You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction (19 page)

Family formed ties that were very hard to break. Lines that were carved in stone. She couldn’t let him break those. Ultimately he would hate her for it.

‘I can’t, Rihaan. I’m tempted—yes, I won’t deny that—but I can’t. Just… don’t ask me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was cold, falling on her ears like ice chips. ‘I said too much. Forget it. All of it.’ He flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture.

In that minute distance began to form between them. She could see it, a chasm that was a crack, growing with each second that ticked by, and crazily she wanted it to stop increasing.

‘You asked me so I won’t leave without telling you. But I have to go. Just have my flight arrangements seen to, please.’

‘Of course. Anything you want.’

Be happy.

The words came to her lips but, try as she would, she couldn’t say them. For herself it wasn’t possible to be happy. For him she was doing what she could. Promising
him something he would later realise was the biggest favour she could have done for him.
I won’t come between you and your family.

If that ensured his happiness… Well, it had better. Surely she couldn’t do more.

One year later, Mumbai

S
AIRA TOOK A
deep breath as the last model stepped onto the ramp. The best dress had been kept for last. A wedding creation. Saira had painstakingly worked at the brilliant orange
bandini
long skirt which tapered till the knees then flared, the hem adorned with crystals. The gold bodice with ivory beads also was a throwback to her Rajasthani inspiration for the collection. Claps resounded and she breathed a sigh of relief. They liked it!

It had been long, hard months of work, but she’d finally done it.

She couldn’t quite believe the number of notables gracing the occasion. A high profile fashion editor, photographers, the lucrative media presence so essential for a designer’s debut. In the fashion world her mentor was spoken of with reverence and he had himself taken pains on her behalf to snag the limelight. Her brother-in-law had pitched in with sponsorship.

The support she had received had overwhelmed her. Friends, and even friends of friends, who were in Mumbai had turned up. New media acquaintances, even her mentor’s fans. Her papa had put through a good luck phone call earlier in the day, obviously at her mom’s insistence but even this much thaw was enough to open her heart and,
by the time she put down the phone, they had been ragging each other almost like old times. Vishakha, seated in the front row with her baby girl sleeping in her lap and a glow on her smiling face, was another cheering presence.

The last but one model returned in the asymmetrical orange-on-white tie and dye peplum teamed with a black corset. Her heart filled with pride. The major share of the proceeds would go to her sister’s charity project. Vishakha had a stake in opening a centre at Mumbai for the treatment of behavioural disorders in neglected children. A glow filled Saira to think she would be contributing to it. Doing something to make a change. Being someone.

Yes. She had arrived.

Yet this was no separate demarcating moment. Months of work and hours of sleepless nights had got her here. A long process had been set in motion and she seemed to be swept along in the flurry. This was a moment to step back and bask in the achievement. A breather, yes. But she knew so many projects demanded her attention that she couldn’t just say this was it. Time was short—too short to just stop and savour the moment.

No time even to think of what she had left behind.

She took a deep breath. That was a lie. Somehow her stupid heart did find time for that. She forced herself not to think of
him
, tried to concentrate on the rush creativity always brought her.

Even at the beginning of the show her mind had flown forward to her new project. A collection she had privately titled
Amore Impossibile
… Italian for ‘Impossible Love’.

She knew what had inspired it. The highs and lows of all she felt for Rihaan were reflected in the colours that broke through the walls of her mind and spilled into her pencil and computer drawings. Deep purples and black of unrequited passion. Overlaid by bright yellow of the lightness
he had brought out in her. The orange of the challenges she used to throw at him.

The models were going for the final walk. Saira nodded to her assistant and stepped forward. It was time for her to take a bow.

She walked down the catwalk and accepted the bouquet, her smile widening as she blinked away an emotional tear. If one went by the audience response, it had been a success. She was lucky to have an enthusiastic audience. Almost half the spectators were out of their seats and their clapping filled the hall. Her stomach clenched in excitement. Bowing in acknowledgment and sending out flying kisses for their encouragement, she couldn’t be happier. Only one regret dampened it. She wanted… oh… Rihaan’s arms to return to. Oh damn, she had admitted it now. She wanted his smile to share it all with her. Sherry eyes glinting with admiration, darkening in passion…

The sponsors had been kind enough to stage a dinner. Music filled the banquet hall and even a dance floor had been set up.

