Take One Arranged Marriage… (4 page)

His hair was still damp from the shower, and the white collar of his T-shirt set off his tanned skin to perfection. Ritu was right—he looked gorgeous. Tara unconsciously clenched her hands. It wasn’t
fair
. She didn’t want to be
attracted to him so strongly. He was just looking at her now, for God’s sake, and it was driving her crazy with longing. The suppressed heat in his eyes was making her imagine all kinds of delicious things.

‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he said finally, his voice low. ‘Don’t look at him now, but even the
pundit’s
checking you out.’

Tara smiled. She couldn’t help it. Vikram was perhaps a little too calm and collected, but he definitely was a help in getting things into perspective.

‘That’s better,’ Vikram said. ‘I feel a little less like an undertaker’s assistant now.’

She laughed at that, and both her parents gave her disapproving looks.

‘Vikram,
kannan
, you can’t get married wearing a T-shirt,’ one of the hovering aunts clicked in exasperation.

In addition to the
veshti
, tradition also dictated a bare-chested dress code for men.

‘It’s cold,’ someone else said chidingly. ‘He can take the T-shirt off once the actual ceremonies begin.’

‘They’re about to begin!’ the first voice chimed in. ‘Vikram …’

‘Yes—OK!’ he said in exasperation, and
stood up, pulling the T-shirt over his head in one fluid movement.

Ohhhh
. He had the best body Tara had ever seen off-screen, and she almost cried out in protest when he slung an
angavastram
carelessly across one shoulder, the white cloth covering up a large part of his near-perfect chest.

‘Drool alert,’ Ritu whispered warningly into her ear.

Tara looked away in a hurry, hoping none of the aunts had noticed her casting lustful looks at her almost-husband. She couldn’t turn off the images in her mind, though—her anticipation for their first night together had just been turned up a notch.

Most of the ceremony passed by in blur—except for her having to perch on Vikram’s knee for the duration of one particularly complex ritual. In her efforts to a) not put her full weight on him, and b) not seem too flustered at having to climb onto his lap in front of a hundred interested onlookers, she almost overbalanced.

He put his hands around her waist, his warm palms touching her bare skin just above the waistband of the sari. ‘Relax, you won’t crush me,’ he said, and pulled her back against him.

Tara sat quietly, doing her best not to
breathe. For the few minutes she stayed on his lap she felt as if they were isolated from the rest of the world. The priest’s chants and the excited conversation among their relatives seemed to be coming from a long, long distance away. All that was real was the feeling of his hands on her waist, and his breath on the nape of her neck. She had a sudden mad urge to turn around and press her lips to his, and she almost shuddered with the effort of keeping still.

Finally the priest beamed around at everyone, pronouncing all the ceremonies done, and the magistrate’s assistant came forward with the marriage register. Tara felt her heart thumping in her chest as she signed it. This was it. She was tied to Vikram for the rest of her life now. She caught her father wiping his eyes furtively and was almost unbearably touched. Her mother, in contrast, for once looked completely in control.

‘So far, so good,’ Vikram murmured out of the corner of his mouth as they posed for photographs with the nth set of beaming relatives. ‘Are you feeling better now? For a minute I thought you’d bolt—you looked petrified.’

‘I didn’t!’ Tara said indignantly. Talk about a mood-killer. ‘It was all that smoke and noise.’

‘Smoke and noise?’ he repeatedly thoughtfully. ‘Hmm …’

His arm slipped round her waist, and he bent and lightly brushed his lips against hers. It was a teasingly casual embrace, but her already heightened senses went haywire at his touch. She instinctively leaned into the kiss, blushing when he drew away and surveyed her with amused eyes.

‘I’m looking forward to tonight,’ he said huskily, almost to himself.

Someone called out to him, but he held her gaze for a few seconds, his jet-black eyes burning into hers before he turned away. Tara could feel her pulse racing. Thankfully no one was near enough to notice her agitation, and she took a couple of deep breaths before she went to stand by Vikram’s side for the next round of photographs.

