His Monsoon Bride
His Monsoon Bride
Aastha Atray
Amrita took a deep breath and re-entered the lion’s den. Before her nerve failed her she announced, ‘Mehtab, I accept your proposal.’ And then she added, ‘But I have one condition.’
‘Anything you want,’ she heard Mehtab say.
She put on a defiant but calm expression. ‘I will continue to work after I get married, and the less you interfere in my work, the better.’
She worked? Mehtab thought, surprised. He had taken her to be a spoilt brat, living off daddy’s money. What was this work? But he knew better than to ask that question now. Instead he said, ‘Of course. You are free to live life as you want.’
‘Well, then, I agree.’
Mehtab saw her bottom lip quivering. He knew this was not what she wanted, and it was far from an ideal situation, but it had to be done. Amrita would understand in time. He might not be the Romeo to her Juliet, but he would give her all that she wanted. She didn’t realise how much this marriage would enhance his image and his career—the family man who had a perfect wife and a perfect business. He wanted to be admired and looked up to in all areas of his life—and Amrita was going to make that happen.
Dear Reader
When I found out that Harlequin Mills & Boon was looking for their second writer from India, a switch went off in my head. Why am I not taking part in the contest? I asked myself. It was five hours to deadline and I told myself that sometimes, to make dreams come true, you need to take a risk. And so I sat down and started writing as if my life depended on it. My original story, about the slightly voluptuous, shy but smart daughter of a millionaire, Amrita, who finds love with the roguish and rude but utterly handsome businessman Mehtab was just a figment of my imagination that even caught me by surprise. Who knew I was capable of such romance? Even though my romance with my husband, Kishore, has remained fresh for five and a half years now. And so I wrote a story about people who fall in love not because they are attracted to each other’s exteriors, but because eventually it’s a heart of gold that matters. I think it was because my own marriage has made me believe in such a love.
But I never expected to win! And so when I first got the call saying my story had been selected in the top three I was stunned. In fact, I was grateful for even that achievement. Then, as they called out my name as the winner at the party thrown for the entrants, I knew that taking that risk and giving it my all had paid off. And what an experience it has been!
Writing a love story for Mills and Boon has been the most creative and fulfilling task I have ever undertaken. It has taught me how to flesh out my characters, how to know that their actions are a result of their past life, and how to see that a person’s past and present shapes their future. From the moment I started writing about Amrita and Mehtab I knew I had to really make them come to life. In fact I had to make the reader feel as if she knew them intimately, and also make her understand why they do what they do.
Amrita, who on the surface seems to have everything, is actually a slightly confused young woman who wants to be independent and free from the shackles of the elite society she belongs to. She is also very headstrong and intelligent, and is a journalist (I guess I had to put a little bit of me in her!). She also faces a problem that many of us in this day and age do. She thinks she is fat just because she isn’t exactly like the models she sees on the pages of a magazine. But we Indian women are uniquely beautiful because of our curves, and eventually Amrita embraces that, as it’s Mehtab who makes her realise how beautiful she really is. She is also pretty fashionable, and opts for clothes that flatter her figure rather than just going along with a trend, and that underlines an aspect of her personality that’s just so spunky.
Mehtab was so named because that name just conjures up the image of a tall, big-shouldered, handsome man, whose grin can turn a woman to mush. He is witty and charming, and can say all the right things so that a girl just doesn’t stand a chance. Mehtab is misunderstood, because his steely, rough exterior hides a man who is fighting the demons of his past. But if you manage to go beyond all that, as Amrita finally does, you will find he is a kind, compassionate man. And he falls in love with Amrita for the real her. That’s because he knows that she has also accepted him, with all his baggage, and that is a sure sign of real love.
Their love story is a good example of how love can be found even when the circumstances are unfavourable. Sometimes life throws curveballs at us, but love really can conquer all. And I hope it makes everyone believe in the fact that true love does exist, and to give up on it would be a shame.
I am so glad I got to write this Mills and Boon story as it has made me a writer I never imagined I could be. And to be able to show the world what a love story set in contemporary India—my city Mumbai—is really like is also another big plus.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s been a ride!
Take care!
Love
Aastha
About the Author
AUTHOR NOTE
AASTHA ATRAY was the winner of the Passions of India competition 2011. Her exciting story and lively characters immediately stood out from the crowd and caught the judges’ eyes. Here is her inspiring story—from entering the competition to becoming a Mills & Boon® author!
His Monsoon Bride
Aastha Atray
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Mom and Dad,
who are the wind beneath my wings.
CHAPTER ONE
AMRITA PIRAMAL could feel the sticky, stern Mumbai sun staring down at her as if he had a personal grudge against her. She put on her sunglasses and rolled down the windows of the cab that was going barely twenty kilometres an hour. She contemplated telling the driver to speed up, but then, she thought, did she really want to reach home so soon? No, she wanted to delay this as long as she could. Her phone had been ringing off the hook. It was Meera, her nanny, who had looked after her since her mother died when Amrita was ten. She knew that Meera was calling to remind her that she needed to be home on time today—it was the day of the party that would decide her father’s fate.
Yes, her father, Manoj Piramal, once the richest man in India and in many ways the pioneer of the telecom boom, had been reduced to his last lakh. His habit of blindly trusting people had finally backfired. A former partner had been sucking the company dry and when he was finally found out, the business was on its last legs. The partner was behind bars now, but that didn’t change anything for her father. If he couldn’t manage to get a few investors on board soon, he would have to declare bankruptcy. That was why today’s party was so important. Her father was trying to win over Mumbai’s elite and charm his way back into the society that spurned him. But Amrita knew it wasn’t going to be so easy.
That was because she knew a thing or two about Mumbai’s elite. She had been one of them all her life. Her father was rich and her mother had been Bollywood’s most glamorous and scandalous leading lady until she died in a horrific road accident. Her mind drifted back to the newspaper headlines the day her mother died—’Scandalous Bollywood Starlet Killed’ and ‘She Loved Many, But Who Loved Her?’
Amrita knew how fickle this society was. How they just changed tack once they knew you didn’t matter. They loved you when you had it all, and if you didn’t, they loved watching you crash and burn. She knew many of the top businessmen, their bitchy wives and their size-zero daughters and womanising sons would be trotting in tonight just to see how bad things had actually got. They wanted to see Manoj Piramal beg. They wanted to see the daughter of Reshma Singh, the notorious adulteress, being reduced to nothing.
It was strange. She was raised in this society and yet somehow she managed to see it so objectively. It could have been because, despite her lineage, she had never really felt a part of it. She never fitted in because she was nerdy and liked to read and eat ice cream on the public beach. It was because she took the local train instead of the chauffeur-driven car. It was also maybe because she didn’t fit the mould of what an heiress should look like. She glanced down at her curvy body and sighed. She was fat—that was what they would all say. She knew obsessing about her weight was silly; she was built just like an Indian woman should be—curvy in the right places. But this society had forgotten what real women looked like, and she hated that she was thinking of herself this way. She knew she was pretty—her dazzling smile and her hazel eyes could mesmerise any man, not that she was interested in any.
There had been her ex-boyfriend, Akshaye, but after he left she didn’t want to even think of a man ever again, at least for a while. A few days ago her father had hinted that maybe it was time for her to get married and she had told him, in no uncertain terms, ‘No way!’ She needed to concentrate on herself and her career. She smiled then, for she loved her job, even though not many people knew what she did. She had refused a post at the city’s leading fashion magazine, Purple, to work at an independent news magazine where she wrote human interest stories that gave her the opportunity to profile ordinary people doing extraordinary things, like the group of girls she had just met.
They lived in slums, in houses no bigger than Amrita’s bathroom. Playing basketball was their only escape. The girls said when they were on the court it was as if nothing else in the world mattered. They smiled in the face of trouble and Amrita wished she could be one of them. But that was not to be. She knew she had to suck it up now and go to that dreaded party, because she had promised herself when her mother died that she would look after her father. She would never let him down, and so she would be the perfect hostess tonight. But she wasn’t going to let those size-zero south Mumbai bimbettes with their couture dresses and labelled handbags win the day. She thought of the new designer dress hanging in her wardrobe and decided she wouldn’t wear that. Instead she would shock them and wear the salwar kameez she bought last week from a small boutique. The yellow colour set off her tanned skin and the purple dupatta was a beautiful lace delight. Let them snicker—she was going to wear what she loved.
The imposing iron gates of her house opened and she could see Meera standing in the doorway. As the car pulled up Meera rushed out to hustle her inside.
‘Amrita, where have you been? I have been calling you. The party is supposed to start in twenty minutes and you aren’t even ready!’ Meera was a small lady with a pleasant face that always seemed to be smiling, even when she was angry.
‘Relax, Meera,’ Amrita soothed, ‘I am here now and I am all yours.’
‘You make me crazy. Chalo chalo, have a bath and wear that new dress.’
‘No. I have a better outfit in mind.’ Amrita smiled because she knew Meera would have a fit when she saw what she was planning to wear. She entered her home, Shanti—it meant peace and it was, for Amrita, the most peaceful place in the world—and headed straight for her bedroom. She loved this house and the thought that she might have to vacate it soon was killing her inside. But she had to be strong. As she slipped on her yellow kurta, purple churidar and purple lace dupatta, she felt beautiful. She finished the look with a bindi and kundan earrings, which were a birthday gift from her father. The emerald and diamonds sparkled and added a glow to her face. She wore gold ballet pumps on her feet and was twirling in front of the mirror when Meera entered.
‘What are you wearing? What happened to the designer dress?’
‘It’s so last season, Meera darling,’ Amrita joked.
‘You will be the death of me, child,’ Meera said exasperatedly, but she nodded in approval. ‘You look beautiful. Those girls won’t know what hit them. A princess who has a heart of gold—you are the best.’
Amrita hugged Meera and took the elevator down. She had to help her father make this party a success. This company was his biggest passion and she vowed to do whatever it took. It had to work.
Mehtab Rathod stood in the middle of the opulent ballroom and smiled. Even after ten years of being at the top of his game, he still felt strangely uncomfortable at these lavish Mumbai dos. He knew this party was probably milking his host dry. He winced at the fact that he was thinking about the cost of this party, when he should be enjoying it. But his upbringing made it hard to ignore such extravagance.
Growing up, he had never even dreamed of seeing a one-hundred-rupee note, and today he was a billionaire. The son of a chawl dweller who worked in Mumbai’s mills in the 1970s, Mehtab had spent his childhood roaming the dirty lanes of Dharavi, Asia’s largest slum, singing cheesy Bollywood songs in the city’s famous monsoon rain. He slept in a room with five siblings and his parents and often dreamt about pots of gold, literally. His father had always pushed Mehtab to make it big. But Mehtab knew he had erred in many ways. There were some incidents in his life he would rather forget, but they haunted him every night in his dreams. His greatest regret in life was that his father never saw him become who he was today, a leader in the real-estate business, whose last property had been sold in a record-breaking deal.
