The Accidental Wife Page 11

  She shuddered to think what’d have occurred if he hadn’t. She couldn’t allow such a situation to develop again. No way!

  Her eyes finally drooped shut. Blessed sleep.

  ***

  Naina tugged at the pearl-encrusted veil of her cleverly disguised sari dress in an effort to camouflage the ample curves she didn’t know she possessed. Her hand was arrested and she was soundly scolded. “Stop! You’ll ruin it!”

  “But I feel so exposed. This is so not me!” Naina protested, staring in horror at her reflection. The dress was so delicate and wispy it may very well have not been there. Spun from the finest of silks, it swirled in virtual folds of blue, green, red and silver around her statuesque figure and revealed her body unabashedly to its full glory. It was enough to suffuse her complexion with a deep shade of red.

  Rima, her sister-in-law, burst into a peal of teasing laughter. “You look absolutely adorable. And this happens to be the newest trend.” (She’d know as she owned the boutique it came from Naina had learned.) “What’s more, Rihaan will be stunned senseless!”

  Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, Naina thought with a secret smile. She’d give anything to upset the good Doc’s excellent reflexes.

  But alas, he was nowhere to be seen. His tall, striking figure was conspicuous by its absence.

  “Kuch urgent aa gaya hoga. (Something urgent must have come up.) You know how it is with these doctors. Their schedules are so unpredictable,” Shobha said as she produced the standard excuse that probably came second nature to her.

  But it didn’t pacify Naina, rather it infuriated her. It appeared he’d chosen to flee the coup, leaving her to face the music on her own.

  “Is something wrong? Don’t worry. My little brother will be here soon,” Rima consoled her with a sly wink before leaving to tend to her year old son who was tormenting his father—a shy, soft-spoken engineer.

  Naina concentrated on training an attentive smile on her face and dispatching, at least temporarily, the frustration from her system, as her mother-in-law proudly paraded her around, moving from group to group. She needn’t have tried, because most of the female guests seemed intent on comparing her looks and dress with some Bollywood actress or the other. They didn’t appear keen on getting to know her better. It felt as if she had taken on several different identities and lost her own. And that suited her perfectly well. She was least eager to gain more notoriety than she no doubt already possessed.

  But there were a few who wished to probe further. The reason was obvious, as she had removed one of the most eligible bachelors from the market. One whom any mother would have loved to snare for her own offspring. How had she gone about it? Or had his heart melted for a stray? The inquiries were direct and brazen and Naina fielded them in a casual spirit. Indeed, she found the exercise quite amusing as it gave her access to a juicy lowdown on her husband that he was least likely to volunteer himself.

  And just as she was really beginning to enjoy herself, she was introduced to Mrs. Sharma and her daughter, Renu. They both looked peeved and didn’t bother to hide their resentment.

  “I hear you are a teacher,” Mrs. Sharma sneered.

  Naina felt affronted but kept her cool, aware that Shobha was watching her closely. “Yes, I’m an assistant professor of English.”

  “How awfully boring,” Renu pouted her Angelina Jolie lips and reached forward to finger the string of exquisite pearls around Naina’s neck. “Wonder how much these cost.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Anyway I couldn’t afford them,” Naina laughed.

  “Of course you can!” Renu insisted.

  “No I can’t. Not on my salary.”

  Mrs. Sharma’s derisive cackle rang out like a whip effectively silencing the rest of the crowd. “Oh lord! Your husband, Rihaan, is swimming in money. This won’t even make a dent in his paycheck.”

  “I don’t believe in spending just for the heck of it, especially on something superfluous. And my husband’s money is his alone,” Naina said quietly.

  “Why not spend his money? It’s any husband’s duty to attend to his wife’s whims and fancies,” Renu declared.

  “Then you want a lap dog, not a husband.” Naina’s blunt retort left no scope for any further dialogue. Even Shobha took off leaving her to her own devices. Was she upset? It was hard to gauge her feelings, but Naina was too weary to care.

