by Nalini Singh
It was only when Aditi’s friend Harlow arrived that he and Nayna had time alone. First, however, he shook hands with the tall and lanky boy who had grown significantly in confidence over the summer and who was turning out to be a young man Raj liked. Even better, both Jitesh and Sangeeta Sen were warming up to him. It helped that Harlow Chan kept his stick-straight black hair cut with ruthless neatness, wore wire-rimmed spectacles, dressed in pants that actually fit instead of hanging halfway down his butt, and was unfailingly respectful.
Aditi had also let it slip that, while Harlow had a year of high school to go, he’d already been offered an academic scholarship to the city’s major university on the basis of his previous year’s exam results. The boy had deferred the scholarship because he wanted to have his senior year.
Jitesh Sen had thawed enough at that to grumble, “Well, I suppose it’s good he’s not an idiot.”
High praise from a protective Indian father on his seventeen-year-old daughter’s friend who happened to be a boy—and who might end up more if the two kept on hanging out.
“Nayna.” Harlow’s face cracked into a huge smile when Nayna walked back into the room, having left to wash off a bit of sauce that had dripped onto her top when she ate a few of Aditi’s fries.
“Hey, you. When did you get so tall?” Nayna hugged her best friend’s stepbrother; she’d told him that Ísa was a huge reason why Harlow was so well-adjusted. Ísa Rain had basically adopted Harlow when their parents divorced, making sure the young teen he’d been at the time wasn’t forgotten in the mess.
Ísa, Raj suddenly realized, would always be in his life. She was going to marry one of his closest friends. Which meant that even if all this crashed and burned, Nayna too would always be in his life. It would be the worst private hell he could imagine. To see her and to know she wasn’t his. Perhaps to see her move on with another man?
His gut wrenched.
“We have to go now,” Aditi stage-whispered to Harlow after a few minutes. “Raj bhaiya and Nayna bh—” She cut herself off at the last minute, but Raj knew the word she’d almost said. The word for a big brother’s wife.
Recovering quickly, she said, “They have big deal stuff to talk about.”
Alone with Nayna at last, Raj said, “I’ll fix it.” He had no desire for Nayna to be manipulated into marriage with him when she’d fought so determinedly for freedom and when marriage was a topic she simply never raised on her own.
Eyes shining, Nayna looked up at him and brushed his hair off his forehead. “You’re right in what you said to Adi—your dad’s just come out of surgery,” she said. “The doctor said we’re not supposed to stress him. Just go along with it.”
“He’s a stubborn man. Can give a mule a run for its money when he wants to be pigheaded.”
Nayna’s lips twitched. “Like father, like son?”
His glare had zero affect.
“Don’t worry right now,” said the woman who owned him body and soul. “You’re already carrying too much on your shoulders.” Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips soft and sweet to his, her hand cradling the back of his neck.
He hadn’t made love to her for over a week now, and he ached for her. So much that after he drove his mother and sister home so his father could rest, he snuck out to Nayna’s apartment and woke her up. She was still warm from bed when she opened the door, strands of her hair sticking to her cheek.
And she walked into his arms without hesitation.
He carried her to bed, stripped them both naked, then spent long moments simply stroking his hand over her skin while she did the same with him. Their kisses were deep and tender, the way she spread her thighs so he could push into her a gift. He went in slow, pulled back as slow, heard her breath hitch.
So he did it again, in no hurry to lose her hands on his skin, her voice whispering his name.
“Raj… The way you move…” A shiver rippled over her, her thighs clenching around his body.
He’d gained control since their first time together, rocked her through it, then caressed her until her back arched against his in sinuous feminine beauty, her body holding on tight to his as she melted with pleasure.
“Raj,” she said again, her eyes heavy-lidded and her fingers brushing his lips. “My Raj.”
The hour he spent with her grounded him in a way nothing else could.
She was in his blood and he’d marry her a thousand times over if she’d have him. But if she agreed to his father’s demand, he’d never know if she would’ve chosen him of her own free will—the lack would forever be a shadow on their lives together. And if they didn’t do this and his father died before anything was decided, Raj would never forgive himself.
42
The Boss’s Girl
Nayna’s parents visited Raj’s father in hospital as soon as Jitesh Sen felt ready to receive more visitors. It was as obvious as the nose on Nayna’s face that the Sharmas and the Sens genuinely got along—especially when it came to talking about their misbehaving offspring.
“All these modern ideas,” one said. “As if they’re the first couple to ever meet!”
“I blame it on television,” another added. “I mean, the dramas! And always rebellion, made to look so romantic.”
At which point, the four of them would inevitably fall into a spirited discussion about their shared passion for said dramas with rebellious characters. At least their conversations were joyful. From what Nayna had seen of Komal and Navin lately, their hospital reconciliation had quickly faded into a kind of stiff formality. The two put up a front for Mr. Sen, but—according to Raj—were otherwise living separate lives.
“Navin’s moved into our old game room,” he’d told her. “They aren’t screaming at each other, and Navin’s home more to help with everything, but I think the damage is done.” A shake of his head. “Far as I can figure, both of them broke more than one promise they’d made to each other. Why make promises at all if you’re not going to keep them?”
