Reema spins around, bows to the prince and rushes out of the room.
‘Are you looking for your bride, Yuvraj?’ Gauri Elena asks.
Vedveer nods and walks towards me. His eyes are dark, and regret is etched on his features.
I’m on my feet. ‘We met earlier and had a long conversation,’I say, smiling at the mother first and then the son. ‘I think he’s looking for you.’ My voice is honey-smooth.
Vedveer opens his mouth and then shuts it; his eyes are glued on me.
Gauri Elena is beaming. ‘Yuvraj,’ she says, directing her gaze at the sofa I just vacated.
‘Now go and rest some before you head out for the evening. All eyes will be on the both of you,’ she says of the grand premiere of the Hollywood epic that was shot in Jaipur. ‘Go away before someone comes at you with another piece of cloth.’
Her laugh is rhythmic; it floats around me as I leave the room.
23.
Vedveer
Ring a Bell!
My eyes are fixed on Aaditha as I descend the curved staircase that leads to the foyer of the Durbar Hall.
She’s a vision in a colour I struggle to pin down. Is it silver? A cool-toned sparkle? Polished. Composed. It shimmers under the light, a wintery richness complemented by a frosty aura. A form-fitting gown, the shade of which seems to change with every step I take, gaining in colour, from platinum to titanium.
I ignore my erratic heartbeat and put the hustle down to the glare of the chandelier.
Aaditha wants nothing to do with me; she makes that amply clear. During the day, she avoided me entirely, choosing to stay locked with the designers, who would normally bore her to tears. I spotted her once in the corridor, but she was gone before I could stop her. I found her again in Mother’s visiting room, but she turns it on me, insisting we’ve already met, that it is Mother I was looking for, and scripts her escape.
Her gaze sweeps over me, then looks away unimpressed, like I wear tuxedos every Friday. But her breath catches in the hollow of her throat, betraying more than she intends.
‘Shall we?’ I ask, offering her my hand.
Aaditha puts her fingers to work, adjusting her skirt ever so slightly, just enough to give her hand an excuse.
‘My hands are busy, Your Highness,’ she says dryly.
I withdraw my hand and settle it at the small of her back, guiding her forward. She says nothing, but I can’t help the smile she pointedlyrefuses to acknowledge the gesture.
I step closer and lower my voice to a murmur. ‘Busy with what, exactly?’ I have to ask.
Aaditha glances sideways, a flicker of amusement sparking her eyes.
‘Contemplating appropriate punishment for your presumptuousness,’ she says.
I chuckle, leaning in just enough for my breath to caress the top of her ear. ‘I’m willing to accept any sentence you deem fit.’
She finally meets my gaze. ‘Good. Then don’t expect mercy.’
Aaditha’s face, flawlessly made-up, gives nothing away, even when she’s delivering a perfectly timed dismissal.
I walk slowly with her. Liquid silver, that’s the colour of her gown. It flows with her, languidly, moving as she takes a step, taking her shape as she covers ground.
Her hands are on the front of her gown, pretending to coax the skirt. That’s when I see it – no engagement ring.
Her fingers are bare, conspicuously so. It wasn’t there this morning either.
The difficult part is that she won’t engage – just that much and no more. I messed things up in Bengaluru, I get that, but she won’t give me a chance to apologize and make it up to her.
