Chapter 9 #2
Alia is engaged with needle and thread. I can tell by the timing of her responses.
Alia: How is the prince?
Me: He’s alright, I guess!
I haven’t told Alia about the Pros in fact, no one in my family knows. She uses ‘binge’ casually in her text. That’s not on her, though. Addictive personalities know how to cover their tracks. Until they can’t.
My phone buzzes.
Alia is sending me more pictures of bras. This time, she’s branching into underwear, too. She has chosen a combination in matching and contrasting shades for the first instalment.
There’s some commotion at the door. I can hear it, but I don’t turn. The door opens. I feel a stiff draught fan my bare back.
I pick up my glass and take a sip. I feel a dryness on my tongue.
I hear more voices, an accent, furniture being shifted just behind me, someone saying, ‘Your Highness,’ and there is laughter.
I feel a shiver go down my spine.
I start attacking the bowl of nuts, alternating between chips and nuts. Two at a time. Three. Four. More. The pace is feverish. I’m barely crunching, much less chewing. I can’t stop, nut after nut, chip after chip. I have lost control.
Me: I’m attacking the nuts.
I don’t tell her why.
Alia: That’s my girl!
The word ‘distraction’ flashes in my head, and this evening, like a malfunctioning doorbell, it persists.
My first therapist had told me the first step to pause bingeing is to make yourself conscious of it and then come up with a distraction.
I hit WhatsApp and click on the exchange from an hour ago. We were in the same city when we were messaging. I feel my stomach tighten. I go to Instagram and scroll through Alia’s collection again.
I hear ‘cutie on the high chair’. I look around the counter; there is no one else on a high chair. It is just the odd word that comes through the din of the music.
Taylor Swift slays:
It’s me, hi,
I’m the problem, it’s me
At teatime, everybody agrees
I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero
I couldn’t agree more with Taylor.
That’s when I hear the name ‘Vedveer’. I strain my ear. Someone is saying, ‘The prince.’
I will the ground below this barstool to open up and close right after me.
I feel everyone’s, or is it someone’s, gaze caressing my almost bare back. My cheeks are warm, and my stomach turns. I’m wearing a belted deep green and black midi dress with a slit that does a lot of climbing. I’m breaking into a cold sweat, and my legs knock involuntarily.
What are the odds that I’m in Delhi on a rare overnight trip and I run into the crown prince of Jaipur?
I met his beloved sister, and even she never told me that he’s in Delhi.
The chances are pretty good, actually. I don’t need a round of cartomancy to tell me that.
With some luck, you can get out of here unnoticed, I try to tell myself. Maybe crawl out on all fours.
I’m back on the snack carousel, going harder and harder at the nuts. The replaced bowl of chips is almost over. I’m not thinking; I’m reacting. My breath is hard; it feels like a storm.
Toddy places another slightly bigger bowl of nuts before me and nods at my half-finished sangria when I ask him for a refill.
I want to disappear from here now, right at this very moment. I reach for my phone.
The Pour Homme EDP envelops me. I take in air and try to hold it within.
Why am I so jittery around this man?
The marriage announcement.
That juvenile Pros his eyes meet mine. Maybe he recognizes me.
‘Aaditha.’ A voice I know from behind me.
I turn to face Vedveer. He’s in a pale shirt that sparks his eyes.
I swallow the barely crushed nuts in my mouth. I wonder if the salt is all over my painstakingly done make-up, standing out like some debased glow cream.
I shift, trying to get on my feet. Vedveer gives me a hand, and we’re both on our feet.
‘Congratulations!’ he says, drawing me closer and placing a kiss on my cheek. ‘Well done! It’s a big one!’
I stare at him in disbelief. Why hadn’t he come if he had known I was getting an award?
If Vedveer were the one getting this award and I happened to be in Delhi, I’d absolutely show up and cheer for him. It’s a prestigious plaque, he said so himself. The only reason my parents aren’t here is because Appa felt his presence might steal the spotlight from me.
‘Navya tells me you won “The Initiator” award,’ he says, answering the question my eyes echo.
‘I just got into Delhi, like an hour ago,’ he says, his lips slanting in a smile.
We were WhatsApping an hour ago. He doesn’t mention it deliberately. We are in a public space.
