by Sapna Bhog
My mind screams with need. It orders me to take her, that I could fuck her into oblivion and forget my own troubles for a short time. I don’t remember the last time I’ve had sex and she’s here, offering me relief. But my heart protests against it. My mind and heart are at war, but my body needs release and so I shut out my heart and pull her closer to me. I press my lips to hers, taking her mouth with force.
She locks her hands behind my neck and undulates above me, her breasts rubbing against the fabric of my shirt, her center pressing against my erection. My body hardens even more, wanting what she is offering. I wrap my hand around her hair, knotting it into my fist, holding her in place so I can claim her mouth the way I want.
“Yes, Damien,” she whispers. “That’s it.”
I pull her hair harder. She leans back, shutting her eyes on a sigh. My eyes rake her once again and I press my mouth to the top of her breast. In that moment, my heart roars that the woman in my arms is wrong, that she’s not the one for me. I raise my head and shift back. Wrong! Wrong! The word repeats itself from inside my soul. That single word takes over my mind and suddenly the entire room swims in front of my eyes. My desire for Celia dies and I move her off me and immediately stand up, holding my head. I take a few deep breaths to settle myself. Fuck! What was I doing right now?
“I need you, Damien! Don’t leave me like this,” Celia begs, lying across the sofa, spreading her legs. Every inch of her body is on display.
The events of the last hour replay in my mind and I see the whole situation for what it is. The frantic phone call, the empty wine bottle, the house bereft of staff and only the fireplace for light. It was all a setup for seduction and I almost fell for it.
I back a step away from her, refusing to look at her. “I can’t do this, Celia. I’m sorry, but I can’t. This is wrong. I didn’t come here tonight for this. I thought you needed a friend.”
She stands up and walks towards me, her eyes narrowed to slits. “What I need is for you to come back and finish what you started.”
I shake my head, putting a hand out. “NO! Fucking me is not the answer to your problems.”
“Oh, but it is! You see, I endured all your brother’s torture, his infidelities and his insults because one day I would be the Duchess of Kittridge. I would be one of the most powerful women in England. And now, to my luck, he’s gone and you’re the new Duke.” She laughs. “And I want you. I will still get to be a Duchess. We could be so happy together. You only have to take what I’m offering you.”
She opens her arms wide, baring her body to me. I cringe and turn my face to the side, refusing to look at her. “Celia, I answered your call tonight and I came here hoping to prevent you from doing anything suicidal. If this was just a game for you to get me to bed you, then you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. I thought we could be friends but now I know we cannot. You need to seek help. Visit a therapist.”
“I don’t need a fucking therapist,” she snorts. “I need you to accept me. I called you tonight to show you how good we can be together.”
A vein in my neck throbs as I point a finger at her. “Listen to me carefully. I will never marry you. You will never be my Duchess. And the next time you call like this, I won’t come; no matter what the situation is, I won’t come for you ever.”
She smirks as I walk away from her. “Oh Damien, you have yet to learn so much.”
Her laughter rings in my ears as I make my way out of her house.
Aaliya
Istare at my reflection in the mirror, hoping I’ve managed to conceal the dark circles under my eyes. It’s criminal to attend a glamorous event without having any sleep the previous night. But now nothing more can be done. I place a hand above my heart, hoping the pain goes away or at least settles before I see Damien. The possibility that Celia seduced him has lodged an arrow deep inside my chest. It’s like a flaming dart, burning inside me. And no matter how much I try and talk myself to see Damien’s point of view, I simply cannot. The thought of him with Celia makes me want to empty the contents of my stomach.
In spite of that, I have no alternative but to go forward and see my mission through. I’m more resolved than ever to get Damien to remember me. And that starts at the gala tonight. It gives me the perfect opportunity to interact with him.
And so, an hour later, I’m once again seated next to Gabe in his Mercedes as his car takes us to the venue. Gabe’s been smiling at me ever since he fetched me. I can’t however bring myself to respond to him at all. Instead, I’ve been staring out of the car window, refusing to look at him or talk to him.
“How is Rian?” he asks me finally.
“Fine.”
Thinking about my baby always warms my heart. I wake up so many nights missing his soft baby smell, his loud kisses and his jumbled words. But he's safe at home in Mumbai with my parents and Jasmine, and that is of utmost importance right now.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes!” I answer in a clipped voice. I know I’m being mean to him, but at this point I don’t care. I just need someone to vent out my frustration on and he’s the only one around.
“Good heavens, Aaliya! You do know how to throw a temper tantrum.”
My lips flatten as I turn to glare at him. “Fuck you, Gabe! You can’t even imagine the pain I’m going through knowing that he may have slept with another woman, so don’t you dare call it a temper tantrum.”
He raises a brow at my heated words. “He didn’t.”
I’m not sure I heard him right. I frown. “What did you just say?”
“Celia tried to seduce him. But he rejected her.”
“Oh, thank God!” I suck in a deep breath as a weight lifts off my chest and happiness soars through me. But I need further confirmation. “How do you know?”
He wriggles his brows. “He’s my friend. He talks to me.”
“And?”
