The Sari Shop Widow (28 page)

“Not too late. I have that salesperson interview scheduled for this afternoon.” She noticed the drawn look on his face. “You better get some sleep, too.”

He waited till she was safely inside before taking off. From the family room window she watched him drive away. She wasn’t surprised at the tears burning her eyes. The first stab of pain was already blooming. All these years she’d managed to keep that steel armor around her heart intact. But there was a weak spot somewhere and Rishi had managed to sneak past it.

After tonight she had no armor left. She felt more emotionally naked than she’d ever felt. Even with Vik, she hadn’t felt this painfully stripped, because she’d been young and inexperienced and had dived into the relationship with complete abandon. In those days she hadn’t known that life was full of surprises—many of them unbearably heartrending.

She’d known all along that making love with Rishi would be her undoing—and she’d done it anyway. And it wasn’t just the sex, although that was incredible. She was still feeling the warmth and scent of his body locked up with hers. The urge to hop right back into her car, return to his hotel, and accept his invitation to stay was compelling. She missed him already.

One thing she knew for sure—she was in trouble.

Chapter 22

R
ishi took his time driving back to the hotel. He didn’t like going back alone. He’d wanted Anju to stay with him the rest of the night. He wanted to wake up with her beside him. It made no sense, but he’d never felt this kind of aching need for a woman before. He’d appreciated his lifestyle until now, with all the freedom it afforded.

He’d come to the States to do a job—do it quickly and get out. It was mostly a favor for Jeevan-kaka. The favor had turned into a four-month project. Then there was that unexpected little matter of developing a mad attraction for the old man’s niece. Rishi hadn’t factored that into the equation.

The more Anjali had withdrawn from him, the more he’d wanted to break down her defenses. It was the proverbial red flag waved at an untamed bull. He’d wanted to get her one way or the other. And he had—at least into his bed.

It should have been a victory for him. Strangely, it didn’t feel like one. Because while he was trying to win her over, he’d become so bloody attached to her that she was becoming an obsession. And the odd thing was, his tastes had always run more toward Caucasian women—white skin, light hair and eyes. Anjali Kapadia didn’t fit that mold.

She was unique—a woman with a generous heart. And he wanted her. Lately it was more need than want. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t attempted to expel her from his head. He’d truly given it his best attempt while in London. And he’d failed.

As the multistory hotel abruptly came into view Rishi realized he’d been driving with no thought to the roads and traffic signals. Good thing it was the dead of night, with little to no traffic. Within seconds he was turning into the parking lot.

Reluctantly he went up to his room. Since he was too wide-awake to sleep he booted up his computer. A friend in London had referred an American client to Rishi, a California man who owned a chain of specialty gourmet bakeries that catered to an elite customer base. Rishi had talked to the bakery owner a few times over the phone in the last couple of weeks, so he had some idea of the financial mess the baker had landed in.

Opening up the documents from the West Coast client, he started working. He’d promised the baker he’d fly out to San Francisco after the Silk & Sapphires opening to discuss business in person.

Making himself a cup of tea in the kitchenette, he studied the sales figures, made notes for himself, did research on baking and bakeries, the market for certain types of baked goods, the kinds of people who consumed what the California man produced, and made comparisons to other areas of the U.S. and Europe. He worked steadily for a while.

When he finally felt he’d done enough, a purpling dawn sky was blossoming outside his window. Traffic sounds on the highway had picked up in the past hour, too.

He wondered if it was too late to grab some sleep. But his eyelids felt heavy with fatigue. If he could manage to get three hours, he’d be ready to face the day. He’d just have to skip his daily trip to the gym. He shut off the computer and strode toward the bedroom.

Tossing his clothes aside, he fell into bed. The pillows smelled of gardenias and strawberries. Anjali’s presence was everywhere in the room. He dragged one of the pillows close to his chest, pulled up the covers, and shut his eyes.

And while he lay in that twilight zone between wakefulness and sleep, a plan began to take shape in his mind.

