A Bollywood Affair

by Sonali Dev

  Mili shoved Ridhi. “Shut up, Ridhi. Just shut your mouth. I might have just met him but I can tell you this: I might beat someone up.” She jabbed a finger into her own chest. “You might beat someone up.” She jabbed a finger at Ridhi’s chest. “But Samir would never, ever hit a woman.”

  Fireworks burst in Samir’s heart. Sweet pain shot through his entire body.

  Mili turned on her heel, saw the magazine lying on the floor, and swooped down on it. She grabbed it with both hands and tried to rip it in half. She struggled with it for a good minute, but the darned thing wouldn’t give. Finally she flung it across the room and stormed to his side. Then, grabbing his hand, she dragged him out of the room, pushing Ridhi, Ravi, and four gaping cousins out of the way. And of course when she stepped up from the den to the kitchen she tripped.

  His hand pushed into her back, holding her up. She straightened with the kind of dignity only she could muster and out into the backyard they went. They walked past the impeccable manicured lawn onto a wooden walkway that led into a wooded area. She was in no mood to stop and he was in no mood to question her.

  They walked like that in silence for a while. Maybe it was an hour, maybe it was longer. Somehow he found her hand in his and he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. The sweetest ache burned in his chest. He kept thinking of the gargantuan girl’s crying face and wanting to smile. But Mili was still fuming and he didn’t think this was a good time to annoy her any further. He was only too happy to stand by and watch her cool at her own pace, as long as he had her tiny hand grasped in his.

  When they came to a wooden bridge that led nowhere, Mili turned onto it. She stopped at the highest point on the curving surface, pulled her hand from his, and rested her elbows on the stained wood. He did the same. His arm brushed hers. Her scent filled his lungs. Jasmine and sweet herbs. They stared out at the sprawling manicured yards laid out in front of them like a greeting card landscape. A profusion of blooms spilled from stepped terraces and gazebos. Looming mansions surrounded the clipped paradise like fortresses, protecting it from the outside world.

  “Thanks,” she said suddenly, turning her head to look at him. “It would’ve been very embarrassing to fall on my face after that.” An impish grin bloomed across her face.

  If he leaned just a little bit closer he could touch her lips with his. He would know what it felt like to taste that imp’s smile, to drop kisses on that crinkled nose.

  “Samir?”

  He blinked and looked up from her lips into her eyes. They were dark and sultry as ever and sparkling with life. “You’re thanking me?”

  Embarrassment stained her cheeks. “Shut up.”

  “Does that mean I can’t thank you?” He pulled her fingers to his lips. But she pulled them away before his lips could touch them.

  “Can I ask you a question, Samir?”

  God. “You can try.”

  “Who’s Neha?”

  “An ex.”

  She raised one confused eyebrow.

  “My ex-girlfriend.”

  She punched him. “I know what an ex is. I meant what happened? What did you do to make her so angry she would say such awful things about you?”

  “Long story.”

  “What, you have a wedding to go to or something?”

  He laughed. “Well, she wanted a commitment, I wasn’t quite ready, she got a little crazy, came after me with a vase, lost her balance, and fell down my stairs on her face.”

  “Shit.”

  It was the first time he’d heard Mili swear. As in a real swear. Not donkey, monkey, crow, witch, hot fudge, et cetera.

  “What a bitch.”

  “Wow, you’re really on a roll, Mili. Not witch. Straight out bitch.”

  She blushed. “But she is.” She twisted her fingers together. “I’ll bet you were terrified.” She touched him then. Slow, soothing strokes on his arm. It took all his strength not to pull her to him. “I’ll bet you were the one who got her to the hospital. I’ll bet you sat by her side the entire time. And she does this to you.”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly sit by her side. But yes. I—” God, how had she pinned it down like that? “I did get her to the hospital.”

  She watched his face. Then there it was again, the imp’s grin.

  “What now? Or should I even ask?”