He had to stop thinking about all that. He was rich and he was living the good life. He was alone, though—his parents had passed away and his siblings were married and living their own lives. There was no dearth of women, but he knew that most of them were only interested in his money or his looks. Maybe, one day, he would be out of both, so he preferred to keep a distance. He never trusted anyone. He had too many secrets, and he was never sure who would accept him with all his baggage.
Lately, however, he had been thinking about the possibility of getting married. Not for love, obviously, but to maintain his social standing. Being a rich Casanova was not a title he relished. He wanted to be known as the complete man—and a man was only complete when he had a family. He needed a woman who was classy and sophisticated, who would be an asset to him and his empire, and wouldn’t expect too much from him emotionally. He needed the perfect little trophy wife and a marriage that would elevate his position among Mumbai’s elite, and obviously it wouldn’t be bad to see somebody when he returned from work every day. But it had to be on his terms.
When he had heard of Manoj Piramal and his daughter Amrita, it had instantly made perfect business sense to him. A marriage to Amrita meant gaining a company and an ideal wife—a wife who knew this society better than he ever could. After all, she was born into it. Yes, this was a perfect plan, and he would execute it with finesse.
The fact that Piramal Industries was in deep trouble had provided Mehtab with the ideal bargaining chip to get Piramal to approve of the marriage. Mehtab only had to tell him that he would turn his flailing company around and he knew Piramal would agree. Men did many things for fame and wealth, and he was sure Piramal was no different.
Mehtab’s earlier conversation with the older man had been fraught with tension. ‘So, Mr Piramal, you know I have the means to turn your company around. Will you accept my offer of help?’
Piramal had looked at him warily. ‘Yes, Mehtab. But you have never been known to do anything unless there is something in it for you.’
At this, Mehtab had laughed wickedly. ‘Oh, you know me so well. All these years, you have always been one step ahead of me. I guess you had experience on your side. I respect that. But now it’s my time to rule. My favourite rival, you work for me now, so I suggest you be nice to me, so I can tell you how it’s going to be.’
Piramal had sighed and just said, ‘What do you want?’
Mehtab had not minced his words. ‘Your daughter as my wife. That’s all.’ Though Piramal had simply walked away, Mehtab knew he would consider it. It could be the wedding of the year and Piramal knew that.
Mehtab smiled gleefully now as he glanced round the buzzing ballroom. This was great. He would get two things he desired for the price of one. He had heard contrary reports about Amrita, though—some said she was extremely smart and refined, while a rich heiress he once dated had bitchily remarked she was fat and clumsy. Where was she? he thought as his reverie was broken by a tall, stunning woman who walked over to him and licked her lips. ‘Wanna dance?’
He flashed her a wicked grin and took her hand. This was a perfect way to while away time while he waited for Amrita to appear. Then halfway to the dance floor he noticed the elevator doors open. The woman who stepped out looked slightly nervous but that just added to her delicate beauty. Mehtab knew at once that this was Amrita. He was shocked by his reaction—she was so unlike the women he had got used to seeing in Mumbai’s swish set. For starters, she was wearing a salwar kameez and she certainly had the curves to fill it out. Her body was like an Indian goddess’s and her face belonged in a painting. Finally, it was time to strike.
Amrita hugged her father and realised how old he had started looking in the past few days. His worry was reflected in his face. She forced herself to smile as he guided her across the room and introduced her to some new faces. She knew most of this crowd, even though she could not admit to liking them. She tried to explain that to her father with a nonchalant, ‘We are all very different,’ but she knew that really it was because none of them looked beyond themselves.
Her father paused in front of a man she had never seen before and said, ‘Amrita, this is Mehtab Rathod of Rathod Real Estate. Surely you have heard of him?’
Amrita sucked in her breath; he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Dressed in a tailor-made suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular torso, he looked more like a model than one of her father’s business associates. His hair was wavy and long enough that she wanted to run her fingers through it. A day’s stubble added to his rugged appeal and he was six feet tall with such strong-looking arms that she suddenly wanted to be held by him. She felt a blush on her cheeks and she realised she was staring at him.
‘You look mesmerising. That’s an unusual choice of outfit for a party like this,’ he purred in his deep voice, and then smiled at her in amusement. Amrita didn’t know if he was making fun of her or complimenting her.
She caught his gaze and replied smoothly, ‘I like to do unexpected things.’
She saw her father look at them warily before he said, ‘Amrita, did you know Mehtab just topped India’s rich list? That would have been me not so long ago. Those were the days, right!’
Amrita hated seeing her father so sad. She turned to say something when Mehtab said, ‘Sir, it’s all an illusion—this wealth, I mean. Here today, gone tomorrow. Happiness comes from having people to love, like you have your daughter.’
Amrita was filled with surprise. Did this man with that annoying grin just say something so sweet?
Her father smiled but he still looked a bit preoccupied. ‘So true. Mehtab, why don’t you keep my lovely daughter company while I mingle?’
As he walked away Manoj Piramal looked back at his daughter, who was now being led towards the bar by Mehtab. He knew Amrita was not going to like what he was going to propose to her soon—he wanted to ask Mehtab if he would marry Amrita.
When Mehtab had suggested it, Manoj had felt immense anger. But then, as he had given it more thought, he felt drawn to the proposal. He felt guilty even thinking about asking Amrita to do such a thing. But she wasn’t with anybody, and maybe she would like Mehtab. He winced. He knew Mehtab wasn’t Amrita’s type—he was ruthless and Manoj was sure that he would never ever love his daughter. So why was he even thinking of this? But he knew that if there was anyone who could save Piramal Industries, it would be Mehtab, who had proven his brilliant business acumen through the years. He knew he was putting Amrita in a difficult position—maybe the most difficult one in her life—but he could not see any way out. He’d had Mehtab checked out and what he found was worrying—he was a ladies’ man who never dated the same woman twice, and nobody had a clue who the real Mehtab was. Though there were reports he was liked by everyone in his company, especially the ground-level workers, the tales of his ruthlessness when it came to business were endless. Would he be like that with his wife as well? Manoj felt a sense of foreboding at what he was about to do, but he knew he had no other choice.
At the bar, Mehtab grimaced. ‘I find these parties a bit hard to handle, you know. Too many beautiful people for my comfort. They put me on edge.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Amrita said, surprised by his confession. Mehtab didn’t seem like the sort of man who felt uneasy very often. No, he seemed confident and in control. ‘I was born into this and I still feel left out. The perfectly groomed façade takes a lot of time, you know, but take away the expensive clothes, the make-up and the cars, and you won’t have much left.’
‘Yes, yes, it’s all an illusion, one that I have necessarily had to buy into, by the way. But please don’t hate me.’ He smiled and put an arm round Amrita’s waist. ‘Would you like a glass of white wine? Or do you just drink organic tea? Now that would be unexpected.’
Amrita knew he was pulling her leg so she tossed her hair back and smiled. ‘White wine would be good. And you? Will you order a whiskey on the rocks like the rest of your mindless colleagues?’
Mehtab threw his head back and laughed. Amrita laughed too and found herself admiring the deep, throaty sound he made. God, why did she just do that? He stopped mid-laugh and said gruffly, ‘I am not used to women who make me laugh. You have to tell me how you developed such a sharp tongue. It’s refreshing as well as very threatening.’
‘Why do you find it threatening, Mr Rathod? Are you telling me a big, strong man like you can’t win a word duel with little ol’ me? A little friendly competition never hurt anybody.’
Mehtab was enjoying this verbal spar. Most girls he met just giggled at whatever he said and then turned all seductive as he neared for the kill. It was as if women were born to play only two roles—the femme fatale or the damsel in distress. But Amrita was neither, and he found that intriguing. He mentally reminded himself that it was not the time to start admiring Amrita, but time to pursue her. He knew pursuing Amrita would be his greatest challenge yet, but one he would rise to and most certainly enjoy….
‘I don’t find you threatening, Miss Piramal. If anything, you are making me wish I had my special speech writer here to help me with the repartee. Tell me, are all society girls as witty as you, Miss Piramal, or is that a trait only reserved for the daughter of the great Reshma Singh?’ He smirked and saw her flinch instantly at the comparison. But she recovered with the grace of an heiress, he noticed, with just dots of pink on her cheeks belying her anger.
‘My mother had many charms I didn’t have the fortune of inheriting, Mr Rathod. But the wittiness is all mine. It just takes a little reading and a lot of practice at fending off unwanted male attention. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Aww, Miss Piramal, Amrita. You got me there. Fending off unwanted male attention isn’t something I’ve had much practice in. Female attention however, now that’s another matter. Though I can say it’s rarely unwanted. Can I call you Amrita?’ She could just about nod when he said, ‘Well, I like wittiness, and especially when it’s being delivered with such tenacity. And tenacious women just make me want to do things I know your father won’t approve of.’
‘Like what?’ Amrita found herself saying as they walked out onto the verandah and she could feel the eyes of the size-zero gang on her.
Mehtab sensed her discomfort. ‘They are jealous of us,’ he said, and led her around to a secluded part of the balcony. Suddenly, nobody could see them and she felt a strange, unknown tingle go up her spine.
‘Maybe we should go back. My father will be looking for me.’
‘Your father is a busy man, and why do you want to end our conversation when it’s just getting interesting? Am I that bad to talk to, Amrita?’ He smiled softly and for a minute he looked almost like a different man. But then he caught her palm and brought it up to his lips and as he kissed the middle of it she felt the sexy Mehtab return. His lips were soft and his scent was spellbinding. ‘This is what your tenaciousness makes me want to do,’ he said as his hands roamed her back, and when they reached her collarbone she pushed him away.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped without much conviction.
He just looked at her and smiled. ‘Has anyone told you recently that you can drive a man completely wild?’
Amrita pushed him a little further away and gathered her composure. ‘Not men I hardly know. Until two minutes ago, that is. Is this a habit with you, Mr Rathod, feeling up women you’ve only just met?’
His hand was still behind her waist and now he pulled her back in. ‘It wasn’t until tonight. But you are making it very hard, Amrita.’ As he came closer and his lips hovered over Amrita’s she suddenly felt her resolve melt. It was just a kiss, with a man who was saying all the right things, and maybe she was overthinking things. She closed her eyes and tipped her face towards Mehtab. He nipped at her bottom lip and a moan caught in Amrita’s throat. This was torture. And then he was kissing her—softly at first, and then with a strange passion that was strong, but he took care not to hurt her. She felt herself responding with an ardour that she had never experienced before. Their bodies were now pressed against each other and Amrita found herself melting against him. It was as if she had been kissed for the first time, and Mehtab read her mind when he pulled away for a second and said, ‘This is just the first of many kisses.’
As she drew him back into another sweet kiss Amrita thought, with some amazement, was this even her? But in the moment, she didn’t care.
CHAPTER TWO
AMRITA was feeling a little heady from all the kissing when she suddenly realised where they were. There was a party going on inside, and here she was kissing on the balcony. What if someone saw? ‘We can’t do this here.’ She broke away from Mehtab, who looked as if he didn’t care one bit about who saw.
