The Bollywood Bride (16 page)

The man turned back to him, even more confused.

Ria flashed Vikram a glare. “Actually, they both need something. We are looking for something understated. Cream or beige with
zardozi
work, preferably antique, would be perfect.”

The salesman’s eyes widened with awe. He looked like he was going to fall at Ria’s feet and kiss her shoes. She ran her fingers over some ornate cream
sherwanis.
“Something like this.”

His eyes bulged with reverence and Ria withdrew her fingers self-consciously.

Vikram stepped between them and cleared his throat.

The man started and scampered away from Vikram. “No, no.” He waved away the shelf Ria was looking at. “Forget about these. I have the perfect thing for you. A new shipment just came in. We haven’t even put it out on the floor yet. Let me get it out for you.” He started to rush off, then turned back. “Feel free to look at anything. Think of this as your own store. Can I get you something to drink? Anything. Some cold drink? Chai? Coffee?”

“A glass of water would be nice,” Ria said quickly before Vikram or Nikhil could respond.

“Only water? We have Vitamin Water also. And Smart Water. I can order mango
lassi.
” He took a step closer to Ria. “Anything you want.”

“We want the
sherwanis.
” Vikram cut him off with a scowl that made him take several hurried steps away from Ria.

“Yes, yes, of course, sir. Let me get that for you, sir.” He rushed off.

Before Ria could say anything, Vikram turned away and started glaring at the shelves again. His bad mood was back in full force, and Ria tried to temper her own irritation, and turned to Nikhil. He looked a little pale. “You’re going to look great, baby. You wear
kurtas,
don’t you?
Sherwanis
are just fancy
kurtas
.” She hadn’t used that tone on him since his whiny brat phase.

“You’re right.” Nikhil squared his shoulders. “But no maroon.” And then quickly added, “No burgundy either.”

“Got it. Nothing remotely red. Let’s see, Jen’s wearing jade—I mean green—so we need something that complements that. ”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Since reds are out, creams are our best option. This steel gray is really nice. But it won’t go with green. Plus, it doesn’t have enough work on it.”

Vikram turned to her as though she had said magic words. He took the gray
sherwani
from her hand. “You’re right, this one isn’t half bad.”

Nikhil stared at it longingly. “Why can’t I have that one?”

“Because you’re the groom and you need to look like a peacock to attract your mate.” Vikram held up the
sherwani
and studied it through narrowed eyes, chewing his lower lip in concentration. The silver-flecked gray silk was the exact color of his eyes when they got intense.

Ria’s hand tightened on the silk-draped hanger she was holding. The thought of him in a
sherwani,
the silk hugging his shoulders and falling down his body, made her lightheaded. Even that black golf shirt and the faded jeans he was sporting today looked like they had been tailored for him. The shoulders exactly wide, the waist exactly narrow. The muscles of his thighs pushing into the well-worn denim of his jeans. She swallowed.

“Why don’t you try it on?” She tried to keep her voice light.

Apparently not light enough. His eyes darkened to a deep hungry gray and everything she was feeling stared right back at her.

The hanger she was clutching slipped off the rod and collapsed in a heap on the floor. By the time she retrieved it Vikram was gone.

She helped Nikhil pick out a couple pieces and sent him off to try them on just as the salesman hurried in with a clothes cart filled with such garishly embellished
sherwanis
she was glad Nikhil and Vikram weren’t around to see them. The salesperson unhooked two and held them up. One was covered in golden netting and the other one was studded with crystals and pearls. “This is completely exclusive stuff, Ms. Parkar. All the grooms in Mumbai and Delhi are wearing these. Only at the most upscale . . .”

Vikram emerged from the fitting room behind him. The raw silk stretched taut across his shoulders and hugged every plane in his chest. The soft gloss of the fabric picked up the light like the ocean on a moonlit night. His entire body glowed.

The deep gray intensified the gray of his eyes, the way she’d known it would. His disheveled hair fell in spikes across his forehead. She wanted to brush it back, to feel the thick dark locks. He ran slightly unsteady fingers through his hair without taking his eyes off her. A deep, self-conscious breath shuddered out of her. He took a step closer.