Chapter 23

A
njali and her mother chatted with Nilima Sethi, the young lady who’d just been offered the sales job at the store. She had accepted right away.

“Welcome aboard, Nilima,” Anjali said to her, shaking her hand. “We hope you’ll like working at Silk & Sapphires.”

“Thank you, Anjali,” Nilima said excitedly, “and Mrs. Kapadia. I’m looking forward to working with such beautiful things. I love your designs.”

Anjali smiled. “You’re very kind.”

They walked Nilima to the front door. It had been a long interview. They had talked for an hour or more, then gone on a tour of the store. Anjali had used that as an excuse to see how much the young woman knew about the type of merchandise they sold. In the end, Nilima had passed not quite with flying colors, but she showed potential. She had a pleasant personality and she seemed eager to learn. The rest would have to come with experience.

After they bid Nilima good-bye, her mother started walking toward the office, where Jeevan-kaka and her father were arguing over the best method of dealing with India’s corrupt and bureaucratic Customs and Central Excise department.

Deciding against taking part in the debate, Anjali picked up a box of price tags and the tagging gun and headed for the children’s department. She unpacked a carton of toddler clothing. Tagging the garments, she put them on hangers and placed them on a carousel. They were adorable, the tiny
sherwanis, kurtas
, and
churidars
for the boys and the daintiest little
chania-cholis, salwar-kameezes
, and even miniature, made-to-size saris for the girls.

She gazed at a tiny pink
choli
with silver beads sewn around the midriff. Maybe she and Vik should have planned a child early in their marriage. If they had, she’d have had a boy or girl around eleven years old by now. He or she would be wearing some of her best creations. But then…she’d be facing the trials of single parenting. It wouldn’t have been easy, not with her working hours and her travel schedule.

From the corner of her eye she saw movement and looked up. It was Rishi. He stood some ten feet away, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Hey, how long have you been standing there?” She acknowledged the warmth spreading in her belly—but suppressed the need to rush into his arms.

“A second or two,” he replied. “I like watching you work. You have such a contented look.”

“I happen to like my work.” She hastily put the
choli
on a hanger. But she had a feeling he’d seen the look of yearning on her face. Those keen eyes missed nothing.

“I knew that even before I met you.” He came closer and studied her face. “Looks like you got some rest.”

“Some,” she said. “How about you?”

He put a hand on her cheek, urging her to meet his eyes. “I missed you. Couldn’t sleep after you left.”

A smile tipped the corners of her mouth. He’d missed her. She let his words sink in, let the pure joy spring to life inside her. She’d missed him, too. And it wasn’t until almost sunup that she’d been able to fall asleep. It was noon when she’d forced herself to rise and take a hot shower to get the fatigue out of her system. He was a demanding lover but he gave twice as much as he took.

When his hand slid to her shoulder she stiffened. “They’re in there,” she whispered, inclining her head in the direction of the office.

“They’re so busy arguing they’re not likely to notice us.”

“Don’t count on it. Mom has the instincts of a brand-new razor blade.”

Rishi chuckled. “You’re right about that. But I saw her leaving a few minutes ago. Something about grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner.”

“Oh yes, dinner.” She sighed. “God forbid Jeevan-kaka should have to eat something bought at a restaurant.”

“Why don’t you and I have a quiet dinner somewhere?”

“Two nights in a row would make them suspicious.” She studied the look in his eyes. She knew what that meant. She wanted the same thing he wanted: a rerun of last night. But it was dangerous. She could so easily get used to sleeping with him and fall into a pattern. “Let’s take it easy for now?”

“If that’s what you want.” He didn’t look happy about it but he was too much of a gentleman to prod her.

“Maybe in a couple of days, okay?”

“All right.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. “I’ll go join the men in the back.”

“You do that.” She picked up the tagging gun once again, her hands unsteady. “By the way, Rishi…”

“Yes?”

“I missed you, too.”

He nodded but said nothing.