  “I’m going to call you Florence.”

  He squeezed his temples with his fingers. “What?”

  “Florence Nightingale. You know the nurse who was obsessed with taking care of people?” She threw her head back and laughed. “Who would believe that?”

  Only you, Mili.

  She started back toward the house, dragging him in her wake. “I’d better make sure Ridhi’s okay. And her bi—witch cousin. You think I was too mean to her?”

  “I think you’re being kinda mean right now.”

  She spun around, horrified guilt on her face. “I am?”

  All he could do was laugh.

  Mili should have known Ridhi would be there when she dragged Samir back into the house. It was the girl’s wedding, for heaven’s sake—didn’t she have anything better to do?

  Ridhi narrowed her eyes at Samir. “Ravi’s been looking for you. For like two hours.”

  They had definitely not been gone that long. But what was Ridhi without her drama?

  “Very nice,” Mili said, pointing to Ridhi’s hands before she launched into another inquisition-slash-lecture.

  Ridhi held out her arms and Mili inspected them dutifully. They were freshly painted with henna paste from the tips of her fingers all the way to her elbows. Not as beautiful as the patterns from the Teej festival back home, but beautiful nonetheless.

  “Look at your hair,” Ridhi said, shifting her frown from Samir to Mili’s hair. “What a mess.”

  Mili reached up and touched her ponytail. It had slid to one side of her head and her hair stuck out in all directions. Must’ve happened when she attacked Ridhi’s cousin. She pulled off the band and shook her hair out.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” she asked Samir. She must’ve looked like such a clown.

  He shrugged. “Didn’t notice.” He gave Ridhi one of those grins designed specifically to annoy, dropped a kiss on the top of Mili’s head, and went looking for Ravi with the oddest bounce in his step.

  “Come on,” Mili said before Ridhi put that frown into words and pulled Ridhi into the family room.

  Three henna artists sat by the marble fireplace that was so ornate it would have been perfectly at home in the Jaipur palace. The rest of the room was as riotously noisy as its occupants. Steel, glass, and carved wood furniture was strewn across the glossy black-and-white-checkered floor. Brass railings edged the upper-floor balconies overlooking the room. Floor-to-ceiling tapestries from every carpet-weaving nation in the world hung from the walls. There was one from Rajasthan, black silk with the most intricate mirrorwork and hand embroidery. It made the knot of homesickness that always lingered in Mili’s belly tighten.

  Mili joined the line of girls waiting for the henna artists, who swirled henna in intricate patterns across the palms of three smiling girls. One of the artists finished the hand she was painting and beckoned the next girl in line. She was no more than sixteen years old. The moment she settled into the pillow, she pulled the neckline of her choli blouse down and exposed the top of one very well developed breast.

  A collective gasp rose across the room. A few of the older women clutched their own bosoms in horror. A large woman in a magenta sari flew across the room in a flash of color and smacked the breast-baring girl upside the head. “Shameless slut, must you cut my nose in public everywhere you go?” She shook the girl so hard her partially exposed breast popped all the way out of her choli, causing another collective gasp.

  Ridhi’s mother streaked across the room in another flash of color and grabbed the girl out of her mother’s arms. Or at least she tried, because the mother refused to let go. The two women yanked the girl by both ar
ms like a partially naked human tug-of-war.

  “Pinky!” Ridhi’s mother shouted at the top of her lungs. “Hai hai, let the girl go. What’s the matter with you? She’s a child. All these people, all this tamasha. Come come.”

  She finally managed to yank the girl free and plunked her down next to the henna artist right on the lap of another girl, who, seeing an opportunity, had inserted herself into the spot. Both girls shrieked, Ridhi shrieked, arbitrary women in the crowd shrieked.

  Mili looked up at the group of men who had gathered to see what all the commotion was about. She caught Samir’s eye and thought she was going to die. He looked exactly like she felt. Ready to explode. “I’ll kill you if you make me laugh,” she mouthed and looked back at the unfolding drama.