  A female voice spoke beside her. “Hi! I’m Shirin, Rudy’s wife. You must be Naina. Gosh! I must say you are beautiful!”

  Naina looked up and smiled at a very pretty girl of mixed heritage who plunked down beside her on the loveseat where she’d been trying to make herself unobtrusive.

  “Rudy’s wife?” Naina repeated.

  “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.” A sleek young man with a flashy smile said, bowing low from the waist. “I’m Rudy. Rihaan’s friend, confidant and advisor. We met very briefly in New Delhi. And yes, my wife’s right. You are indeed gorgeous.”

  Naina stood up in a rush and flung her veil across her shoulders. Rudy’s frank appraisal was making her feel uncomfortable.

  But Shirin appeared oblivious to her husband’s antics. She chirped on, while sipping her drink. “You are just the girl I imagined Rihaan would fall for. How did it happen? Where did you meet? Tell me everything!”

  “Rihaan and I…” Naina hesitated.

  “They met through a marriage portal. Nothing even vaguely romantic. The bastard just got lucky,” Rudy smirked.

  “No,” a deep voice droned behind her. At the same instant a large hand sprung out of nowhere and clamped down on Naina’s bare waist. She jumped nearly out of her skin. Her missing spouse had finally chosen to show up.

  “We…met through a mutual acquaintance,” he said enclosing her in a warning glance. “A chance occurrence that blossomed into something very deep and meaningful. Like the meeting of two lonely hearts—wouldn’t you agree, sweetheart?”

  She shivered, wondering what had gotten into him. Why was he mocking her? He’d always been so affable and courteous until now.

  He didn’t leave her side thereafter, appearing in a jocular mood; laughing, performing the role of an attentive lover to the hilt; at times appearing so sincere that it even confused her. And his hand continued to linger on her waist.

  At times she even found herself leaning against his muscular frame, causing her heart to flutter with apprehension. He was toying with her, keen on extracting his pound of flesh. And if he sensed her discomfort, he didn’t show it. Rather it appeared to please him.

  The DJ offered some distraction by kicking up the music several notches. But it did nothing for her spouse’s mood. Unable to handle it any more, she accepted Rudy’s offer to dance—something she’d have otherwise loathed to do. But she was desperate. Anything to get away from Rihaan.

  And then when she saw his seething face, she couldn’t resist to say, “Don’t you know how to shake a leg, Mr. Rihaan Mehta?”

  She had gone too far.

  Rihaan pulled her onto the gaslit open terrace. The snow had stopped falling but it was still very cold, making her helplessly cling to him, which she suspected was exactly what he desired. He drew his arms tight around her. There were no thick blankets today to separate them; only the flimsy see-through fabric that served as her only covering and his sleek form-fitting jacket.

  She knew he could feel every curve of her body, just as she could sense his every sinew, enough to cause a surge of red heat rush through her. But she didn’t break away. She couldn’t. He drew her in with an animalistic intensity that she found dangerous yet strangely comforting.

  He swung her in a slow circle to the tune of a soft romantic ballad that only they could hear. He was playing to the gallery. People were watching from behind the French doors; gawking at them, conversing in excited whispers.

  “What do you
think you are doing?” he growled in her ear.

  She sensed the antagonism in his voice. He was pissed. She stoked the fire some more. “Having fun. How else does a poor woman entertain herself when all she has is a husband who is forever somber and serious?”

  His hand slipped below her hip and squeezed.

  She stiffened, gasping at his audacity. But he stayed put. She began trembling again, this time with fear. “You’re behaving shamelessly! Get your hands off me!”

  “Two things,” he hissed ignoring her demand. “A warning… Stop leading bastards like Rudy on. And a reminder; the reason why you are here. I don’t want anyone to have any doubts about our relationship. You are my wife, whether you like it or not!”

  He grasped her face between his hands and then in an apparent surge of passion, bent down and brushed her lips with his own.