His eyes dance with mirth while he purposely delays responding. I cross my arms and give him a pointed look.
Finally, he speaks. “He called me last night, half an hour after I dropped you home. He was upset and pissed off that she tried to trap him into sleeping with her. So, you see, your temper tantrum wasn’t needed at all.”
I shut my eyes and lean back against the car seat, exhaling on a sigh. He rejected her. There is so much to hope for now.
Gabe adjusts his cufflinks. “I’m glad we can go to the gala without you sulking.”
My mouth drops open in a wide smile. I am literally bouncing in my seat, looking forward to meeting Damien now. In my anger with him, I spent truckloads of money at Harrods today on a new wardrobe of clothes, bags, shoes and jewelry. I put such a huge dent on my card, which was quite unlike me. I’m usually judicious in spending, but with thoughts of him and Celia burning through my mind, I was rather reckless today.
My fingers fiddle in the folds of my pink gown. It’s a Jenny Peckham creation and the personal shopper at Harrods confirmed that a Royal Duchess wore many of this designer’s creations. I think I look good to claim my husband’s attention. I grin to myself, looking out of the car window once again.
I thought the gala would be hosted at a hotel; instead my eyes widen as we approach a huge and beautifully lit up mansion in Surrey. Built in all white stone, the entrance looks like a Greek temple with four white columns supporting a triangular pediment on top, beyond which is the actual house—three storied with several windows. The car makes its way inside the tree-lined driveway and we wait behind several other cars to approach the porch.
“This place is amazing. What is it?” I ask Gabe while squinting outside the window to survey the property, which has acres of gardens surrounding the house.
“This, my dear, is the London residence of the Duke of Kittridge,” he informs me as the car comes to a standstill in front of the entrance doors.
I turn to him, my mouth agape.
“What?” I manage to squeak out of my throat.
He exits the car and com
es around to help me out. Ascending the wide staircase, we make our way inside the foyer. A huge gold and crystal chandelier elegantly lights the way, its twinkling lights gleaming on the polished black marble beneath my feet. Uniformed staff is waiting to collect our wraps and coats before guiding us deeper inside the house and into the ballroom. I spot Damien’s bodyguard at the entrance, vetting everyone entering. He gives us a quick glance while he speaks into his headphone. Like him, there are several men in suits stationed everywhere. I try to take in everything without looking like I’m overwhelmed with all this opulence and show of wealth.
Gabe acknowledges many of the guests. We don’t have time to converse privately, but I’m glad he’s by my side. Men in bespoke tuxedoes and women in jewel toned, couture gowns walk past us. I now understand why Gabe had specifically instructed me to go shopping. Thanks to him, I fit right in.
My blush pink strappy gown with its fitted bodice and cowl neck flatters my shape. It’s cinched at the waist and then it flows in soft folds till my feet. The gown is studded with randomly spaced lines of matching blush pink sequins and crystals, making the whole outfit shimmer as I walk.
My makeup is light, subtle and my hair is done up in a messy twist at my nape, a few loose strands flowing over my face. My eyes search for Damien as we head towards the ballroom.
“My arm’s going to lose blood circulation if you clutch it any tighter,” Gabe jokes from my side. Frowning, I pause mid step and look at my hand. Sure enough, my fingers are digging into his arm. I loosen my fingers and we proceed forward.
“So, Damien lives here now?” I ask Gabe.
He stops to meet an acquaintance of his and introduces me as the owner of Alpha Arc, a design firm based in India. This is indeed true as Damien has made me a joint owner of the business and staying as close to the truth as possible is the best way forward.
“Damien hasn’t lived here in the last decade or more. But he did grow up here,” Gabe explains as we make our way ahead.
“And now?” I ask.
“He lives in his apartment in Belgravia. But his mother lives here and technically, this is all his.”
“Aargh, I didn’t even know he has an apartment in London. He told me he sold all his assets when he moved to India. How could he have kept so much from me Gabriel? I just don’t understand this. It’s so unlike him.”
When Damien met me all those years back, he told me he had given up his whole life in England, that nothing and no one mattered there for him to return to. In the space of two months, I’ve learnt how little he has told me and how much more he’s kept from me.
On my return from England, after visiting Damien in the hospital, I ransacked our house and his office in the hope of finding anything from his past to help me understand why he’d given up his life here. Even a small morsel would have helped me gain better insight into his thought process but there was nothing. Why couldn’t he have confided in me? At times, I want to throttle him for keeping me in the dark.
“Aaliya…my arm!” Gabriel winces, nodding at my hand that is once again clutching his arm too tight.
“Sorry!” I exhale my pent-up breath and ease my hold on him.
“Relax, Aaliya! Damien had his reasons for what he did. Just trust me when I say that he didn’t tell you things because he must have wanted to keep you safe.”
“Safe,” I scorn. “I’m beginning to hate that word.”
We enter the ballroom and my feet pause at the threshold. My God! I’ve stepped into a fairytale. My eyes dart around every corner of the room, trying to take in everything at once. The entire décor is done in white and gold. Dozens of round white tables surrounded by golden chairs are spread across the large room. The center of each table is adorned with artfully created displays of golden candles surrounded by white roses. White drapes with thin gold patterns flow down windows and pillars. The chandeliers overhead are all gold, the floor beneath my feet, white marble. An orchestra is playing soft music from one side of the hall. The entire setting is spectacular and beautiful.