‘No, we can’t, as much as I hate to say that. I don’t want your father thinking that I seduced his daughter when actually it’s the other way around.’ He laughed. ‘Let’s head back in.’
‘No, you go in first. I will go to the ladies’ room and then join the party. I can’t believe I did this. You know, I don’t usually go around kissing strange men,’ she suddenly found herself saying in a serious tone.
‘Yes, I know, Amrita. I don’t think any less of you, if that’s what you are worried about. I will see you back in the ballroom in a bit.’ His lips brushed her cheek and then he was striding away.
Amrita walked a little unsteadily to the ladies’ room and wondered, was this what love at first sight felt like? Or was it lust? How and why did she do this? Kissing someone she barely knew? What was wrong with her? But she couldn’t deny the fact that she felt good—strangely so, but happy. Yes, she felt happy. She reapplied her lipstick, combed her hair and walked out just in time to see Mehtab go up to her father, shake his hand and whisper something in his ear. Her father looked slightly worried but she saw him nodding away. Mehtab kept patting his hand and saying something softly and she was curious to know what this was about. As she walked up to them they stopped talking and looked at her—her father with a concerned expression, and Mehtab with one of lust.
‘So I will see you two tomorrow?’
‘Yes, Mehtab. Amrita and I will be there at twelve o’clock,’ her father replied.
Amrita was going to ask why when Mehtab took her hand and kissed it. ‘It was so nice meeting you today, Amrita. It was refreshing.’ He smiled and Amrita felt faint. ‘Until tomorrow, then?’ As he walked out Amrita turned to her father.
‘Daddy, what’s happening?’
‘Darling, it’s just business. Mehtab wants to help get the company back on its feet. You will accompany me, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will,’ she said. She had to get to the bottom of this mystery.
Mehtab sat behind his mahogany desk and found himself humming a tune he hadn’t heard for years. It was a lullaby his mother used to sing to him and his five siblings as she tried to put them to sleep after a dinner of a fistful of rice. He used to ask for more every time, and his mother used to gently smile and say, ‘Mehtab, one day you will have all that you want.’ In retrospect, it seemed perfectly natural to him that her prophecy had come true. He had known since he was ten years old that he could make it out of the slum, but there had been many dark days. He never stopped feeling guilty that his family was not here to enjoy his fortune.
He stopped humming and felt a migraine coming on. As he pressed the buzzer for his secretary to get him an aspirin a voiced boomed on his intercom. ‘Sir, your twelve o’clock is here.’
It was Manoj Piramal and his daughter Amrita, and suddenly Mehtab felt his anger melting away. Today his strategy of bagging the Piramal empire and marrying Amrita would come to fruition. He couldn’t think of a better business proposal—Piramal needed someone to rebuild the company, which was a challenge Mehtab was looking forward to, but in return Mehtab would also get a wife. A wife who would bring with her the sophistication that came with old money.
Amrita had it all—class, intelligence, wit and, though Mehtab had not expected it, beauty. She was gorgeous and when he remembered their kiss last night, he couldn’t help but feel his pulse quicken. Unlike the stick-thin women who usually graced his bed, Amrita had curves in all the right places, and it made her seem so much more feminine and delicate. Her outfit suited her perfectly and the yellow kurta brought out her hazel eyes and high cheekbones. Her straight black hair and the sexy fringe caught him off guard. He had wanted to kiss those lips the moment he walked in.
She was much more interesting than he had expected. The way she had indulged in that witty repartee with him—he couldn’t wait to meet her again. He just needed Manoj Piramal to accept his offer and couldn’t help but wonder if the old man was really desperate enough to broker away his daughter’s hand in marriage to save his crumbling empire. Mehtab could sense that he was. He realised maybe he would even do the same if the tables were turned. But he had to hold his horses, because Amrita didn’t seem like the I-will-go-along-with-anything kind of woman. If her demeanor had revealed anything to him yesterday, it was the fact that she was super smart, and even though she had kissed him, getting married to him was a totally different ball game. Would she fly off the handle? He knew he would have to tread very carefully today.
Amrita looked at Mehtab’s face as she entered his office and she was instantly reminded of their kiss, which had left her feeling woozy for a long time after. She had never felt so blown away before, but then she hadn’t ever been kissed like that. He was an intensely handsome man, with his chiselled jaw line, broad shoulders and that sinful smile, which she thought was the sexiest thing of all. The fact that he had kissed her had pleased her, and made her feel special. Even at work today, he looked perfect, as if he had walked out of an advert for a designer suit. His black suit and white shirt looked even better as he wore no tie, and he appeared casual yet so sexy. Amrita had taken extra care while getting dressed this morning—she wore a pale blue sheer kurta and jeans and had jazzed it up with a pair of leopard-print high heels. Her hazel eyes were shining thanks to the blue kajal. She wanted to look good for him, strange as that made her feel.
‘Mehtab, thanks for meeting us today,’ she heard her father say.
Mehtab shook Piramal’s hand warmly and said, ‘Sir, the pleasure is all mine. Thanks for coming in. I know this is a tough time and it can’t be easy for you to consider my proposition, but I am glad you are thinking about it.’
He quickly stole a glance at Amrita and noticed the look of surprise on her face. So, obviously, Amrita knew nothing about what was going to happen today. He could feel her curious glare.
‘What is this proposition?’ she asked, sitting down next to her father on the plush sofa, which looked out on the entire ocean.
Mehtab addressed her father. ‘Sir, I want to marry Amrita.’
Piramal was quiet and he saw Amrita sitting with her hands tightly pressed in her lap. Finally he spoke, ‘I thought you were going to say that.’
And that was when Amrita erupted. ‘How did you know that? Have you talked about this behind my back? Is this why he was there yesterday? Is this why you …?’ She looked at Mehtab with anger.
He remained silent and just stared at Piramal, who looked at his daughter and said, ‘No, we haven’t talked about this. But I had a feeling he would ask after I saw him with you yesterday. And if he hadn’t, I would have asked him. Once he marries you, he can be on the board of Piramal Industries where he can really help me return the company to its former glory. That was your offer, wasn’t it, Mehtab?’
‘Yes, sir. You got that right. But, Amrita, I do plan to keep you happy,’ Mehtab said softly.
‘Happy? How can you keep me happy when all this sounds like a business strategy? Who is thinking about me here and what I want? I don’t even love you,’ she screamed and stormed out.
Mehtab sat back on his chair and watched Piramal go after his daughter. He hadn’t expected Amrita to blow up like this. He had expected her to be a bit angry but then accept the proposal as any other society girl would. Had he misread her? Was she going to say no?
Manoj followed his daughter out and found her waiting for the lift. Angry tears were rolling down her face now.
‘Amrita, I am sorry. I am. But there is no other way. If this doesn’t happen, beta, we will have to sell the house, and then the company piece by piece. And to build a company from scratch is not easy. I can’t do it this time around. I don’t have the energy or youth on my side.’
‘But, Papa, I don’t even love him.’
‘Sometimes love can be cultivated, beta. He is a wealthy man and I am sure he will give you everything you would have ever wanted, even more than what I have given you. Please, Amrita, try and understand this,’ said Piramal, leaning back on the table in the lobby and taking a deep breath.
‘Understand what, Papa? I can’t just get married and expect to live happily ever after with a man who I don’t even know. Isn’t that like an arranged marriage? You and Ma had a love marriage—could you have ever agreed to this?’
‘Our love led to many other problems. But don’t compare us to you. I know what I am asking is unreasonable, but the creditors have come calling and if I don’t raise capital in a month, they will auction away everything I own. And they have informed me of this with threats that I have often heard in my line of work but never took seriously because I was the king. But now, if I don’t pay them, they will make me pay with my life.’
‘Papa, why didn’t you tell me before? How can they do that? We will call the police.’
Piramal’s face was white. ‘No, we can’t do that. I do owe them money. But you are right, I shouldn’t get scared and I shouldn’t be doing this. I just got so seduced by the feeling that I would be the richest man in India again. I wanted my company to shine again. And I forgot about my daughter’s happiness. I will go and tell Mehtab this is all off. I can’t do this to you,’ he said, and turned around and started walking.
His shoulders slumped and his footsteps were slow and tired. It was the walk of a man who had lost everything, and Amrita couldn’t do this to him. Her mind was in turmoil. So that was why Mehtab had kissed her last night? It had nothing to do with him being attracted to her. It was all a ploy to make her agree to this ridiculous idea. She suddenly felt like a fool for thinking that a man like him might be genuinely interested in her. She didn’t want to marry a man who used her. But then she saw the sorry, retreating figure of her father and felt immense sadness. Her father needed this. If she said no, he would lose all that he had worked so hard for.
She remembered him tucking her into bed every night, no matter how busy he used to be. He had always been there for her—from the time she failed in her Maths exam, to the time she won the school prize for best dancer. He had stayed awake with her when she studied at night, and, to date, he read every article she wrote and then got it laminated to put in his collection. Was she going to break his heart? She knew what she had to do. She caught up with her father and put her hand in his. ‘Papa, I will do what you want. Just don’t ask me why.’
Amrita took a deep breath and re-entered the lion’s den. Before her nerve failed her she announced, ‘Mehtab, I accept your proposal.’ And then she added, ‘But I have one condition.’
‘Anything you want,’ she heard Mehtab say.
She put on a defiant but calm expression. ‘I will continue to work after I get married, and the less you interfere in my work, the better.’
She worked? Mehtab thought, surprised. He had taken her to be a spoilt brat living off Daddy’s money. What was this work? But he knew better than to ask that question now. Instead he said, ‘Of course. You are free to live life as you want.’
‘Well, then, I agree.’
Mehtab saw her bottom lip quivering. He knew this was not what she wanted, and it was far from an ideal situation, but it had to be done. Amrita would understand in time.
Piramal looked at his daughter with love. ‘Thanks for saving me, Amrita. I am sure that Mehtab will make you happy. Won’t you?’ He looked at Mehtab with eyes that pleaded he do so.
‘Of course,’ he said, and he meant to keep her happy. He might not be able to be the Romeo to her Juliet, but he would give her all that she wanted. She didn’t realise how much this marriage could enhance his image and his career—the family man who had a perfect wife and a perfect business. He wanted to be admired and looked up to in all areas of his life and Amrita was going to make that happen.
Piramal heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I know this is not an easy situation but I am sure you will work it out.’ He looked at Amrita, who was sitting quietly, and he knew she had done this for him. ‘Amrita, should we leave?’ As she nodded and managed to flash Mehtab a half-smile, which he knew was just her being polite, Piramal said, ‘Mehtab, come to our house for dinner today. We need to celebrate. And also plan the engagement party. Amrita, would that be okay?’
Amrita wished her father would stop asking her questions. She couldn’t even think straight right now. She had agreed to marry Mehtab, and now she had to go through with this. Why was this happening to her? But she couldn’t lose control or else Mehtab would treat her like any other grasping woman. So she looked up and said as calmly as she could, ‘Yes, Mehtab, do come. Do you like kheer for dessert? I make it well.’
‘I love kheer,’ he replied without smiling.
