‘This is only a business deal,’ he is saying. ‘We are not selling or even thinking about selling. Father and I didn’t want to waste that end of Ranibagh, which we are not using and haven’t been using for generations. We want to put it to use, and that is all this is about.’
So, put it to use or let it go to seed. Who gives a flying fig? I pick up my coffee cup and take another sip of my double-shot, bone-dry cappuccino.
His eyes are on me; they stay on the nape of my neck.
‘Is that your uniform?’ he asks, waving his hands in my direction.
I’m wearing the same co-ord set I wore the last time he wassitting where he is seated now.
‘Do you not approve of our uniforms, Your Highness?’ I ask and take another bite of the cookie. The chewing distracts me.
I return the mug to the tray when I hear a commotion outside my door. Someone is being told I have a visitor.
The door opens, and Raju Mathew is standing in that space; his heavily tattooed arm is holding his helmet like it were a handbag. ‘I want…’
Raju always puts a smile on my face. ‘I’ll speak to you later, okay?’ I say.
‘Okay! I’m waiting outside.’
Vedveer’s eyes are on Raju. ‘Who is he?’
‘Someone very dear to me!’Someone who would never charge me with manipulation, like you are doing now.
Vedveer nods. His fingers are locked tight to keep them from fidgeting, maybe.
‘If you are done with what you came here to say, please leave,’ I say, getting on my feet.
‘This is the celebration… for the deal, Pruh-thaap!’
‘And for the record, it is not Pruh-thaap!’ Their egregious phonetics are a saga I’ll be well rid of.
Vedveer turns to the door. Just before he opens it, his eyes meet mine, and he says, ‘We are done here.’
My shoulders are square, and my back is straight. I’m stunned by the happenings of the last half hour, to say the least, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it show.
I give him enough time to exit my space before sitting.
My head is a crush of thoughts.
I pick up my coffee mug; my hands are shaking.
His words,We are done here, are on my mind.
I woke up this morning feeling a weight inside of me. My father’s ambition put me in a difficult position. A few hours later, I am grateful for it. It has gotten me out of this shitstorm I hadinadvertently found myself in.
But why had I stood there dumbstruck? Why hadn’t I said something, anything?
My pleasure!
Do me the honour of letting the parents know!
Anything.
I should’ve been the one who dropped the mic, not him.
I exhale; it is a gale.
Vedveer knew that it was his father who had approached Appa with the marriage proposal. Appa, I’m sure, hula-hooped with joy, buttheymade the first move.They. It was Gaurav Rathore Singh (these names, like those poorly planned three-lane highways), not Prathap Gowda, who reached out.
