffocating. Every kilometer felt like foreplay and punishment twisted into one. I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me, too long for my comfort.
“Can you quit staring? You’re creeping me out.”
He tilted his head, smirking.
“Must you always wear shorts around me?”
“Why? Because I’m curvy? Or because you can’t handle it?”
He hissed through his teeth.
“I don’t care what you wear. It’s just too…”
“Too?”
“Troppo tentante,” he said, “very tempting.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks so fast I almost felt dizzy. God, why did his voice feel like it had fingers? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat like guilt and desire were wrestling under my skin.
Thank heavens the ride to the RORO terminal was only thirty minutes. After parking in the RORO, we stepped out.
I chose to stay on the deck instead of sitting in the cabin.
The wind hit me first sharp. I wrapped my arms around myself, regretting the shorts and boho top I’d chosen.
My hair was braided into a loose plait, and the hickey he’d left on my neck was hidden beneath the fabric.
The cold bit my skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat his presence sparked behind me.
I heard his footsteps before I felt him. Marcello came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I didn’t resist. Instead, I let myself sink into him just for a moment. His warmth was overwhelming—like memory and temptation wrapped in one dangerous skin.
“Regretting the shorts? Let’s go in before you catch a cold,” he teased.
I shook my head, almost embarrassed. “I get a little seasick. The wind in my face makes it bearable.”
He kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around his. We stood there in silence, facing the sea, the morning sun casting gold across the water.
I hated how safe I felt in his arms. Safety was dangerous. Safety made me forget why I was supposed to be angry.
The drive to Alibaug was uneventful, but my thoughts weren’t.
I kept replaying last night—his hands, his voice, the way my body betrayed me.
I hated him for it. I hated myself more.
As much as I wanted to push him away, make him grovel for forgiveness, my body reacted faster than my pride could recover.
It felt like my brain and body didn’t belong to the same person—they kept contradicting each other around him.
We reached Casa Amara, a sprawling resort owned by Priya’s father.
It didn’t flaunt its luxury it whispered it, like a secret only the rich knew how to keep.
Mangalore tiled roofs, teakwood accents, whispering palms, and the hush of the Konkan coast. Perfect place to lose myself. Terrible place to find him again.
The main wedding was to happen in a stepwell-style courtyard—something straight out of the movies.
The garden was drenched in sunlight and marigolds—like a Pinterest mood board come to life.
Two large brass urns with stools took centre stage beneath a canopy of vibrant fabrics, fluttering in the breeze.
The backdrop was covered in blooms. Haldi bowls, set with betel leaves, gleamed with golden paste like molten turmeric.
Aunties in bright saris bustled around, laughing, gossiping, pairing off youngsters and asking the age-old question—
“So, are you next?”
Sahil spotted me and waved.
“Roxy, Marcello! You two are finally here!”
I smiled and walked over, embracing him in a warm hug.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” I said, beaming. “I’ll change and be right back.”
Before I could turn, Kyra came running towards me. Her yellow dress fluttered in the wind as her two pigtails bounced with each step. I scooped her up, twirled her around, and showered her with kisses. Marcello watched us, awe written all over his face.
“You’re spoiling her,” Vihaan teased.
“I’m only spoiling her with love, hugs, and kisses.”
“Mummy, I love your hugs and kisses!”
“Me too, my baccha. I’ll change and come back. Find granny for me till then.”
Vihaan helped us settle into our rooms. Marcello and I had adjoining suites, separated by a common door, each with its own entrance. Like temptation built into the architecture.
Seriously, whose brilliant idea was it to put two people who want to tear each other’s clothes off and fuck each other senseless—in every corner, every position—in adjacent rooms, separated by a flimsy door? Like that’s going to stop us.
Jeez, control your filthy mind, Roxanne.
Marcello was grinning—like he’d heard my thoughts loud and clear.
“Where’s your room?” I asked, curious.
“Opposite his,” Vihaan replied, gesturing to Marcello. “Be quick, the ceremony’s about to start.”
I retreated to mine. The room had vaulted ceilings, soft linens and a balcony that opened to birdsong and breeze.
I quickly changed, then heard a knock—not at the front door, but at the interconnecting one.