‘See you at dinner, then,’ she said, and walked out of his office with her father. Mehtab found himself thinking there had to be a better way of doing this, but he couldn’t think of one. Well, Amrita would just have to live with it. There were worse things that could happen to a woman. But despite the success of the meeting, he wasn’t happy. And he found that disturbing. Was this woman going to make him feel bad about how he ran his life? No, he was stronger than that.
He had to be stronger. He looked out at the sea and thought of how the evening would turn out to be.
That evening, Amrita sat in front of her mirror and adjusted her pink cotton dress and fiddled with the diamond pendant around her neck. She was strangely nervous. Of course this marriage was a sham, but she still couldn’t stop herself from getting all weak-kneed at the mere thought of seeing Mehtab again. But despite her body’s traitorous reaction, she still hoped he wouldn’t turn up and that this was all a dream. It was all right to be physically attracted to someone, but marry him to save a company? It seemed like a plot out of a movie. This couldn’t be her life? She felt helpless.
Meera was brushing her hair and saying, ‘He is very good-looking, though. So at least you won’t be bored of him physically.’
‘Meera!’ Amrita snapped, but the older woman just ignored her tone.
‘Why are you shocked, Amrita? You are a young girl. Don’t you want to marry a gorgeous guy? I am just being honest.’ Meera giggled. But then she saw Amrita’s sad face and sat next to her. ‘I know this is not what you thought your marriage would be like. But life isn’t always fair. I fell in love once and he married someone else, even though he told me he loved me. Sometimes, love isn’t enough. Maybe you could try and be friends with Mehtab, see his positive side?’
‘But, Meera, it’s as if I have no choice. I can’t say anything. I feel like a puppet.’
‘I know, darling, but you are a strong girl. And if you really don’t want to do it, you can stop it even now.’
‘No, Meera, Father would die.’
‘Yes, you have to understand his side of this. It’s killing him knowing he is doing this to you. But he has no choice as well. Once you leave, he will be all alone. And so will I. I never had children, Amrita, but you made up for everything. You really did. I will always be there for you.’
‘I know, Meera. I love you too. This would have been doubly hard if you hadn’t been here,’ said Amrita, and as she hugged her nanny she felt some of her worries flying away.
Her worries returned as soon as she entered the living room. Her palms were sweaty and she hid them behind her back. Mehtab was already there, having a drink with her father. He looked relaxed in a blue tee over chinos and she could feel a wave of desire sweeping over her. She sat down in front of him and her father suddenly got up.
‘I have a few important calls to make. Why don’t you both chat and I will see you at dinner? Maybe you can decide when we should announce your engagement?’
They sat in a silence so heavy that they were glad when the waiter brought in some wine. Amrita took a sip and said, ‘How come you aren’t being all cocky today? You are not married yet. Why are you already mellowing down?’
Mehtab threw back his head and laughed. ‘You got me there. I was just playing nice in front of your father. But if you want me to be the arrogant guy I am rumoured to be, I can do that.’
‘Why are you so insufferable, Mehtab? Did a woman break your heart so badly that you can’t trust anyone now, or are you a murderer and just trying to hide your secret behind that steely exterior?’ She smiled.
But she saw him grow tense.
‘No, a woman has never broken my heart. And nobody ever can.’
Mehtab looked up at her and saw her staring back at him intently. Her hair was falling over her forehead and her earrings sparkled just like her eyes. This girl was beautiful, and it was sad she didn’t even know it.
‘No, I am sure no one will. You look too untouchable. So I should be the one afraid of getting my heart splattered all over the floor. Right?’
‘I know it’s not exactly an ideal situation. But we are smart people. We can be civil about this. Can’t we?’ he said and then smiled. ‘Let’s start by not being so formal. After all, I have already kissed you! Okay, okay, I won’t be arrogant. But I have to tell you that was the best kiss of my life.’
Amrita blushed. ‘And no doubt you have had many to compare it to, Mr Rathod?’
‘Not many. A few, maybe. Maybe a few too many.’ He laughed. ‘But, Amrita, finding a woman who really gets you is hard in this world. I have seen my friends get their hearts broken, so I decided I would never let that happen to me. Since then I have just dated women but never got serious. There are many other things more important than relationships. And the women of Mumbai? Phew.’
‘What about the women of Mumbai?’
‘They are just a little full of themselves. So empty-headed and so alike. Why do they all look alike?’
‘I know what you mean. That’s why I have never fitted in. Look at me, all curvy. I feel like a cow in the middle of all those poodles. And don’t even get me started about them being empty-headed. Maybe we are being too judgmental. But I just want to yell at them, Please, get your heads out of the fashion magazines for a minute. There is a big world out there!’
Mehtab laughed. ‘Amrita, from the moment you stepped out of that elevator I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. In a world where size zero is a norm now, I was shocked to see a woman who still looked like a woman. You are beautiful, surely you know that,’ he said, and then felt as if he should tone it down. He didn’t want Amrita to get the wrong message. He didn’t want any emotional entanglement at all. ‘What I mean is, compared to them, you look great. Don’t be silly and worry about all this meaningless stuff.’
Amrita knew what he was saying was right—though why he was saying it was a mystery to her. Anyway, compliments or not, she might have agreed to marry him and be his wife, but she wasn’t going to swoon all over him. ‘Thank you,’ she said calmly. ‘That could be the best compliment I have ever received. But can we now talk a little about when this engagement will take place?’
Mehtab sensed her businesslike demeanor and thought, She is smarter than me. Instead of praising her, I should be the one talking all business. I can’t have her trump me every time. He sat down next to her and said, ‘Yes. What I think is that we shouldn’t wait. What’s the use? We could get engaged the day after tomorrow and get married the day after that. Don’t worry, I will handle it all. You just get ready and show up. Will that be okay, Miss Piramal, or should I say Mrs Rathod?’
Amrita felt an anxiety attack coming on. She knew he was right. The sooner, the better. Her father needed him to woo investors in as soon as possible. But was she ready to get married so soon? Before she could answer, her father walked in.
‘That makes a lot of sense, Mehtab. There is a board meeting five days from now and if you kids are married by then, it will make things so much easier. Amrita, can we do this?’ he asked her sheepishly, aware that he had stepped over the line once again.
Amrita felt her heart sink. Married in three days? She needed time to get to know her fiancé. But what was the use in delaying? Could she say no if she didn’t like what she saw? She sighed. ‘Yes, it can be done.’
Mehtab just nodded. ‘Thank you.’
She didn’t understand him. He could show more enthusiasm. He was really making it feel like a business transaction. But then, that was what it was. She still couldn’t believe she was getting married, though. Was this for real?
She realised it was all too real and the ruthless Mehtab was the one she had to bear for a lifetime now when she heard him say, ‘So where is that kheer you promised me? Or were you just lying about knowing how to cook?’
Oh, what had she done?
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS the day of her engagement, Amrita thought with a sudden sense of alarm as she sat up in her bed after a long night of no sleep. She had had weird dreams all night—that was if you could call them dreams. Nightmares, more like. All she could remember now was that Mehtab was in all of them, and he was flashing his naughty grin, and she knew this marriage was a big mistake. He just wanted a wife to make him pass as a respectable, serious businessman, someone who would help him rope in investors and charm the society. She wanted to hate her father for putting her in this position, but she knew he was in dire trouble to even suggest it.
Just yesterday, investors had knocked on their door and threatened to force an auction of their home if her father didn’t pay up soon—and she had heard her father yell, ‘Couldn’t you people just wait till I reached the office? Now that my company is floundering, do I not deserve any kind of respect?’ She knew then that this marriage was inevitable.
Blinded by his immense sorrow over his financial collapse, her father saw no wrong in her getting married to Mehtab—a man who, though she had an inexplicable lust for him, made her feel uncomfortable and very wary.
She got out of bed and saw that Meera had left her a note about setting up an appointment with the beauty parlour at the Taj hotel for her to get hair and make-up done. She had left for Pune to pick up her saree, which had been ordered specially from a young designer whose work Amrita admired. Under normal circumstances Amrita would have been thrilled at the prospect of a morning’s pampering, but there was nothing normal about her impending engagement.
Did she really want to live life with a man who thought of her as maybe the perfect wife, but didn’t even entertain the concept of, dared she say it, love? Did Mehtab even believe in love? Or did he think of it as an unnecessary emotion that only complicated things? She knew he really didn’t care if she loved him as long as she did all that a dutiful wife was supposed to do. He wanted her to be an able spouse when it came to being a power couple—being charming to the right people, saying the right things and creating the right kind of aura about them. She knew how to do that. She had been an heiress all her life—all this came naturally to her. She connected with people and put them at ease, and, though she exuded the charm that came with old money, she was also humble and gracious to the point that one could never be uncomfortable with her. She knew Mehtab saw all this, and that was why he had chosen her to be the one.
On her way to the Taj Amrita just kept saying the same thing over in her head. She was getting engaged, it was the smartest decision she could make, considering the circumstances.
The hairstylist remarked, ‘You are looking gorgeous, Amrita. Obviously anyone getting married to such a handsome man will have a glow.’
Amrita flushed. Mehtab was undoubtedly very handsome. With his tailored suits and perfectly coiffed hair, there was an Indian princely quality to him. She also noticed the way he always left that slight shadow of stubble on his jaw—maybe he knew it drove women mad? He would; he was smart that way.
She knew that he might never love her. But then, did she really expect love any more after her last relationship? She had loved Akshaye with all her heart, and had really thought that she would do anything for him—but he had upped and left her in an instant, just because she had refused to sleep with him. Maybe he was just waiting for an excuse to leave her—in this fast-paced world she lived in, was there actually any time for love? Would he have stayed if she had given in?
Maybe an arranged marriage was a practical plan—they could lead absolutely different lives, and, though it was far from being ideal, at least she could do what she wanted without the hassle of a partner who poked and prodded into her life. She would throw herself into work and not hope for a love life—things would be much more uncomplicated that way. It was perfect, really—that was if you let the romantic in you die a quick death, she thought wryly.
She looked at the finished result in the mirror and it was like a stranger staring back at her. Her hair was immaculately styled and the blusher highlighted her delicate cheekbones, but it was all a mask. The gentlest of knocks would shatter this porcelain façade. But she had made her choice. This was the mask she was going to have to wear for the rest of her life.
A few hours later, Meera pecked and cooed as she draped the saree around Amrita. ‘This is why a saree is so perfect for the Indian woman. It just shows the right amount of skin and makes all the curves look perfect. My darling Amrita, you look like a goddess—like goddess Sita herself. So beautiful. Mehtab is going to swoon tonight.’
Amrita liked how soft the chiffon felt against her skin. They had decided on chiffon for the engagement party because it was just the right amount of dressy and she really did look as if she were from a different time in the pale pink saree, and some of her mother’s kundan jewellery that they just didn’t make any more. She had an intricate challa neatly tucked in at her waist that made the look seem so much more royal. She might look like a princess, but she knew there was nothing fairy tale about this wedding, it was all business. But there was no harm looking the part she was being forced to play now.