If Nayna hadn’t already been terrifyingly in love with him, that harsh question would’ve done it.
“Well,” Nayna’s grandmother said to her not long afterward, while the two of them were alone in Nayna’s apartment. Her parents had dropped Aji off while they went on a big shopping trip to get some things for Madhuri’s wedding—including an outfit for their father, who usually never wore a suit but had opted for a full sherwani for the auspicious occasion.
Of course, he’d also added, “Now that your wedding with Raj is also arranged, I might as well get both suits at once.”
Nayna had allowed the statement to pass unchallenged; it was far too soon to rock the boat, what with Mr. Sen still in hospital.
“What is it, Aji?” She looked up from her laptop where she’d been running a search for Madhuri. Her sister had asked her to hunt down a specific cake topper she’d seen in a magazine a decade earlier.
Nayna had begun to see tiny brides and grooms everywhere she looked, but so far there was no sign of a sari-clad princess and an Indian prince down on one knee. Nayna was starting to imagine gluing pieces of various toppers together to Frankenstein it.
“How about a muffin to go with your tea?” she asked before her grandmother could reply. “I made a batch yesterday.” She’d managed to find out Raj’s favorite flavor—banana walnut—then spent her Saturday morning in the kitchen. It was a need inside her, to look after him, to ease the load in even a small way.
Putting most of the muffins in a large plastic container, she’d driven out to the site where he was working and called him to meet her in the parking lot. The security and safety signs made it clear no one was to enter the site without the requisite gear.
He’d walked out in dusty jeans and an equally dusty dark gray T-shirt, a battered brown tool belt around his hips. On his head had been a white hard hat that bore a couple of dents and scratches. His trusty work boots had completed the look. Sweaty and a little scowly from the strain of managing the business
while worrying about his father, he’d looked better than any dream she’d ever had.
“I made you muffins,” she’d said when he reached her, feeling suddenly and oddly shy. “Banana walnut. And extras for your crew.”
A strange, unsmiling look… before he’d taken off his hard hat and kissed her so deep that her head spun. “You’re destroying me, Nayna Sharma.”
He’d just stepped back, Nayna’s heart thunder and the unvarnished masculine scent of him in her lungs, when a skinny man with ropy muscles and tattoos on both arms poked his head out from around the safety fencing and said, “Hey! Are you the one who thinks the boss is a sexy hunk?”
As Raj groaned, Nayna had found herself laughing, her shyness disappearing under the force of her need to claim Raj. “Yes!” she’d called out. “And a hot fling!”
“Crikey.” The man had scratched at his chin. “You done all right, boss. I guess I better keep reading that Sense and Shampoo book.”
“I think you need more work, Tino,” Raj had threatened darkly.
The other man had grinned. “Nah! I’m having a legal-like smoke-o.” But he’d wandered off to take his coffee break elsewhere, no doubt while spreading the news of the boss’s girl.
Raj had kissed her again before he left, his eyes impenetrable in a way that haunted her. But later in the day, he’d messaged to say that his crew had demolished the muffins and asked for more. “Good thing I took out two for myself before the others smelled your baking,” he’d written. “Tasted great.”
A simple message. Pragmatic even. Certainly not romantic.
Except he’d added a heart at the end.
Nayna kept glancing at that heart every so often. Raj was a bluntly honest man, up-front and strong. He wasn’t much for soft words. For him to add a heart to a message…
She hugged the warm glow of it close.
“Muffins later.” Her grandmother’s firm tone dragged her back to the present. “First, what are you going to do about this marriage business?” She took a sip of the tea Nayna had made her. “You know all four of them are talking about it anytime they’re together.” Putting down the teacup, she smoothed a hand down the dark green of her newest velour tracksuit. “That Dhiraj man has even found an opening in the bookings for his ugly golf building.”
Nayna had never wanted to get married inside, much less in a building designed in the seventies, with the attendant décor—complete with avocado-colored walls and orange linoleum that had been lovingly restored by Raj’s Dhiraj uncle. Outside, in the air, where she could breathe, that’s what Nayna wanted for her wedding when the time came.
Putting aside her laptop, she leaned forward with her forearms on her thighs. “I’m hoping they’ll come to their senses when Mr. Sen’s recovered. He’s very emotional right now.”
Her grandmother made a sound distinctly similar to a snort. “What he is, is a wily old goat.”
“He was hurting and panicking when he asked us,” Nayna began.
“He might’ve been,” Aji conceded, “but he also knew this was his one chance to get his own way. I mean, imagine the good luck of having a heart attack just when you need to convince your son to hurry his wedding along. No point wasting such a golden opportunity.”
Nayna stared at her grandmother. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Someone had to!” Aji huffed. “Now bring me that muffin.”
After demolishing half of it, she picked up the thread of their conversation again. “Indian parents, they’re very good at guilt.”
“You’re an Indian parent,” Nayna pointed out. “And you’re not—”
“That’s because I’m your grandmother,” Aji interrupted. “Ask your father how good I am at the guilt.” Her eyes twinkled. “I asked Madhuri’s doctor about this type of surgery, and he said it is a serious thing but that many, many people have the surgery every day. Raj’s father isn’t on his deathbed.”
