The One She Was Warned About (9 page)

Shweta looked at him uncertainly. She didn’t recognise him in this mood, and she wasn’t sure what was bothering him—he couldn’t actually
want
her to tell her father that she was sleeping with him. That made about as much sense as sticking one’s head into a beehive full of angry bees. Her father might have become a little less control-freaky as he grew older, but he was still rigidly conventional—he’d probably come after Nikhil with a hypodermic full of strychnine if he thought his precious daughter was being messed around with.

The thought that Nikhil might be feeling insecure crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. There was no reason for him to be insecure. She’d dropped into his arms like a plum ripe for picking. If anything, she should be the one getting clingy and emotional.

‘I haven’t
had
a sex-life before now,’ she pointed out. ‘So, if we’re getting all technical about it, I’m just part of yours, aren’t I?’

He didn’t say anything, but his expression lightened a little. She sprang to her feet. ‘Don’t let’s fight,’ she coaxed, going over to him and putting a hand on his crossed forearms. ‘I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have.’

Nikhil looked into her upturned face and his expression relaxed as he bent down to drop a kiss on her parted lips. ‘It wasn’t anything you said,’ he assured her. ‘Put it down to me being a little cranky.’

Shweta frowned. ‘Must be the food,’ she said. ‘It can’t be the sex making you cranky. Or does it usually take you that way?’

Nikhil laughed and swept her into his arms. ‘It most definitely doesn’t.’ His voice softened as he gazed into her eyes. ‘You’re pretty special, Shweta Mathur, do you know that?’

SEVEN

‘Why don’t you
move in with me?’ Nikhil asked.

They were back in Mumbai and had been spending practically every free minute together for the last three weeks. Nikhil had never been happier. There was something about Shweta that centred him—it was as if she brought peace to his restless soul. He had been toying with the idea of asking her to marry him ever since they’d first kissed, and he’d made up his mind a few days back. An engagement first—perhaps a long one, to allow both of them enough time to get used to the idea of spending the rest of their lives together. Asking her to move in with him was the first step.

‘Live with you?’ Shweta wrinkled up her nose. ‘Isn’t that a little unconventional? We’re in Mumbai, not Manhattan.’

In the last few weeks she’d figured that Nikhil was a lot more serious about her than his sometimes casual attitude suggested. On the other hand, there was his rather colourful past, and her own pathological aversion to taking risks—taking things slowly seemed to be the only sensible thing to do.

‘I know we’re in Mumbai.’ Nikhil pretended to be offended. ‘I might not have topped the class in geography, but the little fact that I live in Mumbai hadn’t escaped me... Ouch—don’t. You’ve grown into a terribly violent little thing, Shweta.’

Shweta gave him a last punch in the arm for good measure. ‘Some men deserve to be treated violently,’ she said, though she reached up and dropped a light kiss on his forehead, right where her unerring aim with the blackboard duster had left a scar many years ago. ‘You’d get terribly out of hand if I didn’t keep a strict watch on you.’

‘Yeah right,’ Nikhil said. ‘So, how about it? It’s not all that uncommon in Mumbai nowadays—lots of people live together.’

‘I must say that’s the most romantic proposal I’ve ever received,’ Shweta said. ‘Actually, “So, how about it?” is probably the most romantic proposal
anyone’s
ever received. It should go down in the
Guinness Book of World Records
as an example for generations to come....’

Nikhil grinned at her. ‘You’d have run a mile if I’d gone down on one knee,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got you a ring.’

In the short time they’d been together he’d figured that, while she was a romantic at heart, Shweta was deeply uncomfortable with romantic gestures—somehow she didn’t seem to think she was worth them. And proposing to her was important. He wanted to make sure he did in a way that made it impossible for her to refuse just because she was embarrassed.

‘Let’s see the ring,’ Shweta demanded, but inside her heart was pounding away at triple speed. A ring meant an engagement, and she’d never allowed herself to hope that Nikhil would go that far. He’d had dozens of girlfriends, after all—some of them well-known models and actresses. There was no reason to imagine that he was serious about her.

Nikhil took the ring out of his pocket and showed it to her. It was a square-cut champagne diamond, flanked with smaller stones in a pale-gold setting. She’d told him once that she didn’t like traditional solitaires, and he’d gone out of his way to find something that was unusual yet classic in design.

Shweta looked at it for a few seconds. Misunderstanding her silence, he said, ‘If you don’t like it I can exchange it for something else.’

‘No, it’s lovely,’ she said, and then she looked up at him and asked. ‘Are you sure about this, Nikhil?’

‘I’m sure,’ he said. Then, more gently, he added, ‘But I understand if you need some time to think things over. There’s no hurry.’

He didn’t seem too fussed about the whole thing, and Shweta felt her hackles rise. There was a little pause. ‘Why do you want to get engaged?’ Shweta asked finally.