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Aastha Atray
Amrita took a deep breath and re-entered the lion’s den. Before her nerve failed her she announced, ‘Mehtab, I accept your proposal.’ And then she added, ‘But I have one condition.’
‘Anything you want,’ she heard Mehtab say.
She put on a defiant but calm expression. ‘I will continue to work after I get married, and the less you interfere in my work, the better.’
She worked? Mehtab thought, surprised. He had taken her to be a spoilt brat, living off daddy’s money. What was this work? But he knew better than to ask that question now. Instead he said, ‘Of course. You are free to live life as you want.’
‘Well, then, I agree.’
Mehtab saw her bottom lip quivering. He knew this was not what she wanted, and it was far from an ideal situation, but it had to be done. Amrita would understand in time. He might not be the Romeo to her Juliet, but he would give her all that she wanted. She didn’t realise how much this marriage would enhance his image and his career—the family man who had a perfect wife and a perfect business. He wanted to be admired and looked up to in all areas of his life—and Amrita was going to make that happen.
Dear Reader
When I found out that Harlequin Mills & Boon was looking for their second writer from India, a switch went off in my head. Why am I not taking part in the contest? I asked myself. It was five hours to deadline and I told myself that sometimes, to make dreams come true, you need to take a risk. And so I sat down and started writing as if my life depended on it. My original story, about the slightly voluptuous, shy but smart daughter of a millionaire, Amrita, who finds love with the roguish and rude but utterly handsome businessman Mehtab was just a figment of my imagination that even caught me by surprise. Who knew I was capable of such romance? Even though my romance with my husband, Kishore, has remained fresh for five and a half years now. And so I wrote a story about people who fall in love not because they are attracted to each other’s exteriors, but because eventually it’s a heart of gold that matters. I think it was because my own marriage has made me believe in such a love.
But I never expected to win! And so when I first got the call saying my story had been selected in the top three I was stunned. In fact, I was grateful for even that achievement. Then, as they called out my name as the winner at the party thrown for the entrants, I knew that taking that risk and giving it my all had paid off. And what an experience it has been!
Writing a love story for Mills and Boon has been the most creative and fulfilling task I have ever undertaken. It has taught me how to flesh out my characters, how to know that their actions are a result of their past life, and how to see that a person’s past and present shapes their future. From the moment I started writing about Amrita and Mehtab I knew I had to really make them come to life. In fact I had to make the reader feel as if she knew them intimately, and also make her understand why they do what they do.
Amrita, who on the surface seems to have everything, is actually a slightly confused young woman who wants to be independent and free from the shackles of the elite society she belongs to. She is also very headstrong and intelligent, and is a journalist (I guess I had to put a little bit of me in her!). She also faces a problem that many of us in this day and age do. She thinks she is fat just because she isn’t exactly like the models she sees on the pages of a magazine. But we Indian women are uniquely beautiful because of our curves, and eventually Amrita embraces that, as it’s Mehtab who makes her realise how beautiful she really is. She is also pretty fashionable, and opts for clothes that flatter her figure rather than just going along with a trend, and that underlines an aspect of her personality that’s just so spunky.
Mehtab was so named because that name just conjures up the image of a tall, big-shouldered, handsome man, whose grin can turn a woman to mush. He is witty and charming, and can say all the right things so that a girl just doesn’t stand a chance. Mehtab is misunderstood, because his steely, rough exterior hides a man who is fighting the demons of his past. But if you manage to go beyond all that, as Amrita finally does, you will find he is a kind, compassionate man. And he falls in love with Amrita for the real her. That’s because he knows that she has also accepted him, with all his baggage, and that is a sure sign of real love.
Their love story is a good example of how love can be found even when the circumstances are unfavourable. Sometimes life throws curveballs at us, but love really can conquer all. And I hope it makes everyone believe in the fact that true love does exist, and to give up on it would be a shame.
I am so glad I got to write this Mills and Boon story as it has made me a writer I never imagined I could be. And to be able to show the world what a love story set in contemporary India—my city Mumbai—is really like is also another big plus.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s been a ride!
Take care!
Love
Aastha
About the Author
AUTHOR NOTE
AASTHA ATRAY was the winner of the Passions of India competition 2011. Her exciting story and lively characters immediately stood out from the crowd and caught the judges’ eyes. Here is her inspiring story—from entering the competition to becoming a Mills & Boon® author!
His Monsoon Bride
Aastha Atray
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Mom and Dad,
who are the wind beneath my wings.
CHAPTER ONE
AMRITA PIRAMAL could feel the sticky, stern Mumbai sun staring down at her as if he had a personal grudge against her. She put on her sunglasses and rolled down the windows of the cab that was going barely twenty kilometres an hour. She contemplated telling the driver to speed up, but then, she thought, did she really want to reach home so soon? No, she wanted to delay this as long as she could. Her phone had been ringing off the hook. It was Meera, her nanny, who had looked after her since her mother died when Amrita was ten. She knew that Meera was calling to remind her that she needed to be home on time today—it was the day of the party that would decide her father’s fate.
Yes, her father, Manoj Piramal, once the richest man in India and in many ways the pioneer of the telecom boom, had been reduced to his last lakh. His habit of blindly trusting people had finally backfired. A former partner had been sucking the company dry and when he was finally found out, the business was on its last legs. The partner was behind bars now, but that didn’t change anything for her father. If he couldn’t manage to get a few investors on board soon, he would have to declare bankruptcy. That was why today’s party was so important. Her father was trying to win over Mumbai’s elite and charm his way back into the society that spurned him. But Amrita knew it wasn’t going to be so easy.
That was because she knew a thing or two about Mumbai’s elite. She had been one of them all her life. Her father was rich and her mother had been Bollywood’s most glamorous and scandalous leading lady until she died in a horrific road accident. Her mind drifted back to the newspaper headlines the day her mother died—’Scandalous Bollywood Starlet Killed’ and ‘She Loved Many, But Who Loved Her?’
Amrita knew how fickle this society was. How they just changed tack once they knew you didn’t matter. They loved you when you had it all, and if you didn’t, they loved watching you crash and burn. She knew many of the top businessmen, their bitchy wives and their size-zero daughters and womanising sons would be trotting in tonight just to see how bad things had actually got. They wanted to see Manoj Piramal beg. They wanted to see the daughter of Reshma Singh, the notorious adulteress, being reduced to nothing.
It was strange. She was raised in this society and yet somehow she managed to see it so objectively. It could have been because, despite her lineage, she had never really felt a part of it. She never fitted in because she was nerdy and liked to read and eat ice cream on the public beach. It was because she took the local train instead of the chauffeur-driven car. It was also maybe because she didn’t fit the mould of what an heiress should look like. She glanced down at her curvy body and sighed. She was fat—that was what they would all say. She knew obsessing about her weight was silly; she was built just like an Indian woman should be—curvy in the right places. But this society had forgotten what real women looked like, and she hated that she was thinking of herself this way. She knew she was pretty—her dazzling smile and her hazel eyes could mesmerise any man, not that she was interested in any.
There had been her ex-boyfriend, Akshaye, but after he left she didn’t want to even think of a man ever again, at least for a while. A few days ago her father had hinted that maybe it was time for her to get married and she had told him, in no uncertain terms, ‘No way!’ She needed to concentrate on herself and her career. She smiled then, for she loved her job, even though not many people knew what she did. She had refused a post at the city’s leading fashion magazine, Purple, to work at an independent news magazine where she wrote human interest stories that gave her the opportunity to profile ordinary people doing extraordinary things, like the group of girls she had just met.
They lived in slums, in houses no bigger than Amrita’s bathroom. Playing basketball was their only escape. The girls said when they were on the court it was as if nothing else in the world mattered. They smiled in the face of trouble and Amrita wished she could be one of them. But that was not to be. She knew she had to suck it up now and go to that dreaded party, because she had promised herself when her mother died that she would look after her father. She would never let him down, and so she would be the perfect hostess tonight. But she wasn’t going to let those size-zero south Mumbai bimbettes with their couture dresses and labelled handbags win the day. She thought of the new designer dress hanging in her wardrobe and decided she wouldn’t wear that. Instead she would shock them and wear the salwar kameez she bought last week from a small boutique. The yellow colour set off her tanned skin and the purple dupatta was a beautiful lace delight. Let them snicker—she was going to wear what she loved.
The imposing iron gates of her house opened and she could see Meera standing in the doorway. As the car pulled up Meera rushed out to hustle her inside.
‘Amrita, where have you been? I have been calling you. The party is supposed to start in twenty minutes and you aren’t even ready!’ Meera was a small lady with a pleasant face that always seemed to be smiling, even when she was angry.
‘Relax, Meera,’ Amrita soothed, ‘I am here now and I am all yours.’
‘You make me crazy. Chalo chalo, have a bath and wear that new dress.’
‘No. I have a better outfit in mind.’ Amrita smiled because she knew Meera would have a fit when she saw what she was planning to wear. She entered her home, Shanti—it meant peace and it was, for Amrita, the most peaceful place in the world—and headed straight for her bedroom. She loved this house and the thought that she might have to vacate it soon was killing her inside. But she had to be strong. As she slipped on her yellow kurta, purple churidar and purple lace dupatta, she felt beautiful. She finished the look with a bindi and kundan earrings, which were a birthday gift from her father. The emerald and diamonds sparkled and added a glow to her face. She wore gold ballet pumps on her feet and was twirling in front of the mirror when Meera entered.
‘What are you wearing? What happened to the designer dress?’
‘It’s so last season, Meera darling,’ Amrita joked.
‘You will be the death of me, child,’ Meera said exasperatedly, but she nodded in approval. ‘You look beautiful. Those girls won’t know what hit them. A princess who has a heart of gold—you are the best.’
Amrita hugged Meera and took the elevator down. She had to help her father make this party a success. This company was his biggest passion and she vowed to do whatever it took. It had to work.
Mehtab Rathod stood in the middle of the opulent ballroom and smiled. Even after ten years of being at the top of his game, he still felt strangely uncomfortable at these lavish Mumbai dos. He knew this party was probably milking his host dry. He winced at the fact that he was thinking about the cost of this party, when he should be enjoying it. But his upbringing made it hard to ignore such extravagance.
Growing up, he had never even dreamed of seeing a one-hundred-rupee note, and today he was a billionaire. The son of a chawl dweller who worked in Mumbai’s mills in the 1970s, Mehtab had spent his childhood roaming the dirty lanes of Dharavi, Asia’s largest slum, singing cheesy Bollywood songs in the city’s famous monsoon rain. He slept in a room with five siblings and his parents and often dreamt about pots of gold, literally. His father had always pushed Mehtab to make it big. But Mehtab knew he had erred in many ways. There were some incidents in his life he would rather forget, but they haunted him every night in his dreams. His greatest regret in life was that his father never saw him become who he was today, a leader in the real-estate business, whose last property had been sold in a record-breaking deal.
