A Bollywood Affair (26 page)

No. She would not hold Naani responsible for what he had done.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peston. I’ll talk to my grandmother. Ignore any notices you get from us. I’ll make sure any new case she’s started is withdrawn. I’m sorry for the trouble.” The sooner the connection with the Rathods was severed forever, the better.

“Oh no, no. There’s no legal case. Your grandmother dropped the case. Your grandmother is not involved in this matter.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t get your meaning.”

“I see. I thought you were aware.” His usual confident bluster slipped slightly. “You see, Ms. Malvika . . . Mr. Rathod—Sam—he’s signed over his half of the property to you. The
haveli
is now yours.”

27

W
ithin the span of a month Samir’s life had changed entirely. He no longer needed to use his keys to let himself into his own home. Just the sound of the elevator opening on his floor made someone yank his front door open for him. And it could be any number of people. Today it was Rima.

She glared at him. “It’s nine. Your shooting ended at noon. Where were you?”

“Well, hello to you too. Why are you answering the door? Where’s Lily Auntie? Aren’t you supposed to keep your bottom squarely on the sofa or, even better, the bed?”

“I’m pregnant, not handicapped. My doctor was all right with me travelling to Mumbai and I’d like you brothers to get off my case.” She took his laptop bag from him and handed it to Poppy.

His housekeeper’s granddaughter took the bag and smiled her special shy smile at him. He patted her head and she ran off. He missed her smile. He still remembered bringing her home from the hospital, beaten to a pulp by her father just because she wasn’t like other children. She had lived with her grandmother in Samir’s home ever since. And last month she’d moved to Jamnagar to help Rima.

Rima’s glare softened a little bit. “Go wash your hands. Everyone’s waiting for dinner.”

“Are all pregnant women this bossy or just her?” he asked the seven pairs of eyes he found focused on him when he entered his living room.

“I suggest you don’t piss her off any further until we get some food in her.” Virat walked up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her very pregnant belly.

Insane relief still surged through Samir every time he saw Virat walking around without his cane. His brother looked like he had never so much as tripped on a rock, let alone ejected from a burning plane.

“How’s my niece doing?” Samir asked Rima’s pregnant belly.

“She’ll answer when she decides to take a break from playing football.” Rima’s face melted into its proud mama avatar. She pressed Virat’s hand against her belly.

Her stomach undulated under their clasped hands and a gasp of wonder escaped Samir. No matter how many times he saw it happen it still took him completely by surprise. “How does she do that?” he asked, feeling every bit like someone who had just experienced a miracle.

Rima took his hand and placed it on her belly.

“See, that’s her foot. She’s like her daddy. She kicks in her sleep.”

Sure enough, Samir felt another kick and the wonder of it made him feel like a four-year-old at a fair. Rima ruffled his hair.

“You were a kicker too,” Sara said from the couch.

“Was he?” Baiji said. “See, Virat didn’t kick but he hiccupped a lot.”

“He hiccups now too, after two large ones.” Virat’s wife patted her husband’s cheek and dragged him to the dining table.

He obligingly demonstrated a drunken hiccup as everyone took their places around the table.

“Back in a minute,” Samir said, and ran up the stairs to wash up. He could still feel the gentle push of the baby’s foot against his fingers. Amazing how there was a real live person in there. Amazing how much he loved someone he had never even met yet.

“Of course you love her, she’s your niece!” Mili would’ve said. And then she’d have followed it up with some silly saying of her
naani
’s
.
A shaft of pain so intense slashed through his chest he could barely breathe.

He hit his face with a cold splash of water but instead of calming him it just made it worse.

A chorus of voices called his name and he squeezed his eyes shut. He loved his family. But he couldn’t go downstairs. He couldn’t spend one moment with anyone but the one person he wanted to spend every moment with. He pressed a towel into his face. The ache in his heart was so strong, his loneliness so overwhelming, his entire body hurt with the force of it. Just one look at her face. He needed just one more moment with her.