  Ridhi’s mother threw a panic-stricken look at the men and hurriedly squashed the girl’s exposed breast back into her blouse. She yanked the girl’s sleeve up. “Here, here, give baby a tuttoo on her arm. Beta, that’s a better place for it. Come, there’s my good girl.” She pinched the girl’s cheek, patted the other girl she had displaced on the head, and put a twenty-dollar bill in the bowl next to the artist. Then she turned to the rest of her guests. “Come come, there’s food in the kitchen. Samosas are being fried hot-hot. Come, come.”

  She pulled Mili along and deposited her closer to Samir, whose shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. Mili glared at him, but her stomach trembled with laughter she could no longer suppress. He pushed his way past the few people between them, grabbed her arm, and dragged her out of the room.

  The house was so big they had to run past several rooms before they came to the French doors that led to the backyard. Samir pulled it open and they ran across the patio and collapsed on the grass, laughing.

  “What the heck was that?” Samir said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Where did you find these people?”

  Mili couldn’t speak. She couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Pinky? That big, scary auntie is called Pinky?” His voice squeaked on the name and he fell back, pressed his arm into his stomach, and laughed.

  Mili doubled over. Her stomach hurt so much she held her breath to stop laughing. Samir sprang back up and yanked her sleeve up. “Here, here, put that tuttoo here. Tuttoo? Holy shit.” He burst into a fresh fit and Mili started to choke.

  He rubbed her back, his hand shaking because all of him was shaking. “You okay?”

  She nodded and tried to stop coughing and laughing at the same time but she couldn’t manage any of it. He kept rubbing, and laughing, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  He had the most beautiful golden eyes. But she’d never seen them like this, crinkled at the edges, lit with life, sparkling with humor and something more, something that made her breath catch. His eyes changed. The way his hand stroked up and down her back changed. His hand slowed to a caress and came to rest at the small of her back, where all the nerves in her body suddenly converged, where he found the springy ends of her curls and tangled his fingers in them.

  She felt the gentlest tug. Her head tipped back and his lips touched hers. It was a whisper of a touch, so tentative, the sensation so light, she wasn’t sure she’d felt it at all. Before she knew what she was doing she reached up into it. He sucked in a breath and pulled back, just the slightest bit. His wild eyes searched hers.

  Heat bloomed in her cheeks. Her wide-open heart drummed in her chest. A semblance of sense started to creep back into her head. Then it flew right out into the blazing afternoon. Because Samir gathered her hair, gathered her face, gathered all of her and claimed her lips with such force the world went up in flames around her.

  His lips were soft, so very soft. And firm. And insistent. Without meaning to she pushed into them. He groaned deep in his chest and parted her lips. She gasped. Tongue and liquid skin slid and stroked and filled her mouth, her senses. He reached into her, tentative, then bold, touching sensitive, secret flesh, stripping every resistance, ripping a moan from the deepest part of her.

  And she let him in. She let him jab into her, free her, tangle her. She tasted him, breathed him in. His smoky taste, clean and dark and hot. His tongue, hungry and probing and hot. His heavy shoulders under her fingers, firm and yielding and hot. Heat rose from him, from the back of his neck, from the raw silk of his hair, and burned through her. Fire blazed across her skin and down her belly. She pressed closer. His fingers molded her scalp, trailed over her collarbones, and reached lower to her breasts. She jumped. The electricity of the touch jolted through her. It was too much. It was all too much.

  “No.” She heard her own voice, felt her hands pushing him away. “No, Samir, I can’t do this.” Oh God, what had she done?

  She had no right to this. No right.

  She tried to scamper away from him. But one stray curl wrapped itself around his button and yanked her back. She tugged at it, twisting it desperately, her fingers shaking too much to pry it loose. He held her fingers steady and unwound the lock, setting her free.

  She stood up and broke into a run.