He had to stop thinking about all that. He was rich and he was living the good life. He was alone, though—his parents had passed away and his siblings were married and living their own lives. There was no dearth of women, but he knew that most of them were only interested in his money or his looks. Maybe, one day, he would be out of both, so he preferred to keep a distance. He never trusted anyone. He had too many secrets, and he was never sure who would accept him with all his baggage.
Lately, however, he had been thinking about the possibility of getting married. Not for love, obviously, but to maintain his social standing. Being a rich Casanova was not a title he relished. He wanted to be known as the complete man—and a man was only complete when he had a family. He needed a woman who was classy and sophisticated, who would be an asset to him and his empire, and wouldn’t expect too much from him emotionally. He needed the perfect little trophy wife and a marriage that would elevate his position among Mumbai’s elite, and obviously it wouldn’t be bad to see somebody when he returned from work every day. But it had to be on his terms.
When he had heard of Manoj Piramal and his daughter Amrita, it had instantly made perfect business sense to him. A marriage to Amrita meant gaining a company and an ideal wife—a wife who knew this society better than he ever could. After all, she was born into it. Yes, this was a perfect plan, and he would execute it with finesse.
The fact that Piramal Industries was in deep trouble had provided Mehtab with the ideal bargaining chip to get Piramal to approve of the marriage. Mehtab only had to tell him that he would turn his flailing company around and he knew Piramal would agree. Men did many things for fame and wealth, and he was sure Piramal was no different.
Mehtab’s earlier conversation with the older man had been fraught with tension. ‘So, Mr Piramal, you know I have the means to turn your company around. Will you accept my offer of help?’
Piramal had looked at him warily. ‘Yes, Mehtab. But you have never been known to do anything unless there is something in it for you.’
At this, Mehtab had laughed wickedly. ‘Oh, you know me so well. All these years, you have always been one step ahead of me. I guess you had experience on your side. I respect that. But now it’s my time to rule. My favourite rival, you work for me now, so I suggest you be nice to me, so I can tell you how it’s going to be.’
Piramal had sighed and just said, ‘What do you want?’
Mehtab had not minced his words. ‘Your daughter as my wife. That’s all.’ Though Piramal had simply walked away, Mehtab knew he would consider it. It could be the wedding of the year and Piramal knew that.
Mehtab smiled gleefully now as he glanced round the buzzing ballroom. This was great. He would get two things he desired for the price of one. He had heard contrary reports about Amrita, though—some said she was extremely smart and refined, while a rich heiress he once dated had bitchily remarked she was fat and clumsy. Where was she? he thought as his reverie was broken by a tall, stunning woman who walked over to him and licked her lips. ‘Wanna dance?’
He flashed her a wicked grin and took her hand. This was a perfect way to while away time while he waited for Amrita to appear. Then halfway to the dance floor he noticed the elevator doors open. The woman who stepped out looked slightly nervous but that just added to her delicate beauty. Mehtab knew at once that this was Amrita. He was shocked by his reaction—she was so unlike the women he had got used to seeing in Mumbai’s swish set. For starters, she was wearing a salwar kameez and she certainly had the curves to fill it out. Her body was like an Indian goddess’s and her face belonged in a painting. Finally, it was time to strike.
Amrita hugged her father and realised how old he had started looking in the past few days. His worry was reflected in his face. She forced herself to smile as he guided her across the room and introduced her to some new faces. She knew most of this crowd, even though she could not admit to liking them. She tried to explain that to her father with a nonchalant, ‘We are all very different,’ but she knew that really it was because none of them looked beyond themselves.
Her father paused in front of a man she had never seen before and said, ‘Amrita, this is Mehtab Rathod of Rathod Real Estate. Surely you have heard of him?’
Amrita sucked in her breath; he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Dressed in a tailor-made suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular torso, he looked more like a model than one of her father’s business associates. His hair was wavy and long enough that she wanted to run her fingers through it. A day’s stubble added to his rugged appeal and he was six feet tall with such strong-looking arms that she suddenly wanted to be held by him. She felt a blush on her cheeks and she realised she was staring at him.
‘You look mesmerising. That’s an unusual choice of outfit for a party like this,’ he purred in his deep voice, and then smiled at her in amusement. Amrita didn’t know if he was making fun of her or complimenting her.
She caught his gaze and replied smoothly, ‘I like to do unexpected things.’
She saw her father look at them warily before he said, ‘Amrita, did you know Mehtab just topped India’s rich list? That would have been me not so long ago. Those were the days, right!’
Amrita hated seeing her father so sad. She turned to say something when Mehtab said, ‘Sir, it’s all an illusion—this wealth, I mean. Here today, gone tomorrow. Happiness comes from having people to love, like you have your daughter.’
Amrita was filled with surprise. Did this man with that annoying grin just say something so sweet?
Her father smiled but he still looked a bit preoccupied. ‘So true. Mehtab, why don’t you keep my lovely daughter company while I mingle?’
As he walked away Manoj Piramal looked back at his daughter, who was now being led towards the bar by Mehtab. He knew Amrita was not going to like what he was going to propose to her soon—he wanted to ask Mehtab if he would marry Amrita.
When Mehtab had suggested it, Manoj had felt immense anger. But then, as he had given it more thought, he felt drawn to the proposal. He felt guilty even thinking about asking Amrita to do such a thing. But she wasn’t with anybody, and maybe she would like Mehtab. He winced. He knew Mehtab wasn’t Amrita’s type—he was ruthless and Manoj was sure that he would never ever love his daughter. So why was he even thinking of this? But he knew that if there was anyone who could save Piramal Industries, it would be Mehtab, who had proven his brilliant business acumen through the years. He knew he was putting Amrita in a difficult position—maybe the most difficult one in her life—but he could not see any way out. He’d had Mehtab checked out and what he found was worrying—he was a ladies’ man who never dated the same woman twice, and nobody had a clue who the real Mehtab was. Though there were reports he was liked by everyone in his company, especially the ground-level workers, the tales of his ruthlessness when it came to business were endless. Would he be like that with his wife as well? Manoj felt a sense of foreboding at what he was about to do, but he knew he had no other choice.
At the bar, Mehtab grimaced. ‘I find these parties a bit hard to handle, you know. Too many beautiful people for my comfort. They put me on edge.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Amrita said, surprised by his confession. Mehtab didn’t seem like the sort of man who felt uneasy very often. No, he seemed confident and in control. ‘I was born into this and I still feel left out. The perfectly groomed façade takes a lot of time, you know, but take away the expensive clothes, the make-up and the cars, and you won’t have much left.’
‘Yes, yes, it’s all an illusion, one that I have necessarily had to buy into, by the way. But please don’t hate me.’ He smiled and put an arm round Amrita’s waist. ‘Would you like a glass of white wine? Or do you just drink organic tea? Now that would be unexpected.’
Amrita knew he was pulling her leg so she tossed her hair back and smiled. ‘White wine would be good. And you? Will you order a whiskey on the rocks like the rest of your mindless colleagues?’
Mehtab threw his head back and laughed. Amrita laughed too and found herself admiring the deep, throaty sound he made. God, why did she just do that? He stopped mid-laugh and said gruffly, ‘I am not used to women who make me laugh. You have to tell me how you developed such a sharp tongue. It’s refreshing as well as very threatening.’
‘Why do you find it threatening, Mr Rathod? Are you telling me a big, strong man like you can’t win a word duel with little ol’ me? A little friendly competition never hurt anybody.’
Mehtab was enjoying this verbal spar. Most girls he met just giggled at whatever he said and then turned all seductive as he neared for the kill. It was as if women were born to play only two roles—the femme fatale or the damsel in distress. But Amrita was neither, and he found that intriguing. He mentally reminded himself that it was not the time to start admiring Amrita, but time to pursue her. He knew pursuing Amrita would be his greatest challenge yet, but one he would rise to and most certainly enjoy….
‘I don’t find you threatening, Miss Piramal. If anything, you are making me wish I had my special speech writer here to help me with the repartee. Tell me, are all society girls as witty as you, Miss Piramal, or is that a trait only reserved for the daughter of the great Reshma Singh?’ He smirked and saw her flinch instantly at the comparison. But she recovered with the grace of an heiress, he noticed, with just dots of pink on her cheeks belying her anger.
‘My mother had many charms I didn’t have the fortune of inheriting, Mr Rathod. But the wittiness is all mine. It just takes a little reading and a lot of practice at fending off unwanted male attention. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Aww, Miss Piramal, Amrita. You got me there. Fending off unwanted male attention isn’t something I’ve had much practice in. Female attention however, now that’s another matter. Though I can say it’s rarely unwanted. Can I call you Amrita?’ She could just about nod when he said, ‘Well, I like wittiness, and especially when it’s being delivered with such tenacity. And tenacious women just make me want to do things I know your father won’t approve of.’
‘Like what?’ Amrita found herself saying as they walked out onto the verandah and she could feel the eyes of the size-zero gang on her.
Mehtab sensed her discomfort. ‘They are jealous of us,’ he said, and led her around to a secluded part of the balcony. Suddenly, nobody could see them and she felt a strange, unknown tingle go up her spine.
‘Maybe we should go back. My father will be looking for me.’
‘Your father is a busy man, and why do you want to end our conversation when it’s just getting interesting? Am I that bad to talk to, Amrita?’ He smiled softly and for a minute he looked almost like a different man. But then he caught her palm and brought it up to his lips and as he kissed the middle of it she felt the sexy Mehtab return. His lips were soft and his scent was spellbinding. ‘This is what your tenaciousness makes me want to do,’ he said as his hands roamed her back, and when they reached her collarbone she pushed him away.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped without much conviction.
He just looked at her and smiled. ‘Has anyone told you recently that you can drive a man completely wild?’
Amrita pushed him a little further away and gathered her composure. ‘Not men I hardly know. Until two minutes ago, that is. Is this a habit with you, Mr Rathod, feeling up women you’ve only just met?’
His hand was still behind her waist and now he pulled her back in. ‘It wasn’t until tonight. But you are making it very hard, Amrita.’ As he came closer and his lips hovered over Amrita’s she suddenly felt her resolve melt. It was just a kiss, with a man who was saying all the right things, and maybe she was overthinking things. She closed her eyes and tipped her face towards Mehtab. He nipped at her bottom lip and a moan caught in Amrita’s throat. This was torture. And then he was kissing her—softly at first, and then with a strange passion that was strong, but he took care not to hurt her. She felt herself responding with an ardour that she had never experienced before. Their bodies were now pressed against each other and Amrita found herself melting against him. It was as if she had been kissed for the first time, and Mehtab read her mind when he pulled away for a second and said, ‘This is just the first of many kisses.’
As she drew him back into another sweet kiss Amrita thought, with some amazement, was this even her? But in the moment, she didn’t care.
CHAPTER TWO
AMRITA was feeling a little heady from all the kissing when she suddenly realised where they were. There was a party going on inside, and here she was kissing on the balcony. What if someone saw? ‘We can’t do this here.’ She broke away from Mehtab, who looked as if he didn’t care one bit about who saw.
‘No, we can’t, as much as I hate to say that. I don’t want your father thinking that I seduced his daughter when actually it’s the other way around.’ He laughed. ‘Let’s head back in.’