T
ARA
scowled into the mirror. ‘This blouse was a mistake,’ she said, looking at the fussy red and silver long-sleeved brocade blouse she was supposed to wear for the wedding reception that Vikram’s father was hosting at his swanky club. ‘I shouldn’t have let my mother and the tailors bulldoze me into getting it stitched this way. I look ridiculous.’

‘Tara, it’s too late to do anything. The guests have begun to arrive,’ Ritu protested. ‘Put it on, and we’ll drape the sari in a way so it doesn’t look too bad.’

‘I am
not
about to step out in front of a thousand people dressed like Santa Claus in drag,’ Tara said through her teeth. ‘Can you get me a pair of scissors from somewhere?’

‘Tara …’ Ritu said despairingly.

Tara turned around. ‘I need to look like I
belong with Vikram,’ she said. ‘Not like some schoolroom miss dressed up by her mum.’

Ritu’s face softened. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s do what we can.’

Twenty minutes later Vikram looked up as a slim figure dressed in a sari crossed the club lawns gracefully to come towards him. It took him a few seconds to recognise his wife. Her thick hair was piled into a beehive hairdo that left her long, graceful neck exposed, and her sari was a light-coloured shimmery thing that made her look like a moonbeam. But it wasn’t the sari everyone around him was staring at—it was the blouse.

At first glance it looked as if she wasn’t wearing one at all, as if the only thing covering her breasts was the gauzy material of the sari that crossed from her right hip to flow over her left shoulder. Closer inspection showed that she
was
wearing a blouse—a thin strip of material that barely covered her breasts and was tied in a knot at her back. Most of her back was bare, Vikram noticed as she came to stand beside him. So was most of her waist. The sari was tied very low, and her navel peeped out seductively above the point where the front
pleats were tucked into the waistband of the satin underskirt.

A sharp wave of lust hit Vikram just below his belly as a vivid mental image of slowly pulling the sari off sprang up. He took a quick swig of his drink to regain his composure, and held his hand out to Tara. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, smiling at her warmly.

Tara tucked a hand into the crook of Vikram’s arm. For the second before Vikram had smiled she had been on tenterhooks. Between her efforts and Ritu’s the blouse had ended up a good deal skimpier than she’d intended. It wasn’t indecent, but it definitely didn’t suggest a virginal bride, and she’d been worried that Vikram would disapprove.

Vikram put an arm around her and steered her to the next group of guests. Acutely conscious of the strength cloaked under the silk sleeve of his jacket, she was glad of the arm for another reason—she was beginning to feel very, very cold. It was evening, and around fifteen degrees Celsius, and they were right out in the open. She gave a little involuntary shiver as a gust of cold wind blew across the lawns.

‘Do you want to go inside?’ Vikram asked.

She nodded, hoping her teeth wouldn’t begin to chatter. Indoors would be warmer, and she
desperately wanted to be alone with him—not standing around and socialising with a bunch of their parents’ friends. He was looking good enough to eat. This was the first time she’d seen him in a suit and tie, and he was gorgeous, the perfectly cut suit emphasising the powerful breadth of his shoulders and the white shirt setting off his smoothly tanned skin. His straight black hair flopped over his forehead, and he kept pushing it back impatiently with one hand.

For a moment Tara wondered what the reaction of the assembled guests would be if she leaned across and planted a passionate kiss on his beautiful mouth. Yet another twist to bringing shame on the family if she did. Vikram might end up being the only Indian man in history having to fight off public advances from his newly acquired bride. Sighing, she allowed Vikram to lead her inside the main hall, where a buffet dinner had been laid out.

It
was
warmer inside, but not much, and Vikram frowned as he felt her icy hands. ‘Drink this, it’ll warm you up,’ he said, stopping a passing waiter to grab a bowl of soup.

Tara took it from him gratefully, cupping her slim hands around the bowl to soak in the warmth.