She watched him walk away. Was he upset with her? But then all she’d said was she couldn’t continue to sleep with him. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want it. She wanted it desperately and was thrilled that he wanted it, too. But at the same time she couldn’t continue to ignore reality. She belonged to a conservative Gujarati family that would be shocked if they discovered what was going on. In fact, despite all their Americanization, they could very well be living in nineteenth-century Gujarat. Some things never changed in her community.

She couldn’t handle the idea of more or less living together. If she started going to his room every night, it would be tantamount to living with him. With his liberated European ideas and having lived with Samantha, he was probably under the impression it was as easy as asking for it and getting it.

That wasn’t going to happen with her. She couldn’t give in to his every whim. And there’d been no hint of anything long-term in their relationship. He hadn’t said one word about loving her either. At least if he’d said the L-word, she might’ve had something to think about.

Oh well, it would be good for him to sleep alone in that giant hotel bed. Maybe he’d miss her so much he’d realize he was madly in love with her…so madly in love that he’d be forced to give up London and move to New Jersey.
Yeah, right! Dream on, Anjali
.

For now she’d take it one day at a time. No sense in looking too far into the future. She had no time to look that far. In the short term, the grand opening on Saturday was looming large.

After that, if he still lingered in New Jersey, maybe…just maybe she’d think about where this relationship was going.

Chapter 24

O
n Saturday, the Kapadia household was up at dawn. Although everyone went about their business quietly, there were undercurrents of tension and excitement in the air.

They had to leave early for the store to perform the
pooja
: religious rituals to invoke the blessings of Lord Ganesh and Goddess Lakshmi.

Anjali picked an outfit that was an interesting East-West combination: a golden rust silk pantsuit. She’d designed it herself. The sandals and jewelry she’d bought in India during her last trip matched the ensemble perfectly.

Just as she started on her makeup there was a knock on her door. “Come in,” she called as she smoothed foundation on her face. The door opened and Nilesh walked in, wearing a gray suit with a rumpled white shirt and no tie. His black shoes had obviously never seen anything that resembled shoe polish. He looked pathetic.

“Hey, Anju, do you know anything about ties?” he asked.

“You mean what matches with what?”

“I mean how to knot a tie.”

She nodded. “I did it for Vik sometimes.” She studied her brother’s sloppy getup. “Honey, first of all, your shirt needs some serious ironing. Haven’t you heard of an appliance called an iron?”

He shrugged, looking clueless. “There’s an iron somewhere in my closet.”

She helped him out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Memories of doing this for him when he was a little boy flashed through her mind. He hadn’t changed much in his dress habits. Of course, now he was several inches taller than her and there was some hard muscle developing beneath the undershirt, reminding her that her little brother was no longer so little; he was a young man.

“Let’s get the shirt ironed first,” she said, going to the ironing board and plugging in the appliance. “While I do this, go borrow Dad’s shoe polish and get working on those shoes.”

“You want me to polish my shoes? Now?”

She gave him one of her big-sister scowls. “Now. Then we’ll pick something suitable from your tie collection.”

“Okaaay.” He trudged out of there, whining. “So much crap for nothing…”

Anjali smiled to herself as she started to press the shirt. The boy needed to learn some dress sense. He seemed to like Rishi a lot, so maybe she could request Rishi to guide her naïve brother toward acquiring a decent wardrobe. Well, at least Nil had remembered to shave, thank goodness.

Several minutes later, he strode in with four ties and tossed them on her bed. “Which one do you think?”

She looked at his shoes. They looked a shade better than they did before.

Once the ironed shirt was buttoned and tucked neatly into Nilesh’s waistband, Anjali picked a coordinating tie and helped him knot it just right. After he slipped on the jacket she threw him a comb and stood back to observe as he neatened his hair. “Not bad, kiddo. You clean up nicely. You actually look like a decent, professional man.”

“I
am
a decent, professional man,” he growled. “Why do men have to wear monkey suits anyway? A good, clean pair of jeans should be plenty if you ask me.”

Anjali went back to finishing her makeup. “Nil, everything you own is faded, frayed, and wrinkled.”