‘No, you go in first. I will go to the ladies’ room and then join the party. I can’t believe I did this. You know, I don’t usually go around kissing strange men,’ she suddenly found herself saying in a serious tone.
‘Yes, I know, Amrita. I don’t think any less of you, if that’s what you are worried about. I will see you back in the ballroom in a bit.’ His lips brushed her cheek and then he was striding away.
Amrita walked a little unsteadily to the ladies’ room and wondered, was this what love at first sight felt like? Or was it lust? How and why did she do this? Kissing someone she barely knew? What was wrong with her? But she couldn’t deny the fact that she felt good—strangely so, but happy. Yes, she felt happy. She reapplied her lipstick, combed her hair and walked out just in time to see Mehtab go up to her father, shake his hand and whisper something in his ear. Her father looked slightly worried but she saw him nodding away. Mehtab kept patting his hand and saying something softly and she was curious to know what this was about. As she walked up to them they stopped talking and looked at her—her father with a concerned expression, and Mehtab with one of lust.
‘So I will see you two tomorrow?’
‘Yes, Mehtab. Amrita and I will be there at twelve o’clock,’ her father replied.
Amrita was going to ask why when Mehtab took her hand and kissed it. ‘It was so nice meeting you today, Amrita. It was refreshing.’ He smiled and Amrita felt faint. ‘Until tomorrow, then?’ As he walked out Amrita turned to her father.
‘Daddy, what’s happening?’
‘Darling, it’s just business. Mehtab wants to help get the company back on its feet. You will accompany me, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will,’ she said. She had to get to the bottom of this mystery.
Mehtab sat behind his mahogany desk and found himself humming a tune he hadn’t heard for years. It was a lullaby his mother used to sing to him and his five siblings as she tried to put them to sleep after a dinner of a fistful of rice. He used to ask for more every time, and his mother used to gently smile and say, ‘Mehtab, one day you will have all that you want.’ In retrospect, it seemed perfectly natural to him that her prophecy had come true. He had known since he was ten years old that he could make it out of the slum, but there had been many dark days. He never stopped feeling guilty that his family was not here to enjoy his fortune.
He stopped humming and felt a migraine coming on. As he pressed the buzzer for his secretary to get him an aspirin a voiced boomed on his intercom. ‘Sir, your twelve o’clock is here.’
It was Manoj Piramal and his daughter Amrita, and suddenly Mehtab felt his anger melting away. Today his strategy of bagging the Piramal empire and marrying Amrita would come to fruition. He couldn’t think of a better business proposal—Piramal needed someone to rebuild the company, which was a challenge Mehtab was looking forward to, but in return Mehtab would also get a wife. A wife who would bring with her the sophistication that came with old money.
Amrita had it all—class, intelligence, wit and, though Mehtab had not expected it, beauty. She was gorgeous and when he remembered their kiss last night, he couldn’t help but feel his pulse quicken. Unlike the stick-thin women who usually graced his bed, Amrita had curves in all the right places, and it made her seem so much more feminine and delicate. Her outfit suited her perfectly and the yellow kurta brought out her hazel eyes and high cheekbones. Her straight black hair and the sexy fringe caught him off guard. He had wanted to kiss those lips the moment he walked in.
She was much more interesting than he had expected. The way she had indulged in that witty repartee with him—he couldn’t wait to meet her again. He just needed Manoj Piramal to accept his offer and couldn’t help but wonder if the old man was really desperate enough to broker away his daughter’s hand in marriage to save his crumbling empire. Mehtab could sense that he was. He realised maybe he would even do the same if the tables were turned. But he had to hold his horses, because Amrita didn’t seem like the I-will-go-along-with-anything kind of woman. If her demeanor had revealed anything to him yesterday, it was the fact that she was super smart, and even though she had kissed him, getting married to him was a totally different ball game. Would she fly off the handle? He knew he would have to tread very carefully today.
Amrita looked at Mehtab’s face as she entered his office and she was instantly reminded of their kiss, which had left her feeling woozy for a long time after. She had never felt so blown away before, but then she hadn’t ever been kissed like that. He was an intensely handsome man, with his chiselled jaw line, broad shoulders and that sinful smile, which she thought was the sexiest thing of all. The fact that he had kissed her had pleased her, and made her feel special. Even at work today, he looked perfect, as if he had walked out of an advert for a designer suit. His black suit and white shirt looked even better as he wore no tie, and he appeared casual yet so sexy. Amrita had taken extra care while getting dressed this morning—she wore a pale blue sheer kurta and jeans and had jazzed it up with a pair of leopard-print high heels. Her hazel eyes were shining thanks to the blue kajal. She wanted to look good for him, strange as that made her feel.
‘Mehtab, thanks for meeting us today,’ she heard her father say.
Mehtab shook Piramal’s hand warmly and said, ‘Sir, the pleasure is all mine. Thanks for coming in. I know this is a tough time and it can’t be easy for you to consider my proposition, but I am glad you are thinking about it.’
He quickly stole a glance at Amrita and noticed the look of surprise on her face. So, obviously, Amrita knew nothing about what was going to happen today. He could feel her curious glare.
‘What is this proposition?’ she asked, sitting down next to her father on the plush sofa, which looked out on the entire ocean.
Mehtab addressed her father. ‘Sir, I want to marry Amrita.’
Piramal was quiet and he saw Amrita sitting with her hands tightly pressed in her lap. Finally he spoke, ‘I thought you were going to say that.’
And that was when Amrita erupted. ‘How did you know that? Have you talked about this behind my back? Is this why he was there yesterday? Is this why you …?’ She looked at Mehtab with anger.
He remained silent and just stared at Piramal, who looked at his daughter and said, ‘No, we haven’t talked about this. But I had a feeling he would ask after I saw him with you yesterday. And if he hadn’t, I would have asked him. Once he marries you, he can be on the board of Piramal Industries where he can really help me return the company to its former glory. That was your offer, wasn’t it, Mehtab?’
‘Yes, sir. You got that right. But, Amrita, I do plan to keep you happy,’ Mehtab said softly.
‘Happy? How can you keep me happy when all this sounds like a business strategy? Who is thinking about me here and what I want? I don’t even love you,’ she screamed and stormed out.
Mehtab sat back on his chair and watched Piramal go after his daughter. He hadn’t expected Amrita to blow up like this. He had expected her to be a bit angry but then accept the proposal as any other society girl would. Had he misread her? Was she going to say no?
Manoj followed his daughter out and found her waiting for the lift. Angry tears were rolling down her face now.
‘Amrita, I am sorry. I am. But there is no other way. If this doesn’t happen, beta, we will have to sell the house, and then the company piece by piece. And to build a company from scratch is not easy. I can’t do it this time around. I don’t have the energy or youth on my side.’
‘But, Papa, I don’t even love him.’
‘Sometimes love can be cultivated, beta. He is a wealthy man and I am sure he will give you everything you would have ever wanted, even more than what I have given you. Please, Amrita, try and understand this,’ said Piramal, leaning back on the table in the lobby and taking a deep breath.
‘Understand what, Papa? I can’t just get married and expect to live happily ever after with a man who I don’t even know. Isn’t that like an arranged marriage? You and Ma had a love marriage—could you have ever agreed to this?’
‘Our love led to many other problems. But don’t compare us to you. I know what I am asking is unreasonable, but the creditors have come calling and if I don’t raise capital in a month, they will auction away everything I own. And they have informed me of this with threats that I have often heard in my line of work but never took seriously because I was the king. But now, if I don’t pay them, they will make me pay with my life.’
‘Papa, why didn’t you tell me before? How can they do that? We will call the police.’
Piramal’s face was white. ‘No, we can’t do that. I do owe them money. But you are right, I shouldn’t get scared and I shouldn’t be doing this. I just got so seduced by the feeling that I would be the richest man in India again. I wanted my company to shine again. And I forgot about my daughter’s happiness. I will go and tell Mehtab this is all off. I can’t do this to you,’ he said, and turned around and started walking.
His shoulders slumped and his footsteps were slow and tired. It was the walk of a man who had lost everything, and Amrita couldn’t do this to him. Her mind was in turmoil. So that was why Mehtab had kissed her last night? It had nothing to do with him being attracted to her. It was all a ploy to make her agree to this ridiculous idea. She suddenly felt like a fool for thinking that a man like him might be genuinely interested in her. She didn’t want to marry a man who used her. But then she saw the sorry, retreating figure of her father and felt immense sadness. Her father needed this. If she said no, he would lose all that he had worked so hard for.
She remembered him tucking her into bed every night, no matter how busy he used to be. He had always been there for her—from the time she failed in her Maths exam, to the time she won the school prize for best dancer. He had stayed awake with her when she studied at night, and, to date, he read every article she wrote and then got it laminated to put in his collection. Was she going to break his heart? She knew what she had to do. She caught up with her father and put her hand in his. ‘Papa, I will do what you want. Just don’t ask me why.’
Amrita took a deep breath and re-entered the lion’s den. Before her nerve failed her she announced, ‘Mehtab, I accept your proposal.’ And then she added, ‘But I have one condition.’
‘Anything you want,’ she heard Mehtab say.
She put on a defiant but calm expression. ‘I will continue to work after I get married, and the less you interfere in my work, the better.’
She worked? Mehtab thought, surprised. He had taken her to be a spoilt brat living off Daddy’s money. What was this work? But he knew better than to ask that question now. Instead he said, ‘Of course. You are free to live life as you want.’
‘Well, then, I agree.’
Mehtab saw her bottom lip quivering. He knew this was not what she wanted, and it was far from an ideal situation, but it had to be done. Amrita would understand in time.
Piramal looked at his daughter with love. ‘Thanks for saving me, Amrita. I am sure that Mehtab will make you happy. Won’t you?’ He looked at Mehtab with eyes that pleaded he do so.
‘Of course,’ he said, and he meant to keep her happy. He might not be able to be the Romeo to her Juliet, but he would give her all that she wanted. She didn’t realise how much this marriage could enhance his image and his career—the family man who had a perfect wife and a perfect business. He wanted to be admired and looked up to in all areas of his life and Amrita was going to make that happen.
Piramal heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I know this is not an easy situation but I am sure you will work it out.’ He looked at Amrita, who was sitting quietly, and he knew she had done this for him. ‘Amrita, should we leave?’ As she nodded and managed to flash Mehtab a half-smile, which he knew was just her being polite, Piramal said, ‘Mehtab, come to our house for dinner today. We need to celebrate. And also plan the engagement party. Amrita, would that be okay?’
Amrita wished her father would stop asking her questions. She couldn’t even think straight right now. She had agreed to marry Mehtab, and now she had to go through with this. Why was this happening to her? But she couldn’t lose control or else Mehtab would treat her like any other grasping woman. So she looked up and said as calmly as she could, ‘Yes, Mehtab, do come. Do you like kheer for dessert? I make it well.’
‘I love kheer,’ he replied without smiling.