The post-show excitement, the press interviews and receiving multiple congratulatory wishes, along with the incessant hard work of the days before had taken its toll. She felt beyond weary. Somehow the regret she’d felt earlier seemed to grow to a smothering blanket of despair. Why had she left him? Life had given her gold and she had mistaken the blaze for flame. The fear of being singed had made her withdraw. She had been too afraid to risk loving him. Too afraid of getting hurt.

She sipped her wine and wondered how quickly she would be able to decently slip away.

A momentary surge of defiance filled her. No, she wasn’t going to go all dull and moping now. Determinedly she stepped forward to the dance floor and her assistant
made room for her. Such a crush. No one knew who was dancing with whom anyway. She began to sway with the music.

A hand tapped her shoulder. ‘May I have this dance?’

Blood drained from her face, her body clenching in instinctive fear. But nothing could stop the slow deep thump of her heart as she turned to face him.

The familiar yet not so familiar face. He had cultivated a shadowy-jawed look. Sherry eyes beguiled her as though she had stepped back in time.

But the strained look about his eyes hurt her. Was she imagining it?

He hadn’t married Nadira. She hadn’t been conscious she had been holding so tightly onto the fear that he had. But she knew the moment she looked at him it was true. She would have seen it. However inscrutable the dark gaze was, she fancied he couldn’t hide it from her if he had become someone else’s.

Fancied, she told herself. She did not know for sure. Of course there had been no announcement, but who knew? She might have missed it.

As though she didn’t feed the Internet search engines his name almost every other day.

But he was so press allergic. Still was, even after his secret was out. The media had practically leered over the revelation of Bollywood’s star scriptwriter’s hush-hush former life. However, he had borne it with typical snootiness and drawling comments.

Since then she had heard practically nothing about him till his book came out. The book that had started as the script he had showed her.

‘Rihaan.’ She had to say his name to convince herself of the reality of him.

‘Dance?’ he prodded. Eyelids dropped a fraction, making
his gaze suddenly sexy. ‘Or are you afraid of loosening up with me?’

The words sent a thrill through her as she recognised them. Challenge her with her own words, would he? ‘Let’s dance!’ She stepped close and his arms came around her as she began to move confidently.

Mistake. She hadn’t reckoned on the flood of feelings the mere brush of those arms would release in her body. The mere closeness of that hard muscled body somehow evoked all the locked up memory of that night in the palace. His naked body. His touch. His possession. She looked up in the wine-dark eyes to find out what he felt.

And sucked in her breath. Movement stopped as passion exploded on every nerve, holding her in thrall. The sudden impulse to go away with him, taste that forbidden pleasure again rose insidiously. One sip more before she could let go.

Could
she let go of it? A year and a total absence of him hadn’t decreased it.

Rather, it had increased its intensity. Added a poignant pain that made it all the more desperate.

Yet unending miles lay between them. How could she cross them?

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he growled in her ear.

She shook her head to clear it. ‘Rihaan, this makes no sense. Why did you come? Where were you, anyway? I didn’t see you.’

‘At the standing row in the back. I wasn’t going to miss your first moment of acclaim. I intended to remain on the sidelines and cheer you on. But once I saw you…’ he shrugged helplessly ‘…what can I say? I couldn’t stay away. I’m self-damaging, I guess.’

‘You shouldn’t say things like that,’ she whispered.

‘Why not?’ he asked with sudden roughness in his voice.
‘You taught me not to hold back.’ His arm slid around her waist. ‘You’re going to come with me. I mean it.’

The gleam of aggression in his eyes thrilled her. But her heart had a rent in it. A fear she could not bridge.

He propelled her outside. Flagged a cab.

‘You’re kidnapping me!’ she gasped as he bundled her in.

‘Not every girl gets to be so lucky. Enjoy it.’ He leaned back, reassuringly patting the driver, who glanced back, alarmed at her words. ‘Chill,
yaar
, don’t worry.’

‘He’s royalty,’ she told the man, sudden crazy laughter bubbling up in her chest. ‘Oh, yes. Don’t you believe me?’

‘He’s going to charge me double for your lunacy.’ Rihaan pretended to groan. He addressed the cabbie. ‘Hey, don’t pay any attention to her. She goes in for drink binges. At least she did till I reformed her.’

‘Why, you—’ she gasped.

‘Achha mazaak hai, saab. Enjoy karo khoob enjoy karo.
Great joke, sir!’ The man grinned widely, as Saira pummelled Rihaan.

‘You too, my friend.’ Rihaan turned to Saira and caught her wrists. ‘Hey, back off. Know what? I’m kidnapping myself too. My car is still there in the parking lot. I couldn’t even wait enough to get it out. You made me act like a crazy teen.’