‘I ran into Navya on the way here, and she told me about The Initiator award. Sorry! I’ve not been up with the news. I wish you had told me.’
Vedveer’s eyes are warm, but everything else about him is buttoned up and closed off. The business suit isn’t just a look; it’s the mood. Not that it should matter to me, given that we know where we stand with each other now.
‘I should have,’ I say sweetly, ‘but I didn’t know you’d be in Delhi, and I didn’t want to trouble you.’
I feel the room close around us, and I turn to see everyone on their feet, thumping their hands together.
I step back and lean against the bar, and my right hand reaches for my still half-finished glass of sangria. I’m breathing hard, and Vedveer’s eyes are on the hollow of my neck.
‘I would’ve called and congratulated you if I’d known you were still in Delhi,’ he’s saying, closing the gap between us. ‘I thought you’d be travelling back home. I was planning on calling you in the morning.’
My shrug is nonchalant, but my face breaks into a smile.
A little behind Vedveer, the folks who were seated at the table closest to the bar are now standing. Among them is a tall, impeccably styled woman, whom I now recognize from photographs as Kairi Gaur. Are they still seeing each other? My grip around the glass of wine tightens.
One of Vedveer’s friends brings his hands together in a loud clap. ‘I have a suggestion that His Royal Highness make a speech on account of his fiancée’s victory today,’ he says.
His fiancée? We’re not engaged, dude, not yet! Victory? I hadn’t won a war… though it felt like one. I retreat and allow myself a smile. It matches Kairi’s in sweetness.
A loud roar drowns the music.
‘Come on, Your Highness,’ his friends cheer. ‘We want a victory speech.’
What victory speech can Vedveer give you, boys? I’m the one who won the award. It’s sitting on my bedside upstairs.
‘Yeeeeesss!’ someone else shouts from one of the corners.
There are more cheers, and as if on cue, the room aligns in a chant. ‘Vedveer, Vedveer, Vedveer…’
I join the clapping, only because I don’t know what else to do. My eyes find Vedveer, imploring him not to pander. We barely know each other. What is he going to say? He, too, probably thinks I got here riding on Appa’s coat-tails.
The music is turned down, and Vedveer signals to the bar, ordering a round for everyone in the house.
‘Vedveer, Vedveer, Vedveer.’ More chants.
His Royal Highness raises an arm, and cutlery crashes to the floor somewhere in the room.
Vedveer pauses. His eyes are on his suede shoes, before he turns abruptly and looks in my direction.
I haven’t rehearsed, he mouths.
For a moment, I don’t know what he’s saying; then the list comes to mind. The damn cons.
Probably rehearses speeches in the mirror. Shirtless. With lighting.
I pull up my phone, turn on the torch and point it at him.
I keep my face still, even as everything inside me twists. He grins.
Vedveer clears his throat and starts speaking to the room, before shifting slightly to hold my gaze.
‘To Aaditha. “The Initiator” award is proof of the strides you have taken in the business world. Here’s to more accolades and even stronger coffee!’
Vedveer’s eyes linger on me for a touch longer than necessary. I mouth a thank you to him. He spoke honestly, and that is compliment enough.
People are raising their glasses, and another round of cheers goes around.
I hang back, away from the people, who rush towards Vedveer. This is his ground, his fraternity, even if the award I claimed earlier in the evening is mine.
As I watch the rush and roll around me, I wonder if this is a good time to announce the location of my Jaipur store, just beyond the gates of Ranibagh. I’m drumming my fingers on my glass.
Just to set the record straight, this store was planned well before my life became entangled in this circus.
The location… A genius idea dawns on me!
Having their to-be–daughter-in-law do business just outside the palace gates will doubtless anger the mighty Rathores. They’ll push me to make a choice.
Vedveer Rathore Singh, I didn’t even have to come up with a plan!
I turn hastily, and the heel of my shoe catches the back of the barstool, and I come down in a heap, the barstool on the ground beside me. Whatever is left of the sangria is on me. My phone pops out of my grip and falls face up.
Vedveer rushes to my side while motioning the waiter to bring him my phone. He wraps his hand around my bare ankle. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, his voice strained.
I nod. I think I’m okay.
Vedveer’s eyes are locked on mine as he scoops me off the ground. ‘We need to get you out of here,’ he says.