Vedveer’s eyes are like the sea, which changes colours with the seasons. Or reasons.
‘The match-winning goal was fantastic,’ I say. I’m laughing hysterically now.
‘You had fun?’ he asks. The light in his eyes is soft.
I’m opening and closing my right palm.
‘Why do you do that?’ he asks, reaching for my hand hesitantly and then looking at my palm as if he were reading it.
My palm curls and flexes on its own whenever I’m nervous, but that’s not something I’m going to enlighten Vedveer about.
His eyes drift up my forearm, where the marks his mother’s nails left on me are still visible.
‘What’s this?’ he asks, his gaze sharpening.
‘Your mother was… very nervous,’ I say lightly.
‘No. That’s ridiculous.’ His voice tightens, and his eyes darken. He presses his fingers gently against the marks.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Not now,’ I say, offering a smile. ‘It’s fine, Vedveer. I am fine.’
My stomach lurches, and my heart is beating erratically.
‘Are you staying the night?’ he asks.
I shake my head. We aren’t staying.
‘We need to talk, you and I,’ he says. ‘There is going to be awedding announcement soon.’
And just like that, the champagne fizz is lost. Another announcement? I rock back on my pointed footwear.
Vedveer’s hand is firm on my elbow.
‘Whose wedding?’ I ask.
‘Ours,’ he says, ‘yours and mine.’
I hear the silence. It’s banging on my eardrums.
‘Excuse me?’
He nods once. Barely. ‘Tomorrow, or the day after, the palace will make the announcement.’
This is a hostage situation! ‘Why?’
Vedveer exhales.
‘We both knew this was coming,’ he says. His shoulders drop to a resigned slant.
‘I knew they’d push; I didn’t know you’d fold,’ I say.
Vedveer doesn’t answer. I hear the rattle of his breath.
‘So that’s it?’ I ask, leaning into him. ‘No conversation? No choice? Just… congratulations, Your Highness, you’re now engaged to someone you barely know?’
His eyes are locked on mine as he steps closer. Too close.