The embellished high collar was twisted around his neck. She reached out and unfolded it. His muscles clenched and hardened beneath her fingers. Sparks shot from her fingers to the very center of her belly.

“Ma’am?” The salesman looked at her, his eyes wide with anticipation. He seemed to be waiting for an answer. Ria stared at him blankly. “So, what do you think?” he asked.

She withdrew her hand and pressed it into her stomach. Evidently, she wasn’t thinking at all. “I . . . well.”

“Isn’t it a good idea?”

“Sure.” She had no idea what she had just agreed to.

Vikram’s eyes stayed glued on her. His gaze burned her skin, moisture gathered at the backs of her knees, in the dents at the base of her spine. She took a step back.

“Oh my God! Aren’t you Ritu, from
Ritu and Raj
?” A girl ran up to her. She must’ve been about thirteen. Her mother followed behind her. They looked at once elated and embarrassed. “Can we have a picture, please? We love you.”

Ria brought out the smile, thanked them, and posed mechanically, all the while aware of Vikram’s eyes on her. By the time they were gone, he had slipped back behind a mask. He was angry again and she didn’t know why. Or maybe she did, but there was nothing she could do about it.

The salesman pointed to Vikram. “So, Ms. Parkar, very nice, no? It fits Sir like it was made for him. Even around shoulders and hips. No need to alter, even. I told you we have the best fits in North America. What do you think?”

Vikram’s eyes bored into her.

“Ma’am?”

“She likes it.” Vikram’s voice was a growl.

The man beamed. “She’s right, it’s per—”

“Unfortunately, I don’t,” he said so sharply, she drew back.

“I am sorry about that, sir. Why don’t we try one of these?” The man raised the hangers he was holding, looking hopefully at Vikram.

Vikram’s voice gentled a notch. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think these clothes are for me. I think I’ll stick to a suit.”

“Like hell you will.” Nikhil stepped out of the fitting room in the cream-and-bronze
sherwani.

Vikram pressed his fingers to his temples. “Come on, dude, look at me. Don’t make me do this.”

Nikhil picked up a turban and placed it on his own head. Then he pointed at himself with both hands. “Don’t make you do this? Look at me.”

Vikram looked unmoved. Nikhil glared at him. “Listen, Vic, Jen wants the family to dress Indian and that’s what she’s getting. You’re family, remember?”

“Come on! Don’t pull that shit on me,” Vikram said.

The salesman looked from one to the other, utter confusion on his face.

Enough was enough. Ria stepped between Vikram and Nikhil. “Are you guys for real?” she snapped, one hand on her hip. “What the hell is wrong with you, Nikhil? This is your wedding. Your
wedding!
And this is your heritage. Jen’s not even Indian and she gets it. And here you are. Standing there looking like veritable princes and acting like clowns. Acting like this is some sort of awful punishment. You know what—you should wear suits. Hell, wear jeans, for all I care. I am not standing here and doing this with you for one more minute.”

She turned to the salesman. His mouth was hanging open again. Every other customer in the store was staring. When had the store become so crowded? A man in a yellow shirt held up a cell phone. He had probably recorded her entire meltdown.
Bloody hell!

The man quickly lowered the phone and ran toward the exit, but Vikram pounced on him and snatched the phone out of his hand.

“Give that back.” The man scrambled to his feet and lunged for Vikram. This time Nikhil pounced on him and held him back while the salesman danced around making squealing sounds.

Vikram furiously jabbed buttons on the phone. “What is wrong with you, man? Can’t you respect a person’s privacy?” Once he’d deleted the video, he threw the phone at the guy, who grabbed it and pried himself out of Nikhil’s hold.

“If your fucking girlfriend is so precious, bastard, why don’t you keep her at home instead of letting her shake her booty at us like a whore?”

Vikram lunged at him again, but he ran to the door, picking up one of the small elephants from a pedestal and flinging it at Vikram as he went. Screams rose from the crowd; people ran helter-skelter. The wooden elephant hit Vikram’s temple and thudded to the floor, leaving a gash that started to bleed. The man pushed past the crowd and ran full tilt out the door.

Ria flew at Vikram, pulled off her scarf, and pressed it against his temple. Her hands shook, all of her shook, he was shaking too.