  If anyone had any doubts, they were dispelled by her red cheeks.

  No one, not even his mother raised any objections when they left soon after.

  Cold Snow,Warm Honey

  Ten a.m. on a Sunday morning and no sign of my alleged husband. And here I am, his alleged wife making myself sick on a bag of peanuts. Naina’s hands automatically reloaded her mouth as her brain raced aimlessly helter-skelter only to come up against dead ends as to where he would be.

  Not that I miss him, not at all. She sulked, tucking herself deeper into the confines of his warm recliner and stared out at the ice crusted shingles across the street. Actually, I couldn’t be happier.

  He’d snuck out sometime around four in the morning. ‘Snuck’ was too nice a word—he had blasted out, blundering and bullying his way around in the dark. Might as well have turned on the light for all the din he’d made.

  Not a word had passed between them since their public display of affection last evening. Nothing was left to be said. He had exerted his will; pummeled and bludgeoned her into obedience. The truth had been revealed. The cloak of innocence, at times beguiling candor had been shed. He was nothing but a self-centered creep, drunk with his own importance. Not unlike her brother and most other men she’d had the misfortune to meet.

  Since they’d crossed paths, her life had been reduced to a guessing game. But his antics last night were the last straw.

  Uncoiling her legs from beneath her, Naina jumped onto the hardwood floor and walked over to the window. If he thinks he can control and intimidate me into doing his bidding, he is sadly mistaken.

  Her face broke into a smile. Things appeared to be looking up.

  She had watched the snow fall all morning from a sky as pale as watered down milk. Snow as soft as cotton candy—softer—covered the city. Wiping clean the film of moisture condensed on the glass, she peered outside. The sun had come out at last and what a difference it made. The uniformly dismal grey terrain had transformed into a dazzling bed of white diamonds. Winter birds cavorted among trees whose naked branches brandished a new coat of white icing. Smoke spiraled lazily out of chimneys. People were on the move again, diligently shoveling the snow from their doorsteps and sidewalks. She could hear the gentle swoosh swoosh as the piles of powder grew taller, as well as the harsh grate of metal rasping against concrete; and also the shrieks of happy children—reassuring sounds, everyday sounds.

  Jittery with excitement, Naina rushed into the bedroom, grabbed her camera, and rushed back to the window. It did wonders for her mood to imagine the photos she’d take. The viewfinder was her writing pad—a canvas where she composed her essays and wrote her stories. She could alter the picture by tweaking the perspective a tiny smidge—a side street could become a boulevard, a giant tree turn into a sapling, or an ant mutate into a fearsome monster.

  Just as she was warming up, who would come careening out of the street corner on his bike with a blue winter scarf knotted around his neck but the very person she was trying to put out of her mind? Her arch nemesis—her husband.

  Her psyche admonished yet her fingers continued on, defiant. The man was so irresistibly snap worthy!

  Click, click, click—her lens—an extension of herself—zoomed in on his long lean length. It lovingly caressed the angles of his face, weaved fingers through the shock of luxurious blue black hair flopping boyishly over an erudite forehead, peeked inside those beautiful brooding eyes, slid across the unconsciously arrogant tilt of his jaw that had scraped her skin and then smooched those warm sensuous lips. Her breath caught in her throat. He was doing it to her again.

  She closed her eyes briefly but when she opened them again, he was gone. She heard a door bang loudly somewhere down below. Riddled with panic, she almost dropped the camera on the floor. Frozen, several agonizing seconds passed as she waited for the key to turn in the lock.

  Had she been daydreaming? Or was he playing a vicious game? Whatever it was, she couldn’t allow him to daunt her any more.

  Shrouding herself in a thick parka from the coat closet; not shirking away even though it reeked of him, Naina stepped out of the apartment, then down the stairs and through the front door into the crisp winter sun.

