by Sonali Dev
“Well, good morning to you too,” she said.
Would he ever get used to her voice? “I don’t want it to be morning.”
He felt her smile against his ear. It was bloody hard to pull away but he did, just enough to look at her face and trace her collarbones with his thumb. “How are you feeling? Are you sore?”
She colored. In that way she had of coloring from the very depths of her soul, and it made him so absurdly happy he thought his heart had burst from its seams and seeped into his chest.
“I have no idea what you mean.” She actually gave him a coquettish look. Talk about quick recovery.
“I mean, does anything hurt?” He ran his fingers over her breast, down her belly, to her warm mound. “Are you in pain?”
Her eyes fluttered shut. She moaned deep in her throat and pressed closer. “Yes. But only because you have terrible morning breath.”
He smiled against her lips. “Too bad, because I have the most wonderful taste in my mouth and I’m not brushing it away.”
She kissed him. Reached up, dug her hands into his hair, and pressed her lips full into his. Hard and soft. Fierce and yielding. She was going to kill him.
When he came up for air she was panting.
He lifted her up and started carrying her to the bed.
“Samir, are you crazy? Kim and Sara are waiting for breakfast. Put me down.”
“Not on your life. You shouldn’t have done that if you weren’t going to follow it up. You have to put your money where your mouth is, woman.” He put her down on the bed and climbed over her.
She kissed him again and rolled him onto his back. He went easily, putty in her hands.
“I don’t have enough money to cover this huge mountainous body of yours,” she said, before springing off the bed.
He reached out but she was already at the door. “Down in ten minutes?” For all her cool tone she looked so mussed, so vulnerable, he almost went after her. But she was right, the sooner he went down the sooner they could get out of here.
Samir stepped out of the shower, wiped down his smug, ridiculously satisfied body and pulled on his clothes. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and padded down the stairs in his bare feet. He felt fresh and clean despite the fact that he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, despite the stubble he usually wouldn’t be caught dead with. Despite where he was and what waited for him downstairs. Amazingly, he felt none of the anger that had engulfed him yesterday, the rough edges of his rage were gone. How could he hate these walls, this place, after what he had found here?
A tiny splinter of fear poked at his heart, but it had nothing to do with this house or the memories he had taken from here. He had to find Mili, had to tell her who he was, how he felt. Tell her everything. It was past time.
The smell of ginger tea wafted through the air. Mili was in the kitchen with Kim. He stood outside the mullioned glass door, unseen, and drank her in with his eyes. Her hair was still damp, her cheeks still flushed, and he knew every spot under that ridiculous blouse where her skin was marked with his love. She was wearing Kim’s oversized polyester blouse—white with pink roses, high fashion from at least three decades ago. It came down to her knees. It could’ve been a dress, but she wore it like a blouse over her jeans. She looked like she had just stepped out of a Renoir painting. She could’ve been standing in a meadow collecting daisies, with her curls flying like ribbons about her face. Minus the bonnet.
“I boil the ginger with the water first, then I add the tea leaves,” she said, scooping a few spoonfuls from the jar and dropping them into the boiling water. She took a deep sniff before closing the jar and putting it away. “These are really authentic,” she said. “They remind me of my naani’s kitchen.”
“Sara loves this brand. She’s always used it since she came back from India.” Kim took the jar from her and put it away.
“Did she like India?” Mili turned off the flame and put a lid on the boiling chai.
“She loved it. Even before she went, when she was with Mir it was like she was obsessed with it. She read every book about India, ate the food, she bought clothes that were made there. He used to call her a hippie for it, but she loved it. She was always like that. There was no going halfway for her. No matter what it was she went all the way without looking back. It always scared me. But I think that’s what got to Mir. That’s why he couldn’t leave.”
“Why didn’t she go back to get him?”
“Who, Samir?”
“Yes.”
“You have to understand how she became when Mir died. She had suffered from depression off and on for years, but losing Mir pushed her over the edge. Samir was five years old when he found her passed out in the barn. She hadn’t eaten or talked to anyone for days. He ran back home through the snow and called nine-one-one. Social Services was all set to take him away. Sara and I grew up inside the foster care system. Sara would’ve done anything to keep him out. She begged me to take him but I couldn’t. I was working as a housekeeper. I didn’t even have a home. I was the one who suggested she take him to Mir’s family.
“When she came back her illness only got worse. There weren’t many treatments for manic depression back then. She struggled for a long time. Finally, about ten years back, she met her doctor and her life changed. But it was too late. Samir was already an adult and living in Mumbai. Lata told her he didn’t want anything to do with her. It broke her heart but she understands, I think.”
Mili turned and found him standing there watching them. Her eyes were soft with understanding and that something more that stirred his blood. She had known he was listening when she’d asked Kim the question. Something in the way she turned to him told him that. Now she challenged him to do the right thing.
Samir walked into the kitchen and took the tray from Kim’s hands.
“I’ll take her the tea, Kim, if you don’t mind.”
Tears sparkled in Mili’s eyes as he turned around and walked out of the kitchen. Tears and pride.