Nikhil looked surprised. ‘Why do I...? Because I care about you! Why else?’

Why else indeed. It struck Shweta that Nikhil was taking a lot for granted. She couldn’t blame him—she wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was probably very evident that she was in love with him. On the other hand, she didn’t know how
he
really felt.

She bit her lip. ‘I care too,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’m not comfortable with the thought of moving in with you. I know it’s hypocritical, when we’re sleeping together, but I’m a little conservative that way.’

Nikhil nodded. ‘Are you OK with an engagement, though?’ he asked, and his lips thinned as the pause lengthened.

‘Maybe not just yet,’ she said. She wasn’t sure herself what was holding her back—a few minutes ago she’d been thrilled at the thought of being engaged to Nikhil. But dimly she felt that if she said yes now both of them would be entering into an engagement for the wrong reasons. One part of her said that she was making a stupid mistake, while the other part desperately wanted to get away and think.

‘Right...’ Nikhil said.

His voice was controlled, rather lifeless, and Shweta had a sudden twinge of doubt. Maybe he wasn’t as blasé about the whole thing as he seemed. She watched him as he closed the ring box and put it on the table, but his face was impassive.

‘I’m sorry, Nikhil,’ she said helplessly.

‘Is there something in particular that’s bothering you, or...?’

Shweta shook her head. ‘I just feel that we should take some time and think this through properly. I’m crazy about you, but it’s been only three weeks, and you know what I’m like.’

Her face was appealing as she looked up at him, and some of the rigidity left his face. ‘Little Miss Take-No-Risks,’ he said, with only the faintest trace of mockery as he took her hand and kissed it gently. ‘I understand. But don’t keep me waiting too long, OK?’

With a little sob, Shweta threw herself into his arms. She did love him—more than she could say—and it took all her will-power not to cave in and agree to an immediate engagement.

Nikhil hesitated for a second, and then he put his arms around her and held her close. Shweta’s rejection had hurt, and it was a measure of the depth of feeling he had for her that he wasn’t resentful. Maybe he’d gone about it the wrong way, he thought. A romantic gesture might have worked better. But he hadn’t wanted to dazzle Shweta into agreeing to marry him only to regret it later.

* * *

‘I can’t understand you,’ Priya said in despair when Shweta told her. ‘Any fool can see you’re completely besotted by him. Why would you say no?’

‘It’s too soon,’ Shweta muttered.

‘And you’re scared?’

Her eyes flew up to meet Priya’s. ‘Not scared, exactly,’ she said, and then, ‘Or maybe, yes—I
am
a little scared. I’m not sure what Nikhil sees in me, and I need to know it’ll last. He’s dated all kinds of women, and he’s never stuck with any of them for more than a few months.’

‘I bet he’s not asked any of them to marry him either,’ Priya said. ‘He’s a very attractive man. You can’t blame him if he’s played the field a little. You need to trust him.’

‘What are you? His PR agent?’ Shweta asked crossly. ‘I just need some time to think, OK?’

Priya shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with taking time, but don’t keep him hanging around for too long. He doesn’t look the patient type.’ Her voice gentled as she saw Shweta’s stricken expression. ‘I don’t mean he’ll dump you if you don’t agree to getting engaged,’ she said. ‘But he won’t know why you’re holding back, and he might get impatient and angry. Why don’t you just speak to him a little more openly? Tell him what’s bothering you.’

‘But I don’t know properly myself!’

‘Would you get annoyed with me if I told you?’

‘Probably,’ Shweta muttered. ‘I hate it when you go into your psychoanalyst mode.’

Priya laughed. ‘I’m not trying to psychoanalyse you,’ she promised. ‘But it’s pretty obvious—your dad closed himself off from everyone when your mom died, and somehow he’s made you think it’s safer to have a bloodless marriage of convenience rather than expose yourself to that kind of hurt.’

Shweta felt a lump come into her throat. ‘They were very happy together,’ she said. ‘My mom and dad. I don’t remember her much, but you can tell from the photos and when he talks about her... But that’s got nothing to do with me and Nikhil.’

Priya sighed and left it at that. Perhaps it was best for Shweta to figure things out for herself. At least she’d progressed enough to realise that she belonged with Nikhil and not with someone like Siddhant—hopefully, in time, she’d learn to trust him with her heart.

Things were a little awkward between Shweta and Nikhil for the next couple of days, but soon they swung back into an easy rhythm of spending weekends together, as well as a few evenings in the week when he wasn’t working.

‘Amma’s decided to pay me a visit,’ Nikhil said one evening over dinner.

His tone was neutral, but Shweta looked up sharply. ‘Just her? Or your parents too?’

‘Just her,’ he said. ‘Though I’m sure my parents have something to do with it. This is the first time she’s travelled alone—and she’s just recovered from a long bout of illness. But she’s insisting I don’t need to go and fetch her.’