  The nameless janitor she’d met on her arrival, tipped his cap. “Careful on ‘em steps, Miss. Them are icy.”

  The advice was timely, preventing an ungainly tumble and perhaps a few cracked bones. She rewarded him with a grateful smile and stood on the sidewalk watching a huge snow plow lumber through the street and a couple of carefree children assemble a crooked snowman.

  I can do it, too! she thought, gravitating toward a small white hill when suddenly she was swept off her feet, by a large lump of snow. She came up gasping for air, only to see a supreme specimen of manhood looming over her, armed with that familiar sly twinkle, and extending a not so subtle challenge.

  She responded with a bull’s eye smack in the center of his chest which prompted a look of surprise and an immediate retaliation. Then as if on cue, the children from across the street joined in, along with a parent or two and there ensued a neighborhood snow brawl with fewer hits than misses but plenty of slides, shrieks and collisions.

  Somewhere in the middle of it all, he caught her staring petrified at her blue hands. “I can’t feel a thing,” she said.

  Propelling her back indoors, he hurried her into the kitchen. He turned on the tap and plunged her hands into the sink, firing a barrage of questions at her while she tried her best not to scream as circulation returned to her fingers.

  “Go ahead, answer me!” he demanded.

  “Answer what? I didn’t understand a single word you said,” she muttered examining her hands. To her surprise they looked and felt normal.

  Staggering back against the counter, he dissolved into spasms of laughter. “God, how senseless you are! What am I going to do with you?”

  She glared at him, tears of frustration threatening to spill over. “Yes it’s all my fault that I volunteered to come and stay with you all alone in this horrible place! Only to be pushed around, manhandled and abused!”

  He stopped laughing. A familiar smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and his honey eyes softened with a tenderness she hadn’t seen before. Her heart did a little rumba inside her chest.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that I’m not at the hospital. But you could have lost your fingers,” he said scooping her hands in his. “I’m just kidding.” He smiled at the terrified look on her face. “But you do need to keep warm.”

  She snatched her hands away, they were shaking badly.

  “I promise to behave from now on,” he said solemnly. “How about we do some shopping and go out for lunch.”

  She was pacified only a little by his suggestion. She needed to stay on her guard.

  Walking on Eggshells

  The tiny indistinguishable Greek eatery was bursting at the seams, yet Rihaan managed to secure a couple of seats near a large picture window. He deposited Naina there before making his way through the crowd to join t
he hungry line at the counter.

  She put her head down on the table, thankful for the temporary respite. She was weary, confused and unable to pin him down. Who was Rihaan Mehta really?

  Before coming here to the restaurant, he had taken her to a trendy sports store where she was outfitted in lavish winter gear including buying her a couple of jackets (light and heavy), scarves, gloves, hats and boots. When she protested, he’d said, “Would you rather be holed up indoors twenty four-seven throughout the winter?”

  He also insisted on getting her a ‘reliable’ bike, smoothly dismissing her outcry at the price-tag. “I doubt you want to get fat. Besides, it’ll get you to work in fifteen minutes flat which is a lot thriftier than a cab.” Thereby effectively rendering her speechless on the topic.

  Naina’s eyes drifted to the window. Just outside a young couple stood in an intimate embrace, oblivious to the world around them. Embarrassed, Naina tried to look away but couldn’t. They were kissing with passion, their limbs glued together in a conspicuous sexual pose, yet not for a moment did the act appear vulgar.

  “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

  Naina turned to her side sharply. Rihaan had the habit of sneaking up behind her and catching her unawares, that too at her vulnerable worst. She chose to take him head-on. “Yes,” she said, “a beautiful picture of love.”

  To her surprise, he broke into a wild cynical laugh and almost choked on his monumental gyro sandwich. She glowered at him, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

  “That, my dear,” he said finally, “is basic biology, as primitive as it gets. For god’s sake don’t dress it up. Be practical. The guy wants something from the girl and so does she. Am I right?” His eyes locked her in.