It took all his effort to push himself out of the bathroom. He stood at the top of the staircase and clutched the brand-new tensile metal railing, willing himself to be man enough to pull a smile across his face and join his chattering family without imagining a hundred scenarios of how perfectly Mili would fit at that table. How she would take care of everyone. How she would soak up the affection. How she would look at him to make sure he was all right.

And that’s where he was standing, on that top step, talking himself into going down, when the bell rang.

Virat jumped out of his chair and ran to the door before any of the servants made it.

“Is this Samir Rathod’s house?”

Only one person said his name like that.

Samir’s entire numb existence sprang to life with such force it locked him in place.

“Mili?” Sara was the first to react.

“Sara?” Mili flew into the room past Virat and threw herself at Sara. Even in her fierceness she was gentle with Sara, the way only Mili could be.

“Sara, look at you—you are sitting at the dining table. All by yourself.” Her incredible, sweet, husky voice cracked. “It’s so good to see you.”

Sara held Mili’s face in both hands. “How are you, Mili, honey? What are you doing here?”

Sam watched Mili look around the room. Suddenly she seemed to register that she was surrounded by strangers. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She searched the room, skimming face after face and not finding what she was looking for. Finally she lowered her lids for the briefest instant, as if she were bracing herself before she looked up and found him standing motionless on the stairs.

Her eyes melted into intense pools of light, vulnerable and yearning. Everyone else in the room fell away. Samir tried to hold on to that look. But she closed her eyes and shut him out. When she opened them again with what seemed like herculean effort, they were wiped clean of everything but pain.

All her defenses were up again. There wasn’t a hint of that soft burn left. Samir gripped the railing to keep from running to her, to keep from doing something, anything to bring that look back. But the Mili standing in front of him was the Mili he had lost, the one who had turned away from him.

“Are you Samir’s Mili from America?” Trust his brother to say the one wrong thing and to grin like a charmer while saying it. “Hi! I’m Virat. Samir’s brother.” He extended his hand, ever the officer.

If Mili had looked like she was in pain before, now she looked like she would implode with it. Blood drained from her face, leaving it ashen. Samir felt twenty years of longing spill from her as she took Virat’s hand.

“What do you mean
Samir
’s Mili? Samir met someone in America, and you never told me?” Rima stood up and glared at her husband, then turned the accusing glare on Samir.

Baiji pushed her back into the chair. “If you keep jumping up like that, I’m not letting you get out of bed. Now calm down.” Then she turned to the housekeeper. “Lily, bring her bags in.”

Lily patted the silver bun at her nape and rushed to the front door without taking her eyes off Mili and dragged Mili’s old brown bag into the flat.

“Did you bring the bag up by yourself? You should have told the watchman,” Baiji said to Mili, who looked so overwhelmed that Samir’s heart gave another painful twist. “I’m Samir’s mother, by the way.”

Mili leaned over and touched Baiji’s feet and finally found her voice. “
Namaste.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” She joined her palms.

Baiji placed a hand of blessing on her head. “Bless you,
beta.
You’re not intruding. This is Samir’s home. His friends are welcome here anytime.” She threw a questioning glance in his direction, prodding him to move, then looked back at Mili. “We were about to sit down to dinner. Join us.”

Mili looked at the food. Samir held his breath. He would’ve given anything to see her eyes light up at the sight of the table. But her eyes remained passive. If anything she looked nauseated. He forced himself to ease his grip on the railing.

She raised those awfully guarded eyes to him. “Actually, I need to speak with Samir just for a moment.”

All seven people in his household turned simultaneously to stare at him. He still hadn’t moved off that step, hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t been able to do much more than stare at her.

“Usually it takes him ten seconds to come down those stairs. Today, it looks like he might need some help. What, Samir?” Rima, in all her delicacy, added a wink because her meaning wasn’t clear enough without it.

“Anytime now he’ll find his tongue. In the meantime, you come sit. There is so much we want to talk to you about.” Virat pulled out a chair and patted it meaningfully.

Mili looked at the chair, then at the smiling, teasing faces, and her nose reddened. She squeezed it.

Samir wanted to shake his grinning clueless family. “She said she wanted to talk to me. Didn’t you hear her? Why don’t you just leave her alone?”