His impatience sparked a thrill she tried hard to get rid of. ‘For all I know, you’re married and having a kid,’ she accused.

‘For all I know, you could be a grandma.’

Okay. She got the point. She was being silly.

‘Why didn’t you marry her, Rihaan?’

‘I thought your obvious question quota had finished?’

‘Oh, come on. What happened?’

‘I refused the ascendency, as any sane man in my place would have.’

‘You didn’t! But Rihaan…’

‘I told Maharaj I wasn’t fitted for the job as the woman I really wanted to marry would never fulfil his conditions.’ Saira felt her breath catch at the claim. He sensed her tension and said, ‘Yes, I know how you felt about marrying me. But I was entitled to my feelings, wasn’t I? Anyway, to get back to the events, when I did refuse to even become the crown prince, the question arose whether he had promised to get the Yuvraj married to Nadira or just me specifically. The Maharaj decided the Purohit would advise about that. Since I was no longer the crown prince, the Maharaj didn’t want Nadira to go ahead with the engagement, in case she’d feel cheated out of being the Maharani. Anyway, I told him he would have to excuse me on that score. His word had already been broken once when I was sent away and, in the light of all that had passed, he agreed to release me from the binding of it.’

‘So he didn’t banish you again?’

‘No. He seems to have got tired of that.’ He grinned. ‘I’m welcome to be at the palace any time. In fact, he practically insisted I should live there. I have my own wing, as princes are entitled to a cosy one of their own. I still have the title. But I’ve chosen to come back to Mumbai. I enjoy my work here and giving it up wasn’t an option after all.’

It hadn’t been, Rihaan reflected. For all his duty-bound nature, he had finally realised that and been glad to make the decision. His ties to the land would always remain an integral part of him but, the life he had made for himself, it was him now, too much him to let go of it.

Just like she was part of that life. Not just a part of it but as much him as his beating heart was. Having his proposal knocked down had made him cold and angry. His heart had been ripped to bits but that pain had made him finally admit what he had been refusing to. That he loved her. In every sense of the word.

Yes, this was love. This ache, this eagerness, this mixture of pain and pleasure filling his senses, exploding the impatience to be with her in his gut.

However, she had refused him once and it had taken a long time for him to gather courage. Even Vishakha
bhabhisa
’s report that she knew of no one in Saira’s life—though encouraging—hadn’t broken through his pride. Handling rejection wasn’t something he did well.

But just looking at her tonight at the fashion show had crashed through any and all barriers he’d put up. The urgency to just be with her had smashed away all his false pretensions.

He turned to look at her, saying softly, ‘You know, of course, why I couldn’t stay away? Why I did all this?’

‘Not…’ she swallowed ‘…I hope because of me.’ Some strange emotion engulfed her. He was here and she didn’t want him even an inch away. She didn’t want him here either. The danger he represented was too, too lethal. What a riot of feelings! She was melting at his words. But regret squeezed her heart. And a deep, deep fear that she couldn’t trace to its roots, yet couldn’t get out of her mind.

If she was hoping to ward him off she failed. ‘Because I love you.’ Somehow he’d got hold of her hands. He looked straight into her eyes as his gaze burned with conviction.

‘Gosh, no!’ Her hands went limp in his.

‘Saira?’ He tipped up her chin. ‘Damn it, don’t tell me you don’t return at least a part of that feeling.’

She was silent, not daring to trust the intense emotion rising inside. It threatened to choke her but she hung on, suppressing it. ‘Rihaan, we can’t be.’

‘Why?’

‘Because…’ She had no answer she could articulate. With wide eyes, she just looked at him. He stared back.

He might have wanted to dump her then and there. ‘It
doesn’t matter, Saira,’ he said and stopped the cab. Her heart sank, a peculiar pain clenching in her chest.

‘Just let’s walk.’ So he didn’t intend to simply plonk her on the street and leave her there?

He paid off the cabbie who, she saw, had dropped them at the beach. They strolled along to the water’s edge. The tumult tensing her insides faded a little. Slowly she inhaled the sea breeze and took out the clip holding her hair to shake it out free. A lone
bhelpuri
stall, a late night shifter, stood some distance away with a small glow of a bulb.

Impulsively, she kicked off her shoes and began to walk in the sand. He did the same, rolling up his trousers. What a sight they must be, she thought. Formal clothes tucked up for frolicking on the beach. The sand slipped between bare toes. Water lapped her feet. They stood there, letting the wind blow through their hair as though nothing mattered. Maybe things didn’t need to matter so much.