If Sara was surprised that he had brought her tea she didn’t show it. But her gaze kept darting toward him over her cup as they drank in silence. He had two women looking at him like he was God’s gift to the earth. Based on what the magazines said, he should’ve been used to it by now. But how could you ever get used to this? He had done nothing to deserve their devotion, and it made him ache.
“You have your father’s mouth, his jaw,” Sara said, drinking him in with her eyes. “I could always tell what Mir was feeling from the set of his jaw.”
“Samir is like that too,” Mili chimed in from behind him and he turned to her. This he had to hear. “When I first got to know him that’s how I knew if he was going to do something I wanted him to or not. If his jaw got all stubborn there was no way he was doing it. But if his jaw softened I had him.”
“What did I ever refuse you?” he asked. “Who can ever refuse you anything, love?”
She blushed. “That’s because I never ask for anything I shouldn’t. I’m always reasonable. How can anyone refuse that?”
“Yeah, right. When I first met you all your behavior was perfectly rational.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and narrowed her eyes.
“What did she do?” Sara asked, smiling. Her breathing was more even today, and there was something familiar about the way her lips turned up when she smiled.
“Let me see, she jumped off a balcony, took off on a broken bike, ran into a tree, and landed upside down with her butt literally turned over her head.”
Sara put one gnarled, spotted hand on her mouth and laughed. “Sounds painful.”
“It was. He scared me so much I broke my foot and my arm.”
“She sprained her ankle and dislocated her wrist, and all I did was knock on her door.”
“Yes, but I had never seen a big-footed giant before. It was scary. Have you seen his feet? They need their own atmosphere.”
“They did need their own atmosphere when you threw
up on them.”
To her credit she looked the faintest bit apologetic at that. “My naani says if you don’t get out of the way, you can’t blame the water hose. And I did make up by letting you write in my apartment. Samir writes and directs movies. According to my friend he’s made the most romantic film ever.”
Sara looked from Mili to him. “I know,” she said cautiously. “I’ve watched all his movies.”
He didn’t know how to react to that. But she didn’t wait for a response. She looked back at Mili and gave her a teasing grin. “I have no doubt about how romantic Samir is.” Her look was so knowing Mili blushed even more. Samir found that he didn’t mind that look at all.
“Where are you from, Mili? Where is your naani now?” Sara asked.
“I’m from Balpur in Rajasthan. It’s a small village near Jaipur.” Mili collected the teacups and put them on the tray. “I went to college in Jaipur. My naani still lives in Balpur.”
“Of course I know where Balpur is. That’s where Samir’s father was from. Did you know Samir’s name is a combination of both our names: Sara and Mir-Chand. Did Samir and you know each other from Balpur?”
“Samir’s not from Balpur, he’s from Nagpur.” Mili shook her head and picked up the tray.
“No, Lata moved with Samir and Virat to Nagpur but the Rathods are originally from Balpur.”
The teacups shook on the tray in Mili’s hand. Samir’s mouth went dry. Mili’s startled, confused eyes looked up at him. He watched, helpless, as the crank went off in her brain and started to turn.
The first thought that hit Mili was the Filmfare magazine in Ridhi’s house. That was the part of the puzzle she had been missing and it sprang into her memory like a dragon baring its fangs. Sam Rathod, the Bollywood Bad Boy. She had been so livid at Reena for spreading lies that the name had completely escaped her.
If the full magnitude of what this meant had not been evident from the name, the look on Samir’s face made it abundantly clear. Mili gripped the tray so tight the sharp edge dug into her palms. “I’ll take these to the kitchen. Can I get you anything?” Her voice had to be coming from someone else.
“Thanks, honey,” Sara said as she headed for the door.
Samir was standing in her way. His large, tense form loomed in front of her. She walked around him, her ears ringing. She didn’t look at him. She had no desire to look at him ever again. His smell as she passed him brought back hot, wet memories and the horrible anger bubbling inside her flared. Once in the kitchen she put the cups down and squeezed her nose. Oh no, she wasn’t going to cry. If she cried now it would all be over. If she collapsed now she would never get up. She rinsed out the cups, refusing to let her hands tremble, and put them on the draining board. When she turned around he was standing behind her. She couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not ever.
She squeezed past him and up the stairs to his nursery. The thought of that room made her stomach cramp. This room, this morning, last night, it was all chiseled into her very being. How was she ever going to wipe those memories off? What was she going to do with them? She could never forget as long as she lived, not the night, not the room, not the full extent of his betrayal. It was all searing into her consciousness like an inferno, getting hotter and higher by the second.
He followed her into the room. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t be near him. She wanted him to leave, but she didn’t trust herself to speak. She picked up her purse and quickly patted down the bed. Oh God, how was she going to get back to Ypsilanti?
“Mili.” He said her name. It felt like an invasion, like a violation. “Mili, please, can you look at me?”
When the flames of hell burn me to ashes.