My eyes search for Damien and I finally find him. He’s standing with an older woman and Celia Parker on one side of the ballroom, receiving guests.
“Why is she with him?” I hiss out.
Gabe turns to look at Celia. “I’m sure she’s here to maintain appearances. She was his late brother’s fiancée and the gala is hosted in his memory as well.”
Celia’s hand creeps up Damien’s chest and my lips tighten. Damien casually moves her hand away, all the while conversing with the person in front of him. And just like that my anger evaporates and I focus my attention back on my husband.
Even from afar, I can see the fine lines around his mouth. His smile looks forced, his eyes cold and his jaw tenses every now and then when he’s in between greeting guests. I wish I were standing next to him, holding his hand and comforting him for being in a situation I know he doesn’t want to be in. However, right now, I can only watch from a distance while he struggles with his new reality.
My eyes wander over him and damn he looks so good! His crisp white tuxedo shirt stretches across his chest. The black suit fits him like a second skin and displays the rippling muscles beneath to perfection. His skin would be warm, heated underneath and I long to touch him like I used to. His absence is like a constant ache inside me. He looks to be in perfect shape though. Knowing him, he must have hit the gym the first opportunity he was allowed to do so. I smile thinking about that. He’s still the same, yet so different in so many ways and I can’t help but again compare the two versions of him I know now.
Gone is the warm, casual and easygoing man I fell in love with, the one who interacted so easily with my aunts and uncles, brushing off their never-ending curiosity about him with a joke and a smile. That man, my Damien, was normal whereas this Damien screams prestige, glamour and elegance. His smile slips once again and I feel his sadness in spite of all the distance between us.
Gabriel and I weave through the crowd, inching closer towards him. Gabe points out several people of the English aristocracy to me. Their names all whiz by me in a blur. All I can remember is the Earl of something and the Duchess of something else. And then he says, “And those are the royal princes with their wives chatting with Damien.”
My head snaps in their direction and I stare and stare at the next generation of the royal family. Goddamn and blast!
I’ve seen them on TV! Hell, I watched the live ceremony of both the princes get married and now, I’m here, attending the same event as them. Never in my dreams would I have imagined this scenario.
“He knows the princes?” I croak out. “Shoot! One of them is going to be the King at some point in his life.”
Gabe shrugs as if my shock is of no consequence. “Well, he attended school with the princes. One of them was in the same class with him.”
Shit! I’ve stepped in an alternate universe, one in which my husband knows the future freaking King of England!
“Do you like your new reality?’ Gabe quips.
“Un-bloody believable!”
My footsteps pause as I take in everything I am seeing and hearing. There’s so much of wealth and privilege in this room and I’m standing in it. I have designed some of the most lavish homes for so many affluent people, but nothing, nothing compares to the grandeur of Damien’s life. How did he manage to fit in with me? Our life in Mumbai is so opposite to all this, it’s like another side of a coin. Again, the question teases me as to why he chose to leave all this and live a simple life with me.
Gabe ushers me forward. As we near him, I finally see Damien’s mother, the Duchess, in all her regal glory. She’s slim and fair with hard eyes. Her black satin, short sleeve gown is mermaid style with a round and modest neckline. Her blonde hair is elegantly coiffed and knotted on the top of her head. A string of diamonds and pearls adorns her neck. Next to her Celia Parker looks decadent in a sky blue, wide neck fitted gown. My eyes bulge at the amount of her cleavage on display. I’m pretty sure
her breasts will pop out if she bends. Her neck and ears are also studded with diamonds.
My eyes immediately traverse across to the other women in the ballroom and most of them are wearing diamonds at par with the Duchess and Celia. I’m grateful for my own earrings purchased earlier this morning at a whopping amount in my ire-induced shopping spree. I didn’t even blink twice before buying the three-karat rose-gold and diamond teardrop earrings.
But no matter how much money I spent, all of it seems like a blip compared to the wealth Damien is used to. I grimace before finally asking Gabe the one question that has been bothering me ever since he confirmed that this house belongs to Damien.
“How rich is he?” I whisper. We are about four people away from Damien now and he hasn’t seen me yet.
“Whatever you’ve known of his wealth, multiply that by ten,” he says with a straight face, looking forward.
My mouth opens in a big O as a staggering amount comes to my mind. Touching the base of my throat, I ponder through what Gabe has so casually announced. I thought I knew my husband’s finances. I thought I knew all his bank accounts. And now to hear there is so much wealth he hasn’t told me about. I simply cannot come to terms with this.
And then Gabe says, “Now multiply that number by another ten and that my dear will be the wealth of the Duke of Kittridge. Your husband is probably one of the richest men in England now, maybe even Europe.”
My jaw falls to the floor and I stop midstride causing Gabe to pause as well. He turns to me, giving me a straight look. I squint at him, unable to believe what I’ve heard from him, but Gabe nods as if understanding my unvoiced question.