Nayna slumped back against the sofa, swallowed hard. “But what if?” That was the crux of it and the real reason she hadn’t pushed back so far. “What if he’s one of the ones where it all goes wrong? Raj would never forgive himself if we’d denied his last wish.”
Her grandmother finished off the muffin before saying, “Are Raj’s feelings that important to you?”
“Yes.” The answer didn’t take any thought. “I see the future and I see him,” she whispered. “He’s the only man I can ever imagine myself marrying.” It should, then, have been a simple decision. “I just… I just wanted a little time to grow into my own skin, a little time to be plain old Nayna Sharma before becoming Mrs. Raj Sen.”
The wedding garland would bring with it the traditions and expectations that came with being the wife of a man who was the eldest son of his house, a man who was respected in the community for his acuity in business as well as his dedication to his family. Nayna loved all of that about Raj. Every tiny bit.
“I want to be Raj’s wife,” she said, the confession a rasp of sound, her throat was so tight. “But I don’t want to be Mrs. Sen, the woman who never puts a step wrong and is a paragon of a daughter-in-law, a woman the community looks to and points out to their daughters as an example.” Again, the feeling of constriction, the sound of cage doors slamming shut.
“But your Raj comes with tradition,” Aji murmured. “As Mr. Darcy did with his great big estate and all the responsibilities it meant.” A gentle smile that reminded Nayna of all the times Aji had watched the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice with her. “To love one part of him is to love the other.”
She closed a soft hand over Nayna’s. “I think this boy, he is a good one. He doesn’t deserve a wife who looks always to the past and mourns what she might’ve had.” Aji wiped away the tears Nayna hadn’t felt herself shedding. “If you can’t go to him with an open heart, then love him enough to let him go.”
43
Avocado-Green Walls & the Time of Disco
Her grandmother’s words were still ringing around in Nayna’s head two weeks later when Jitesh Sen’s health took a sudden turn for the worse as a result of a rare complication that landed him back in surgery. The surgery didn’t last as long this time, but it was exactly as traumatic for the family.
When the medical staff brought him out onto the ward, he looked grayer, more diminished. Nayna knew that would pass, that he’d get his strength back, but she could see her own fear and worry magnified a thousand times over in the faces of his family—and in the faces of her own parents. They had truly come to embrace Raj’s family as their own.
She waited until she was alone with Raj to bring up the subject they’d been avoiding of late. It was the next day, as the two of them walked a wide corridor in a part of Auckland Hospital that was drenched in natural light. Sangeeta Sen and Aditi had been granted permission to sit with Jitesh Sen for the next half hour.
“Let’s get married,” she said.
Raj’s head jerked toward her, his dark hair tumbled and his eyes shadowed by purplish bruises. “It’s not what you want.”
Nayna closed her fingers over his fisted hand. “I told my grandmother that when I look into my future, I see you.” That part of things felt right, so right.
Raj was hers and Nayna was never going to give him up. And she wouldn’t look back. Her grandmother was right—doing that would fundamentally damage their relationship. She’d take this terrifying step into the unknown with hope and faith in what they were to each other. “I want to be your wife.”
* * *
Raj staggered inside at the words he’d dreamed of hearing her say.
Except it was all wrong. She wasn’t running into his arms with all the passionate fury of her nature, was instead walking to him on a conscious decision fueled by her soft heart.
Would he ever have all of her? Or would she keep a small part hidden away? The secret wildness of her. A woman who wore skintight dresses and dreamed of hiking through the Amazon. A lover who’d kissed him under a subterranean sky. A
brilliant accountant who struggled against the ordinary and the mundane.
He wanted to tell her no, that they would not marry until she had no more worries, no more doubts, until she looked at him and saw not the walls of tradition… but dizzying freedom. Except that his life and responsibilities—especially now—would make that a lie.
His fist tightened even further.
None of it mattered. His hunger to be trusted that deeply by Nayna was a selfish need—right now he had far heavier priorities. His mother was losing weight at a precipitous rate, unable to eat with his father so ill, and his sister had become withdrawn and quiet, not even messaging with Harlow.
Navin and Komal were locked in their own emotional meltdown, and—despite both staying close to home—neither was currently of any real help.
As for his father, the doctors assured them he’d make a full recovery, but that’s what they’d said the last time.
Everything was going wrong.
“Raj.” Nayna shifted so she was in front of him, putting one of her hands palm-down over his heart. “This is a new adventure—and we’ll go through it together, like we did the cave.” Her fingers rising to brush his jaw, her touch gentle and her scent in his every breath.
Before his father’s illness, he’d been doing everything in his power to seduce her, convince her that marrying him wouldn’t equal walls and stifling expectations, but in the end, none of it had made a difference. Because Nayna was doing what she always did—surrendering her own dreams to help the people important to her.
And the worst of it, the absolute worst of it, was that he couldn’t say no.
This might be the last thing his father ever asked of him—Raj couldn’t refuse the request and live with himself. He just hoped Nayna could live with the choice she’d made.