He recovered first. “Shh, Ria, it’s okay.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and steadied her hand against his forehead. “Sweetheart, I’m fine. Breathe. It’s fine.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She took a breath, but the shaking only got worse.

“Let me take a look,” Nikhil said, but Vikram tightened his grip around Ria.

“Nic, seriously, I’m fine. Bring the car to the service entrance in the back. I’ll bring her out in five minutes.” His voice was calm. So calm. The steady thud of his heartbeat wrapped itself around her. She focused on it and increased the pressure on his wound. Warm wetness tinged the scarf in her hand, and panic tore through her.

The salesman brought her a first-aid kit. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Parkar, nothing like this has ever happened at Komal. Never,” he said sincerely, but Ria couldn’t respond.

“We’re buying these.” Vikram pointed to the
sherwani
he was still wearing and extracted a credit card from his wallet with one hand. His other hand was an unbreakable circle around Ria’s waist.

“Yes. Yes. Of course, sir.” The salesman took the credit card from Vikram and scampered away.

“But you didn’t like it,” Ria whispered into Vikram’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of him as if it would set the world straight.

For a second he looked like he had no idea what she was talking about, and then he smiled down at her. “It’s fine. If you reacted like that, I can only imagine what Uma would do to us if we went home empty-handed. And you can stop pressing that thing into my head now. I think it’s stopped bleeding.”

Very gingerly Ria lifted the scarf away from his head. “It’s called a scarf,” she said, and studied the gash. The bleeding had slowed, but it looked angry and swollen and painful.

His fingers touched her chin. The gentlest, softest touch. “Please don’t cry. I can’t even feel it.”

She closed her eyes.

“Why is there a crowd outside?” Ria’s eyes flew open at the sound of Mira’s voice. She lurched away from Vikram.

Mira stood there gaping at them.

Vikram let Ria pull away from him, but he kept a hand under her elbow. “Someone tried to take a video of Ria and run out of here with it.”

Mira pushed a hand into her mouth. “Oh no.”

Ria pulled her arm away. “Vikram caught him. But he hurt himself.” She pointed at his wound. Mira’s eyes widened to saucers.

Ria opened the first-aid kit and held out gauze and tape. Mira pushed it back at her. “No. You do it.” Her voice was so sad, Ria’s heart twisted.

She pushed it back at Mira. “No. You do it.”

Vikram snatched the gauze from Ria’s hand and pressed it into his temple. “I can do it myself.” It must have hurt, but he was so angry he didn’t even wince.

Ria tore a piece of tape and pressed it over the gauze. Vikram refused to look at her. Which was a good thing, because she didn’t want him to see the shame she was feeling. Her fingers trembled against the warmth of his skin. He steadied her hand with his.

She pulled her hand away again, but this time he didn’t let go as easily.

“Mira, can you take him to the hospital?”

“I don’t need a hospital. I need to get you home.” By the set of his jaw, Ria knew he would be immovable.

She tried anyway. “I’m fine. I’ll wait for Nikhil, you go with Mira.”

“Nikhil should already be in the back. And you’re not fine, you haven’t stopped shaking.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the store. “I’ll be back in a minute, don’t leave,” he told Mira.

The service parking lot was empty except for Uma’s van. Vikram’s hand was a vise around hers as they walked to it, and it made her feel too safe to struggle out of his hold. His palm splayed against the small of her back as she climbed into the car and lingered on her waist before he withdrew it. The contact between them tore like a Band-Aid ripping off sore skin, one cell, one pore, at a time. She sagged against the seat, Vikram looming over her.

“Go, Vikram, please. I’m fine.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t move. Neither one of them was fine. Neither had been fine for a long time. She was a bloody liar.

“There she is!” Someone shouted from a distance. A mob turned the corner and rushed into the isolated parking lot.

Vikram stepped back and slammed the car door shut. “You got her?” he asked Nikhil.

“Aren’t you coming?” Nikhil said.

“Mira’s in there. There’s something I need to talk to her about.” Vikram touched Ria’s hand as it clutched the door. She wanted to draw it away, but she couldn’t make herself.