She rolls her eyes in response. I like that she still thinks I’m a coffee drinker. I have that edge over her; I know exactly how she likes her coffee.
‘Apologies about the staff,’ I say, referring to the fiasco earlier in the day.
I spoke to them before her arrival and made sure to underline her sensitivities, but their over-enthusiastic attempts to help her settle in ended up ruining it for her.
Aaditha’s eyes are on my wrist. I’m holding a goblet.
‘You notice them?’ Aaditha asks about the staff on the terrace, her eyes darting to the corners. ‘They try to be invisible, speaking softly and merging into the walls. I don’t mean that in a feudal way.’
I laugh. What other way could it be?
‘They all appear to be happy and very much at home here at Ranibagh. A bit bossy, too, especially the help at the chambers,’ she says, her eyes dancing in the light. ‘Again, they’re not rude. It’s just that I’m not used to so many people around me.’
Aaditha smiles and lets her shoulders drop before she turns to pick up her double-shot bone-dry cappuccino from Sagar, the server.
She waits for a couple of minutes, letting the staff settle into their spaces, which is a fair distance from where we are positioned.
‘Do you want them to leave?’ I ask.
‘Not unless you want them to,’ she comes back with a smile.
Aaditha’s fitted calf-length skirt outlines her petite frame; her cropped V-neck vest reveals a sliver of her waist. Her dark hair sits on one shoulder; an errant silky strand falls over a cheek. I’m tempted to pick it up and tuck it behind her ears.
‘When they reached for my bag of intimates, I kinda lost it,’ she says. ‘What next, I’m thinking. That’s when I told them I can manage on my own.’
I apologize again.
She shrugs. Some of her hair slides from its perch and falls over her breast.
She takes deep breaths, and I try to regulate my breathing.
‘Nothing to apologize for, Yuvrajji,’ she teases. ‘All is fair on the palace grounds.’
Aaditha’s lips lift just a touch, like they had on a January evening, and for a moment, my mind goes back to that kiss. The one she has no recollection of, because of which I’m consigned to the heap of average kissers. There’s no insult crueller than mediocre.
‘Tell me,’ she says, eyeing the place beside her, motioning for me to join her there.
‘I would love to draw my legs up and sip my coffee,’ she says, breaking from the train of the conversation. She does that sometimes, without missing a beat, then jumping right back to what she was saying earlier, dragging you back and forth like a yo-yo.
‘Go ahead,’ I say.
Aaditha shakes her head.
‘My skirt is too tight.’ She throws her head back and laughs. ‘The thing about these fancy clothes is that they’re not functional. They’renot designed for multitasking working women like me.’
‘Bourgeoisie, are we?’ I ask, my gaze sweeping across her length.
‘Are you checking me out, Your Highness!’
I can’t help a sloppy smile.
‘I was thinking, no, wishing, I could wear my favourite denims, which I’ve packed, by the way, for dinner! Maybe I should have! I would’ve embarrassed Mr Unflappable!’
She’s laughing gayly at her own joke.
‘You think me unflappable?’ Is that how I come across to her?
She dismisses the question with a flick of her wrist. ‘Is that what I said?’ she asks.