She tried to get past him. She had to get out of the room. He held her arm. She yanked it away with so much force her sleeve ripped in his fingers. She started shaking. Every muscle, every cell in her body started shaking. Kim had given her the blouse this morning. It belonged to Sara. Mili had loved the flowers. They were so beautiful. She had wanted to wear something beautiful. For him. Pain choked her throat. But she would not sob. She studied the tear on her sleeve. She could fix it. A needle and thread was all it would take. She could fix it.
“Mili. Please. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, it’s a small tear. I can fix it.”
He tried to hold her again.
She stepped back, pushing him away with as much force as she could muster in her shaking arms. “Don’t touch me. Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me. Again.” Her voice cracked and she clenched her jaw tight. If she broke now she would never forgive herself.
“You have to listen to me. Please.”
She spun around and faced him. “What is it you want to say to me? That your last name is Rathod? That your brother’s name is Virat? That you knew all along that I was married? That you are . . . you are . . . my brother-in-law.” Her voice shook again but she did not let it crack.
Oh God. Samir was her brother-in-law. She had just slept with her brother-in-law.
She had never felt so filthy, so used. Last night she had finally accepted that her marriage was over. In her past. A past she would never go back to for anything. She’d realized what she felt for Samir was not just friendship and even for just one day she had wanted to know what it would be like to be his, to let him be hers.
But what had happened between them. God, what could she even call that?
“I am not your brother-in-law.”
“I am married to your brother. Where I come from it’s called a brother-in-law. Where I come from, that’s higher than a brother. More sacred. Oh God, Samir, I’m your bhabhi. And you knew. How could you do this?”
“Mili, listen to me. You were never married. That was not a marriage. It’s not even legal.”
“So you came all this way to tell me that my marriage isn’t legal? And because I was so stupid you thought it would be fun to seduce me. And because your brother marrying me and never wanting me wasn’t enough you thought you’d break my heart too? Two times over?”
She was not crying. She was never crying again. But her insides hurt so much, she wished for physical pain; she wished for a twisted foot, a broken wrist. Suddenly something struck her.
“Why did you come here, Samir? Did you come after me? Did Virat send you? For twenty years I waited for your brother to come get me. I fooled myself with hope. If he didn’t want me, why didn’t he just tell me? Why send you? Why? Was it a joke? Let’s see how much we can pound the stupid village girl until she folds.”
“Mili.”
She flinched. She didn’t want him saying her name. Having him chant it in her ear as she gave herself to him, as he changed her forever, it was too much, too close, too fresh in her mind. His hands on her, inside her, it was all too close. And filthy. It was filthy.
“Mili, it was not supposed to turn out like this. Can you at least give me a chance to explain?”
“There’s an explanation?” How stupid did he think she was?
“Yes, damn it. There is. For one, there’s the court case you started.”
Court case? What was he talking about? What would she even go to court about?
He looked incredulous. “I know about the legal notices, Mili. You claimed half the haveli. We thought . . . I didn’t know you, Mili. What would you think if you were me? As for the marriage, Baiji had sent your grandmother a notice annulling the marriage the year after it happened. Virat had no idea that you still thought you were married. Until the letter came he didn’t even know. And Mili, Virat, he’s . . . he’s married to someone else.”
It was a miracle she remained standing.
Shame in all its corrosive intensity roared through her blood. All the things she’d told Samir about Virat, he’d known. He’d known everything. She wanted to clamp her hands to her ears. But she couldn’t move. He’d known even more than she had. She’d struggled with herself while he watched, while he played her, while he seduced her. God, he had known.
She had never h
ated anyone in her life, never been so disgusted with another human being, but his presence made her physically sick, the force of her loathing was so strong.
Mili opened her mouth but no words came out. The disgust in her eyes crushed Samir’s soul and the pain in her eyes made him worthy of it. He wanted to go to her, but one step closer to her and she would break. Her eyes, her nose, all of her was tinder-dry. One match would burn her down to the ground. He had sucked her dry.
She swallowed and clenched her jaw. “Why did you come here, Samir? The truth. Nothing else. Just the simple truth.”
It was too late to turn around now. It was too late to soften the blows.
“I came to get you to sign annulment papers and to drop the case.”
“By seducing me?”
He couldn’t bear the pain in her eyes. “That was not what this was.”
“The truth, Samir. It was all part of a plan, wasn’t it? You knew I wouldn’t be able to resist your charm.”
“Please, Mili, don’t—”
“Why didn’t you just ask me? Knock on my door, tell me who you were and give me the papers.”
“Would you have signed?”
“Not at first, but if you had told me he’s married to someone else I would have been happy to be free of him. I’ve craved freedom all my life. Now I’ll never be free. Never.”
“Mili.”
“No. No. Don’t say my name. Don’t look at me. Please just—Oh God.” She looked around the room, desperately searching for something. “How am I going to get home?”
“I’ll take you home, of course.”
She flinched but then straightened her spine as if she were bracing herself for another humiliation. She nodded without meeting his gaze, the slightest hint of a nod. “Okay. But you will not speak to me. Not one word. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t get in that car otherwise, and I need to get back.”
Samir could never have imagined something hurting so much. But watching her like this, this helpless, it made him crazy and he could do absolutely nothing about it.