I opened it. Marcello stood there, stunned. I was wearing a yellow and orange skirt set, the dupatta draped like a shrug. The neckline of my blouse dipped low, revealing the top of my breasts, just enough to tease. My waist was bare.
His eyes dripped with lust. I swear I saw a glint of hunger at the corner of his mouth—like he was starving and I was the feast. He was undressing me—no, tearing my clothes apart with his eyes.
His lower lip was caught between his teeth like he was seconds from committing a sin on my skin. And instantly, electricity shot down my spine to my core.
Focus Roxanne. Focus. Don’t give in.
I cleared my throat.
His emerald green eyes met mine. Damn you, Marcello, for being so handsome.
“Umm… just wanted to know the schedule for the functions.”
“Why, you have somewhere else to be?” I mocked.
“And miss seeing you all dolled up? No. Need to make a few calls to Santino and Martin; didn’t want to do it in the middle of the ceremonies.”
I turned towards the mirror, adjusting my dupatta and hair.
“Haldi’s now. Mehendi’s in the evening—not much for men to do there. Tomorrow’s the Sangeet, and the day after is the wedding followed by the reception.”
I didn’t bother diving into the details. I’m sure my mum would gladly explain to him if he were so interested.
“That shirt of yours is gonna get stained.”
He glanced down at himself, then at me, with a cocked eyebrow.
“Since you’re here, I’m assuming you’d like to partake in the ceremony. While applying the turmeric paste on Priya and Sahil, some of it will definitely be applied to you.”
“I think that should be okay.”
He walked up behind me, eyes locked on my reflection in the mirror. He slowly grazed the tip of his finger up my arm. My body lit up like it had missed him more than my heart ever admitted. I felt the heat rise between us.
“Pare na dea… hai rubato il mio respiro.”
(You look like a goddess… you’ve stolen my breath.)
He pushed my hair to one side, tracing the now-covered hickey.
“You’ve covered it well.”
I elbowed him.
“Don’t try that stunt again. Or the next punch will be between your legs.”
I wouldn’t do that though.
I was in two minds about wearing his mark proudly, but knowing Kyra, she would get her detective hat on and question away. He bent down, lips near my ear. His warm breath sent shivers and made the hair on the back of my neck stand.
“You’ll have to bear the consequences of what comes next—and I’ll enjoy the struggle.”
I met his dark gaze in the mirror. My heart was beating like a drum—wild, reckless, ready to leap out of my ribcage into his hands and beg to be wreaked.
I may have been upset with the man, but I sure as hell desired him. Anger and desire were kissing cousins—and Marcello made them sleep in the same bed.
A knock on the door broke our moment.
“Roxanne? Sahil’s looking for you,” a voice called out.
I turned.
“We have to go.”
“Of course.”
Just as I reached the door, he grabbed my wrist and kissed my cheek.
“You’re looking stunning.”
All I could do was gush like a teenager whose crush just called her pretty. But I couldn’t forgive him easily. The moment I remembered that, my face hardened.
Bitch face: activated.
I was going to make him suffer. Make him jealous. Test him. I had Vihaan to help, and Sahil’s friend—the walking erection, a man-whore with zero shame, trying to hump anything vaguely female with a pulse.
He’d been circling me since sangeet practice. Today, he pounced before I could dodge.
“Hey Roxy, you’re looking gorgeous.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for you, Arjun.”
He tried to lean in for a kiss on my cheek, but I blocked him.
Did I want to make Marcello jealous? Absolutely.
Did I want this narcissist thinking he had a shot to slide into my pants? Hell no.
“Come on, we’re dance partners. We should spend more time practising—get our chemistry going…”
I cut him mid-sentence. “It’s only until tomorrow. Thankfully, I won’t be seeing much of you after that. And we don’t need chemistry. Just get the steps right and keep your hands to yourself.”
I spun around to see Marcello surrounded by women—old, young, married, single. Every woman’s eyes were on him. I hadn’t accounted for my own jealousy. He looked… delicious. Too delicious for public consumption.
One of Priya’s cousins was getting far too handsy, striking up a conversation, laughing too loudly, twirling her hair with her fingers.
I wanted to yank her hair and hiss:
Hands off. He’s mine, bitch.