Ritu spotted her and came across. ‘Here—I got you a wrap,’ she said, thrusting a silvery-white hand-embroidered Pashmina shawl into her hand. ‘It’s a wedding gift from one of your aunts,’ she said, when Tara looked up at her enquiringly. ‘I heard her twittering on about how well it would have matched your sari, so I dug it out and unwrapped it.
You
have a matching tie,’ she said, turning to Vikram. ‘I left it in the box. Now, get this girl to cover up before she freezes to death.’

Vikram looked after Ritu as she bustled off. ‘I like your friend,’ he observed, and Tara found herself liking him even more.

Without realising it, she started telling him the story of the mutilated blouse, and he laughed, his black eyes sparkling with amusement. He was still laughing when a tall woman with restless eyes wandered up to them. Tara had spotted her earlier, standing alone by the bar. She was really lovely, in a film actressy kind of way, and she was dressed in an expensive-looking
churidaar kameez
that proclaimed designer-wear from a mile off.

Vikram’s expression changed, becoming almost sombre the second he saw her. ‘Tara, this is Lisa Andrews—a very close friend of ours,’ he said as he stood up to greet her.

The girl leaned across to kiss Tara on the cheek, surprising her so much that she only just managed to stop herself from jerking back. People in Jamshedpur normally shook hands—kissing on the cheek was a western custom that was only slowly coming into vogue in society circles of big cities.

Lisa was smiling, taking her hands into her own. ‘You’re beautiful,’ she said.

Her voice was so genuinely warm that Tara abandoned the thought that she might be an ex-girlfriend.

‘I’m so happy Vikram’s finally married. We were beginning to give up on him.’ She looked up at Vikram and smiled. ‘He’s a wonderful person. You’re a really lucky girl,’ she said, and squeezed Tara’s hands once gently before letting them go. She kissed Vikram next, and hugged him briefly. ‘Congratulations, and I hope you’ll be really, really happy,’ she said.

But there was something in her eyes—a lurking sadness that made Tara feel strangely uncomfortable. Her eyes followed Lisa as she walked away, and she saw Vikram’s mother hurry up to her and put an arm around her. There was something happening here, Tara thought, and she looked up at Vikram. He was looking at the two women, too, and there was
a kind of frozen look on his face that made the question Tara was about to ask die on her lips.

Then another set of people came up, and Vikram turned to greet them—he sounded so normal that Tara began to wonder if she’d been imagining things.

They finally had dinner at eleven o’ clock, after all the guests had left. Then the two of them, plus both sets of parents, were taken to the Krishnans’ bungalow in three different chauffeur-driven cars.

After much discussion on whether their first night should be at a hotel or in the Krishnans’ home, it had finally been decided by the powers that be that Vikram’s parents’ home was the best place for Tara to lose her virginity.

Being escorted there by her own parents was embarrassing beyond belief, and as far as she knew
not
part of tradition, but she hadn’t had the guts to put her foot down. Vikram seemed completely unfazed, she thought, peeking at his face quickly as they entered the house. Maybe the first night wasn’t quite such a big thing for him—again she told herself he’d probably slept with dozens of women. Of course he hadn’t married any of them, but he’d still find
her
totally inexperienced in comparison.

A maid showed Tara to the room she’d be sharing with Vikram. It was lovely, and someone had strewn the bed with rose-petals. Tara repressed a grimace, looking at it. It so obviously screamed out
wedding night bed
. Her cases were already in the room, ready to be carried to the station the next day, and once the maid had left she quickly changed into a demure but alluring white satin nightgown, with narrow pink shoulder-straps and pale pink rosebuds embroidered over the bodice.

After the episode with the sari earlier in the evening she thought it better to be conservative with her night clothes, at least in the beginning. The nightgown had a matching robe, and she slipped it on—in spite of the heater in the room it was still a little chilly—then she carefully brushed the rose petals off one side of the bed and sat herself down to wait.