 

At the sound of his voice Mili folded inward. Her insides cramped into a ball of unbearable pain. The roaring that had started in her ears when she’d seen him standing motionless as a statue at the top of the stairs intensified to a deafening pitch. Everyone sitting around the table gaped at him, shocked, as if he had never used that tone with them before.

Her head started to spin. It had been a long time since she’d eaten. She’d been so sick on the flight, so anxious at the thought of seeing him again, she hadn’t been able to touch food. Now the sight of it made bile rise in her throat. Strength drained in slow motion from her limbs. Dark pinwheels exploded in front of her eyes. She was going to completely humiliate herself and faint five minutes after entering his home. She reached out and gripped the chair his brother had just pulled out for her. Very slowly her legs gave beneath her, then the rest of her followed. The last thing she remembered before everything went black was Samir flying down the stairs.

He had her in his arms before she hit the ground. His heart beat so loud against her ear she thought it was going to explode. Her own heart refused to beat.

“Mili?” Her name on his lips fell like knife stabs on her body.

She tried to open her eyes but everything spun. She clamped her jaw to stop the darkness from swirling around her. She would not throw up on his feet again.

“Call the doctor.” His arms tightened around her. The buzz of his family’s voices swarmed after them like bees as he bounded up the stairs.

“Stay right here,” he snapped and a stunned silence followed. “Don’t you dare follow us up, you hear me?”

The silence didn’t last. Everyone spoke at once. “What is wrong with you?” “Are you crazy?” “She just fainted!”

A door slammed on the voices and he laid her down on cool softness. It was like landing on a cloud. His arms slid off her, the gentleness of his touch gouging out a million memories. Her head still swam, but her dark wobbly insides spun mercifully slower.

“Mili?” His hand rested on her forehead. His voice barely concealed his panic.

She forced her eyes to open and found his face inches from hers. Damp strands framed his golden face. His perfect jaw worked. Despite the shadows beneath his eyes, despite the worry etched across his forehead, he took her breath away. And she hated him for it.

She pushed back, trying to put some distance between them, and realized she was on a bed, propped up on a pile of pillows. It was the most comfortable bed she’d ever been on in her life. It molded willingly to her body, cradled her every angle and curve.

Good Lord, she was in his bed.
Again.
She sat up and skittered away from him. The room took another spin around her head and she gripped the bed to steady it.

With quick steps he backed away and folded his arms across his chest.

She wiped her sweating forehead against the sleeve of the
kurti
she had bought at the airport. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ve never fainted in my life. Oh God, your family must think I’m so stupid.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

She swallowed.

She could not bring herself to meet his eyes. And the thunderous note in his voice didn’t help matters at all. Why couldn’t he do that Mt. Vesuvius thing now? He poured a glass of water out of a glass pitcher, thrust it into her hand, and walked to the door. He opened it only a sliver. “Lily Auntie, I need a plate of food up here—
dal,
roti, and potatoes,” he called. “And Lily Auntie, you will bring it up alone. Just you, no one else.”

He shut the door and stood there without turning around, one fisted hand on the beautifully carved wood, the other on his temples. His white shirt was beyond wrinkled. She had never seen him in wrinkled clothes. Everything he ever wore had always looked brand new and fresh from the store. His jeans hung low on his hips. Her eyes, which had stayed stubbornly dry for months, warmed behind her eyelids. Pain, embarrassment, and every other emotion she had ever felt danced to life in her heart.

He turned around so abruptly she almost dropped the glass.

“You didn’t answer me. When was the last time you ate?” His hand continued to squeeze his temples. “What have you done to yourself? How much weight have you lost? You
fainted.
You can’t—” He ran his hands through his hair. It was overgrown. His face was overgrown with stubble. He looked like an unkempt wolf. A heartbreakingly handsome unkempt wolf with tortured honey-gold eyes. Nothing like the always impeccable Samir she knew.

Suddenly his stormy eyes lit with understanding. “Holy shit! That’s why you’re here. You’re pregnant.”