  “Mili.” He was next to her before her name left his lips. He reached for her.

  “No. God. Samir. I can’t do this.” She moved out of his reach.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have the liberty to. I have something to tell you. I should’ve told you this before. Because . . . Oh God . . . Samir, I’m married.”

  His face darkened, his eyes darkened, the air around him darkened. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, yes, I am. I’m married.” Her heart was beating so hard it was going to break free of her chest. “God, that was . . . that should never have happened.”

  Samir could not believe it. Could not believe what he was feeling. The earth, the wind, the skies, it was all shaking. Shaking with rage. What a royal fucking mess.

  Mili’s chest was heaving. She was panting as if she’d run a mile. Guilt and confusion spilled from her face like the tears she couldn’t control and all he could think of was that kiss. The feel of her in his arms, her lips against his. Those collarbones under his fingers. They were heaving now. All of her was pulsing with sick, sick guilt.

  “I should have told you.” Her voice shook.

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because . . . because I didn’t think this would happen. I didn’t think you would do this. I didn’t think someone like . . . like you would fall for someone like me.”

  “Fall for you? You think I’ve fallen for you?” Oh, this was precious. “And what do you mean ‘someone like you’?”

  She shook her head so violently he thought she might hurt herself. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters because I’m married. Married. I can’t be with you. I mean, not that I want to.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to be with me?”

  She laughed. An incredulous, disbelieving laugh. “You’re, well. You’re you.”

  “Thanks. That explains everything.”

  “Well, for one, you look like that.” She pointed at him as if he had an extra pair of ears sticking out of his head.

  “What’s wrong with the way I look?”

  “Wrong? You look like you stepped off a stupid billboard. You smile like you’re in a toothpaste commercial. I mean, who wants to be with a man who’s more pretty than them? Would you want to?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that I want to be with a man more pretty than me.” Had she really just called him—fuck, he couldn’t even think it.

  “See, and nothing is serious to you. Nothing is sacred. You’re not even horrified that you kissed a married woman.”

  Was she crazy? “You are not a married woman.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Then where is this husband of yours? Where’s your mangalsutra? Where’s your wedding ring? Where’s your sindoor?”

  “It’s not that simple. My husband, he’s . . . I haven’t . . .”

  “You haven’t what, Mili? You haven’t ever seen him?”

  “We were marrie
d when I was very young. And . . . it’s really hard to explain.”

  His rage started to take everything else over. “Try anyway.”

  “No. I can’t. I can’t explain it. I can’t be with you right now. Please. I just can’t.” She backed away, but no fucking way was he letting her go.

  “How young, Mili?” Her arms were so slender in his hands, so delicate, he gentled his grip.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I was four.”

  “That’s not a marriage.”

  Her eyes blazed open. “Someone like you can never understand it. It is a marriage where I come from. It is a marriage for me, Samir.” She struggled to free herself from his hold.

  He didn’t let her go. “What about what just happened between us? What do you call that where you come from?”

  And the guilt was back. He wanted to shake her, to kiss it off her face, every last bit of it.

  “That should never have happened. These past weeks, these past days. Oh, Samir, it should never have happened. You should not be holding me like this. Let me go.”

  She yanked her arm, fighting to get away, but he wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

  “Hold still, Mili, you’re going to hurt yourself. I’m not going to let you walk away from me. Not until you tell me everything.”

  She stopped struggling. “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing more than what I just told you.”

  “If you’re married, what are you doing here by yourself?” He tried to swallow but he couldn’t.

  “He’s an officer in the Indian Air Force. And I . . . I have . . .”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” He had no idea what he was doing. But he couldn’t stop.

  Tears started streaming down her face. “I haven’t seen him since I was four years old.”

  “Then he is not your husband.”

  “He is my husband because I believe he is. Because I’m sworn to spend the rest of my life with him. It’s what I’ve dreamed of for as long as I can remember. Because, because I love him.”