Her anticipation had built up to fever-pitch by the time Vikram entered the room, and her uncertainties were beginning to build as well. She had no idea what he expected of her. He must know how inexperienced she was, and he might be put off if she acted too eager. On the other hand he didn’t seem the kind of man who’d appreciate a shy and blushing bride, and
in any case she wasn’t sure she could manage pretending to be one.

God, this was crazy. The simplest thing would be to
ask
the man, admit openly that ever since she’d clapped eyes on him she’d been lusting after his body. She didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Asking him would probably violate about a dozen traditions, and might even reflect badly on the way she’d been brought up. A little too late she wished she’d allowed her mother to give her the first night talk. It might have included some useful tips on etiquette.

Tara peeked up at Vikram. He looked devastatingly handsome, but entirely too large and intimidating. She put the last lingering thought of asking him anything firmly out of her mind. He was still wearing the suit he had worn to the reception, and he shrugged the jacket off to cast it negligently over a chair. Tara’s eyes involuntarily went to the neck of his white silk shirt as he took off his tie and loosened the top two buttons.

‘Tired?’ he asked as he sat down in an elaborately carved armchair next to the bed.

Tara shook her head, studiously looking down at her nails. He leaned back in the chair, lazily surveying her through hooded eyes. Tara
was beginning to feel a bit like an exhibit in a zoo.

He held an arm out and said, ‘Come here.’

His voice held a caressing note that was unfamiliar and almost impossible to resist. Tara got off the bed and went to him, and he drew her onto his knee, pulling her back so that her head rested comfortably under his chin. Her hair was still done up in its elaborate bun, and he started drawing the pins out gently, one by one, so that her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, his voice a little huskier than normal.

His hands were gentle, caressing her face and then her upper arms as he bent to kiss her lips gently. The sensation was as exquisite as it had been the first time he kissed her, but Tara found it difficult to respond, jerking away involuntarily when his hands wandered a little lower. He took his hands away immediately, putting his arms around her instead so that he held her close. She could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, and she found the sound oddly reassuring.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, and then he tipped up her face and kissed her again, his lips more demanding this time, his
body pressed up very close to hers. Tara gave herself completely to the sensation, shuddering with pleasure as he slid the straps of her nightdress off her shoulders to press hot kisses over her throat and breasts. His hands were stroking over her waist and hips, and with an incoherent little sound Tara began to return his kisses, clumsily undoing the buttons of his shirt to tug the material away and expose a broad expanse of tanned, hair-roughened chest.

The problem was she didn’t really know what to do next. He was moving too fast for her. Her nightdress was already pooled around her waist, and as he moved her in his arms to slip it off completely she whimpered in protest.

Vikram drew away again, and she quickly tugged up the straps of the nightdress, not daring to look him in the face. She was trembling now, partly in reaction and partly in embarrassment.

Vikram’s hands came up to frame her face. ‘Nervous?’ he asked softly.

She nodded. Even her hands were shaking now. Quite naturally Vikram assumed she was scared.

‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to be tonight,’ he said gently. ‘Lie down and get some sleep if you want. I’ll move to the sofa.’

‘There’s a lot’s of space in the bed,’ she ventured, wondering how to make it clear that, nervous or not, she was quite ready for some action.

Vikram smiled wryly. ‘I think that would be a little too much for my self-control,’ he said, leaning across and snapping the light off.

Tara stayed awake, staring quietly at the ceiling. This was a bit of an anti-climax. She
had
been nervous—still was—but she hadn’t expected him to back off quite so readily. A little bit of attempted seduction would have been more than fine by her. New worries began to assail her. Didn’t he find her attractive enough? Had she ruined everything by acting gauche and immature?

Being married was turning out to be a lot more complicated than she’d thought, and she pulled herself together with an effort. ‘Vikram?’ she said in a small voice, wondering how to get him back into bed without coming across like a nymphomaniac.

‘Mmm?’ he replied.

She suppressed a little flurry of annoyance. He could have at least said yes at least instead of grunting at her. Then again, he was probably half asleep.

‘Um, can I change my mind?’