‘See you at dinner, then,’ she said, and walked out of his office with her father. Mehtab found himself thinking there had to be a better way of doing this, but he couldn’t think of one. Well, Amrita would just have to live with it. There were worse things that could happen to a woman. But despite the success of the meeting, he wasn’t happy. And he found that disturbing. Was this woman going to make him feel bad about how he ran his life? No, he was stronger than that.
He had to be stronger. He looked out at the sea and thought of how the evening would turn out to be.
That evening, Amrita sat in front of her mirror and adjusted her pink cotton dress and fiddled with the diamond pendant around her neck. She was strangely nervous. Of course this marriage was a sham, but she still couldn’t stop herself from getting all weak-kneed at the mere thought of seeing Mehtab again. But despite her body’s traitorous reaction, she still hoped he wouldn’t turn up and that this was all a dream. It was all right to be physically attracted to someone, but marry him to save a company? It seemed like a plot out of a movie. This couldn’t be her life? She felt helpless.
Meera was brushing her hair and saying, ‘He is very good-looking, though. So at least you won’t be bored of him physically.’
‘Meera!’ Amrita snapped, but the older woman just ignored her tone.
‘Why are you shocked, Amrita? You are a young girl. Don’t you want to marry a gorgeous guy? I am just being honest.’ Meera giggled. But then she saw Amrita’s sad face and sat next to her. ‘I know this is not what you thought your marriage would be like. But life isn’t always fair. I fell in love once and he married someone else, even though he told me he loved me. Sometimes, love isn’t enough. Maybe you could try and be friends with Mehtab, see his positive side?’
‘But, Meera, it’s as if I have no choice. I can’t say anything. I feel like a puppet.’
‘I know, darling, but you are a strong girl. And if you really don’t want to do it, you can stop it even now.’
‘No, Meera, Father would die.’
‘Yes, you have to understand his side of this. It’s killing him knowing he is doing this to you. But he has no choice as well. Once you leave, he will be all alone. And so will I. I never had children, Amrita, but you made up for everything. You really did. I will always be there for you.’
‘I know, Meera. I love you too. This would have been doubly hard if you hadn’t been here,’ said Amrita, and as she hugged her nanny she felt some of her worries flying away.
Her worries returned as soon as she entered the living room. Her palms were sweaty and she hid them behind her back. Mehtab was already there, having a drink with her father. He looked relaxed in a blue tee over chinos and she could feel a wave of desire sweeping over her. She sat down in front of him and her father suddenly got up.
‘I have a few important calls to make. Why don’t you both chat and I will see you at dinner? Maybe you can decide when we should announce your engagement?’
They sat in a silence so heavy that they were glad when the waiter brought in some wine. Amrita took a sip and said, ‘How come you aren’t being all cocky today? You are not married yet. Why are you already mellowing down?’
Mehtab threw back his head and laughed. ‘You got me there. I was just playing nice in front of your father. But if you want me to be the arrogant guy I am rumoured to be, I can do that.’
‘Why are you so insufferable, Mehtab? Did a woman break your heart so badly that you can’t trust anyone now, or are you a murderer and just trying to hide your secret behind that steely exterior?’ She smiled.
But she saw him grow tense.
‘No, a woman has never broken my heart. And nobody ever can.’
Mehtab looked up at her and saw her staring back at him intently. Her hair was falling over her forehead and her earrings sparkled just like her eyes. This girl was beautiful, and it was sad she didn’t even know it.
‘No, I am sure no one will. You look too untouchable. So I should be the one afraid of getting my heart splattered all over the floor. Right?’
‘I know it’s not exactly an ideal situation. But we are smart people. We can be civil about this. Can’t we?’ he said and then smiled. ‘Let’s start by not being so formal. After all, I have already kissed you! Okay, okay, I won’t be arrogant. But I have to tell you that was the best kiss of my life.’
Amrita blushed. ‘And no doubt you have had many to compare it to, Mr Rathod?’
‘Not many. A few, maybe. Maybe a few too many.’ He laughed. ‘But, Amrita, finding a woman who really gets you is hard in this world. I have seen my friends get their hearts broken, so I decided I would never let that happen to me. Since then I have just dated women but never got serious. There are many other things more important than relationships. And the women of Mumbai? Phew.’
‘What about the women of Mumbai?’
‘They are just a little full of themselves. So empty-headed and so alike. Why do they all look alike?’
‘I know what you mean. That’s why I have never fitted in. Look at me, all curvy. I feel like a cow in the middle of all those poodles. And don’t even get me started about them being empty-headed. Maybe we are being too judgmental. But I just want to yell at them, Please, get your heads out of the fashion magazines for a minute. There is a big world out there!’
Mehtab laughed. ‘Amrita, from the moment you stepped out of that elevator I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. In a world where size zero is a norm now, I was shocked to see a woman who still looked like a woman. You are beautiful, surely you know that,’ he said, and then felt as if he should tone it down. He didn’t want Amrita to get the wrong message. He didn’t want any emotional entanglement at all. ‘What I mean is, compared to them, you look great. Don’t be silly and worry about all this meaningless stuff.’
Amrita knew what he was saying was right—though why he was saying it was a mystery to her. Anyway, compliments or not, she might have agreed to marry him and be his wife, but she wasn’t going to swoon all over him. ‘Thank you,’ she said calmly. ‘That could be the best compliment I have ever received. But can we now talk a little about when this engagement will take place?’
Mehtab sensed her businesslike demeanor and thought, She is smarter than me. Instead of praising her, I should be the one talking all business. I can’t have her trump me every time. He sat down next to her and said, ‘Yes. What I think is that we shouldn’t wait. What’s the use? We could get engaged the day after tomorrow and get married the day after that. Don’t worry, I will handle it all. You just get ready and show up. Will that be okay, Miss Piramal, or should I say Mrs Rathod?’
Amrita felt an anxiety attack coming on. She knew he was right. The sooner, the better. Her father needed him to woo investors in as soon as possible. But was she ready to get married so soon? Before she could answer, her father walked in.
‘That makes a lot of sense, Mehtab. There is a board meeting five days from now and if you kids are married by then, it will make things so much easier. Amrita, can we do this?’ he asked her sheepishly, aware that he had stepped over the line once again.
Amrita felt her heart sink. Married in three days? She needed time to get to know her fiancé. But what was the use in delaying? Could she say no if she didn’t like what she saw? She sighed. ‘Yes, it can be done.’
Mehtab just nodded. ‘Thank you.’
She didn’t understand him. He could show more enthusiasm. He was really making it feel like a business transaction. But then, that was what it was. She still couldn’t believe she was getting married, though. Was this for real?
She realised it was all too real and the ruthless Mehtab was the one she had to bear for a lifetime now when she heard him say, ‘So where is that kheer you promised me? Or were you just lying about knowing how to cook?’
Oh, what had she done?
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS the day of her engagement, Amrita thought with a sudden sense of alarm as she sat up in her bed after a long night of no sleep. She had had weird dreams all night—that was if you could call them dreams. Nightmares, more like. All she could remember now was that Mehtab was in all of them, and he was flashing his naughty grin, and she knew this marriage was a big mistake. He just wanted a wife to make him pass as a respectable, serious businessman, someone who would help him rope in investors and charm the society. She wanted to hate her father for putting her in this position, but she knew he was in dire trouble to even suggest it.
Just yesterday, investors had knocked on their door and threatened to force an auction of their home if her father didn’t pay up soon—and she had heard her father yell, ‘Couldn’t you people just wait till I reached the office? Now that my company is floundering, do I not deserve any kind of respect?’ She knew then that this marriage was inevitable.
Blinded by his immense sorrow over his financial collapse, her father saw no wrong in her getting married to Mehtab—a man who, though she had an inexplicable lust for him, made her feel uncomfortable and very wary.
She got out of bed and saw that Meera had left her a note about setting up an appointment with the beauty parlour at the Taj hotel for her to get hair and make-up done. She had left for Pune to pick up her saree, which had been ordered specially from a young designer whose work Amrita admired. Under normal circumstances Amrita would have been thrilled at the prospect of a morning’s pampering, but there was nothing normal about her impending engagement.
Did she really want to live life with a man who thought of her as maybe the perfect wife, but didn’t even entertain the concept of, dared she say it, love? Did Mehtab even believe in love? Or did he think of it as an unnecessary emotion that only complicated things? She knew he really didn’t care if she loved him as long as she did all that a dutiful wife was supposed to do. He wanted her to be an able spouse when it came to being a power couple—being charming to the right people, saying the right things and creating the right kind of aura about them. She knew how to do that. She had been an heiress all her life—all this came naturally to her. She connected with people and put them at ease, and, though she exuded the charm that came with old money, she was also humble and gracious to the point that one could never be uncomfortable with her. She knew Mehtab saw all this, and that was why he had chosen her to be the one.
On her way to the Taj Amrita just kept saying the same thing over in her head. She was getting engaged, it was the smartest decision she could make, considering the circumstances.
The hairstylist remarked, ‘You are looking gorgeous, Amrita. Obviously anyone getting married to such a handsome man will have a glow.’
Amrita flushed. Mehtab was undoubtedly very handsome. With his tailored suits and perfectly coiffed hair, there was an Indian princely quality to him. She also noticed the way he always left that slight shadow of stubble on his jaw—maybe he knew it drove women mad? He would; he was smart that way.
She knew that he might never love her. But then, did she really expect love any more after her last relationship? She had loved Akshaye with all her heart, and had really thought that she would do anything for him—but he had upped and left her in an instant, just because she had refused to sleep with him. Maybe he was just waiting for an excuse to leave her—in this fast-paced world she lived in, was there actually any time for love? Would he have stayed if she had given in?
Maybe an arranged marriage was a practical plan—they could lead absolutely different lives, and, though it was far from being ideal, at least she could do what she wanted without the hassle of a partner who poked and prodded into her life. She would throw herself into work and not hope for a love life—things would be much more uncomplicated that way. It was perfect, really—that was if you let the romantic in you die a quick death, she thought wryly.
She looked at the finished result in the mirror and it was like a stranger staring back at her. Her hair was immaculately styled and the blusher highlighted her delicate cheekbones, but it was all a mask. The gentlest of knocks would shatter this porcelain façade. But she had made her choice. This was the mask she was going to have to wear for the rest of her life.
A few hours later, Meera pecked and cooed as she draped the saree around Amrita. ‘This is why a saree is so perfect for the Indian woman. It just shows the right amount of skin and makes all the curves look perfect. My darling Amrita, you look like a goddess—like goddess Sita herself. So beautiful. Mehtab is going to swoon tonight.’
Amrita liked how soft the chiffon felt against her skin. They had decided on chiffon for the engagement party because it was just the right amount of dressy and she really did look as if she were from a different time in the pale pink saree, and some of her mother’s kundan jewellery that they just didn’t make any more. She had an intricate challa neatly tucked in at her waist that made the look seem so much more royal. She might look like a princess, but she knew there was nothing fairy tale about this wedding, it was all business. But there was no harm looking the part she was being forced to play now.
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Aastha Atray
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: His Monsoon Bride, электронная книга автора Aastha Atray на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы