Chapter 8
Later that day, Kalpana sat on the bed in the hotel room.
The sari was in a box beside her. Marcus had messaged to say he was on the way back.
She couldn’t wait to show him the photos that the ladies at the shop had taken.
They had draped the sari over her T-shirt and cotton trousers, so it wasn’t as nicely set out as it would be on the day, but it was a good way to check that the colours worked.
The gold jewellery was amazing. For the first time ever, she felt like she was wearing something that properly belonged on her.
She zoomed in on one photo to look at the gold that ran across her hairline, with the small pendant dangling onto her forehead.
It was so pretty. As she zoomed back out again, she spotted Sampath in the background of the photo.
He was standing at the counter and looking over his shoulder at her.
His expression was gentle, as though he was proud of her.
Sampath’s expression when he’d seen her fully dressed up had been part of the experience.
She was already feeling good, seeing herself dressed as a bride, but that fleeting moment, when Sampath’s face told her exactly how good she looked, really sealed the decision.
She put her phone down and looked back at the box on the bed.
They had been so lucky finding Sampath. He seemed to genuinely care that they should get the wedding they really wanted.
She was starting to see that Marcus’s plans for the wedding weren’t as clear cut as they had first seemed.
He wanted a certain aesthetic – something culturally sensitive and opulent – but he had no idea how to get it in practice.
Sampath was carefully untangling the vague dream and making Marcus be clearer in his wants.
He also kept checking in with Kalpana. She had assumed it would be easiest to go with what Marcus wanted.
After all, he had the clearer vision, but Sampath’s gentle questioning was making her realise that this was her wedding too.
Despite all the times she’d told herself she didn’t really care about the ceremony, because it was the years that followed that mattered …
maybe she did care. Maybe she had a vision of what she wanted after all.
She gave the box a little pat. She loved this sari. Until that afternoon, she’d had no idea that it was something she had a strong opinion on.
Getting married had always been a certainty for her. How many times had she heard ‘Well, Kalpana will have to marry well. It’s a good job she’s pretty’? But she had never dared think about details.
When she was younger, she had hoped to find her one true love to marry.
Who knows, if she had, she’d have married that man …
even if her parents disagreed. But she hadn’t met anyone.
Her first boyfriend broke her heart. The few that followed had been …
fine. Nice, solid, middle-class boys that her parents didn’t particularly like, but didn’t disapprove of.
Yet the relationships hadn’t lasted. Those breakups had been hard, but not life-changing, because she hadn’t been expecting true love from them.
They had just drifted apart until it made no sense to pretend anymore.
It was all so … average. Slowly, she had begun to believe her family was right.
She was silly and naive. This true love stuff wasn’t real.
The heroines in her books had true love – men (and in the case of one novella, a woman) who loved them for who they were, a Mr Right for whom they were exactly enough.
When they met, there was a spark. Something that meant the heroine’s world would never be the same again.
They were adored and desired and cherished. But that was fiction.
There was no Mr Right for her. The best she could hope for was a Mr Good Enough.
Even her parents had stopped badgering her about marrying a man who had money, or prospects, or class and started hinting that any man would do. More recently, they had even started muttering about arranging someone for her.
When she had dared suggest that she didn’t need a man – that she made enough from her editorial work and book advances to provide for herself – they merely shook their heads and looked exasperated.
No. They felt she needed a man to ‘look after her’, to provide her with stability when her ‘little books’ stopped earning.
Like she hadn’t been aware of the possibility.
She knew that writing was a precarious job that didn’t pay very well.
She actually earned enough from her editorial work to pay her bills.
Anything she got in royalties went into her savings.
She even had a pension that she paid into.
But she didn’t have money to slosh around, and she supposed that was what counted.
Marcus had changed all that. He was famous and talented and independently wealthy.
She had been completely flummoxed by his interest in her.
The fact that he chose to be with her, when he had his pick of all those women, most of whom were richer and more glamorous, was a huge boost. He was rich.
He was charming. Her parents adored him.
It seemed as though, suddenly, her dull, workaday life had suddenly flipped over into a parallel world where she shone and other women looked at her with envy.
Once she got married, she would be Marcus’s wife.
In theory, at some point, he would become a Baron, and she would be a Baroness.
It was as though she had stepped into the body of a romance novel.
Except, she was brown. Romance heroines were nearly always white, and she hadn’t been able to see herself in the role …
until today. She looked at the photo again.
She looked magnificent. For the first time ever, she could see herself as the heroine in her own story.
The door beeped. Marcus. She sat up a bit straighter. So far, Marcus had been the one who was excited about the wedding. Now, she was invested too. He would be so pleased. She couldn’t wait to show him the sari.
He appeared, looking red in the face and dishevelled. His shirt looked crumpled compared to before and his hair was a mess.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘What happened to you?’ Worry punched at her. While she was sitting there in the nice hotel, had he been in some sort of trouble?
He threw his backpack into a chair, removed his sunglasses and grinned. ‘I got a tuk-tuk home,’ he said. He looked so pleased with himself.
The relief made her laugh. ‘Why didn’t you get a taxi or an Uber?’
‘I was going to.’ He headed towards the bathroom. ‘But this tuk-tuk was there and it was too tempting not to.’
She heard the shower running for a few minutes. When he came back out again, he looked a lot cooler.
‘How was your interview?’ she asked.
‘Pretty good. He had read Reflections at least, so he could ask some relevant questions.’
‘Was it a long interview?’ she asked. He had been gone for about five hours.
‘Mmm?’ He paused at the mirror to pat his hair back into place. He turned. ‘He did something interesting. He asked me if there were any questions he’d like me to ask him – which meant I could guide the interview a bit. That was refreshing.’
She watched him unbutton his shirt and walk up to the wardrobe. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’d like to be asked about the importance of seeing and understanding other cultures.
’ Marcus pulled out a clean shirt, pale blue and discreet, as always.
‘So we had an interesting chat about that.’ He turned around and smiled at her.
‘How about you, babe? How was your trip to the sari shop? Did you find one you liked?’
She bounced onto her feet. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful. Look!’ She lifted the lid off the box. The sari had been carefully folded. It didn’t look the same without the drape and flare of the fabric.
Marcus leaned over it and looked up at her face. ‘That looks nice.’
‘Yes. They put it on me as a sort of demo.’ She picked up her phone and pulled up the photo of her in the shop again. ‘They even put the jewellery on. Here.’
Marcus smiled at her when he took the phone from her. He looked at the photo with his head tilted to the side, the smile faded. ‘That’s not a Kandyan-style sari …’
‘No. I liked the Indian style better.’
‘But it’s not traditional, is it? You don’t wear that style of bridal jewellery with it.’ He had read the same website she had.
‘The lady in the shop said it didn’t matter these days.’ The bubbling excitement she’d felt a few minutes ago subsided.
‘Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? She wants to make a sale.’ He studied the photo thoughtfully. ‘What did Sampath say about this?’
Sampath … he had looked at her with big, delighted eyes and said she looked amazing. At that moment, seeing the admiration on his face, she had felt amazing too. ‘He said I looked great and that I should wear what will make me happy on my big day.’
Marcus nodded, still frowning a little. ‘I guess if Sampath thought it was okay, it’s probably fine.’
He handed the phone back to her. ‘I hope you guys arranged to get the jewellery as well?’
That was it? She had been so excited to show him her wedding sari and that was all he had to say?
‘Yes. I … um … I have to get measured up for the sari blouse tomorrow, but after that, my wedding outfit is done.’
‘That’s good. I’ll be wearing a suit, so that’s at least one thing you can tick off the list, right?’
Tears prickled at her eyes while she put the lid back on the box. ‘Right.’ She moved the box off the bed and put it on top of her suitcase. She would pack it carefully later. A tear welled up and spilled over. She sniffed and wiped it away.
Marcus noticed. ‘Hey, hey,’ he said, gently. He took her arm and turned her around. ‘What’s wrong?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
What could she say? I was excited about showing you the sari and your lack of interest upset me?