Shweta didn’t think that Veena’s deciding to travel alone indicated anything, but she wisely refrained from arguing the point. Nikhil tended to get completely irrational when it came to his parents.

‘So, do I get to see her?’

‘Yes, of course. She’ll be ecstatic about seeing you again. You’re probably the only person she knows in Mumbai apart from me.’

‘Ecstatic’ was probably an exaggeration, but Veena was definitely very pleased to meet Shweta when she arrived in Mumbai. ‘It’s so nice to see you!’ she said, beaming all over her thin, rather careworn face. ‘It’s been years since I saw you last—you were just a little girl! I remember when you came home after school one day; you were so polite and respectful. Ranjini and I couldn’t stop talking about you!’

Shweta smiled back at her. ‘It’s good to see you too, Aunty,’ she said. ‘Will you be in Mumbai for a while?’

Veena’s face clouded. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Nikhil’s father’s not very well, and Ranjini might find it difficult to manage on her own.’

It was the second time Veena had mentioned her husband’s mistress, and Shweta found that her childhood memory was perfectly accurate in this instance—there was no trace of resentment in Veena’s voice when she spoke about Ranjini. Not for the first time Shweta found herself thinking that there was a lot more to the elder Mr Nair’s domestic arrangements than met the eye.

‘Is it serious? Nikhil’s dad’s illness?’

Veena shook her head. ‘Oh, no. His blood pressure’s a bit high, and he’s due for a cataract operation in his left eye.’

‘They can manage a cataract operation perfectly well on their own,’ Nikhil said as he came into the room carrying three cups of coffee on a tray. ‘Now that you’re here I’m not letting you go in a hurry.’

Veena’s eyes were frankly adoring as she looked up at Nikhil. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, taking a cup from the tray. ‘You shouldn’t have. I was about to get up and make the coffee.’

‘I’m buttering you up,’ Nikhil said, giving her a lop-sided smile. ‘So that you stay here for as long as possible.’

‘I can stay for a couple of weeks,’ Veena said. ‘After that I’m pretty sure the two of you will be tired of having me around.’

‘Of course we won’t,’ Shweta said impulsively. ‘Nikhil’s been looking forward to seeing you, and so have I. It’ll be fun showing you around.’

Veena smiled, but said nothing, and Shweta couldn’t help feeling that she’d leave once the two weeks were over.

Nikhil was looking a little tense again, and she hurried to change the topic. ‘Do you still watch Bollywood films?’ she asked Veena. It had been a bit of a joke around school—Mr Nair solemnly escorting his wife
and
his mistress to the movies every Saturday.

‘Ooh, yes,’ Veena said, sounding more like a sixteen-year-old than a grey-haired lady in her sixties. ‘Some of these new actors are quite good. But I don’t like the actresses much—all they seem to do is wear tiny clothes and dance around in front of the men.’

Shweta cast an involuntary look at her own rather short skirt. She’d come over directly after office, and it hadn’t occurred to her to change.

‘Oh, much tinier than that,’ Veena assured her earnestly, catching the look. ‘You look very nice, dear. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

Nikhil caught Shweta’s eye and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, God, Amma, you’re priceless,’ he said finally. ‘Poor Shweta—now she’ll lie awake all night wondering if you think her clothes are tiny.’

Veena gave him a reproving look. ‘No, she won’t,’ she said. ‘Do you watch movies now, dear? I remember your father didn’t let you when you were a child.’

‘He lets me watch them now,’ Shweta said, beginning to feel a little cross. Childhood reminiscences were OK up to a point, but she didn’t like to be reminded of how hemmed-in her life had been.

‘Yes, of course,’ Veena said. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. I suppose he thought Bollywood movies weren’t suitable for a young girl, and he was quite right. But when your mother was alive they used to go to the movies every weekend—just like Nikhil’s father and me.’

She hadn’t known that, Shweta thought, feeling a pang go through her. All her life she’d thought her father hated movies, but maybe he’d just avoided them because they reminded him of his wife.

‘Your mother was so lovely,’ Veena was saying. ‘Smita Patil was one of my favourite actresses, and I thought your mom looked a lot like her.’

‘Shweta looks a bit like her too,’ Nikhil said. ‘Especially the eyes.’ He’d seen that Shweta was looking a little overwrought, and he wanted to steer the conversation into safer channels.

Veena gave Shweta an affectionate look. ‘Yes, she’s as beautiful as her mother.’

‘Thanks,’ Shweta said, trying to smile.

There were very few people who still talked about her mom—her father had changed houses soon after her mother died, and he’d fallen out of touch with their old neighbours and friends. He spoke about her only rarely, and his sister hadn’t known her very well. Veena hadn’t known her well either, but to Shweta the few sentences she’d spoken had made memories of her mother come to life. So far she’d always thought of her mother in the abstract—not as a living, breathing woman who’d gone to the movies and looked like a famous actress. Smita Patil had died young as well, and that made the comparison even more poignant.