He steps closer, leaning in. “God, you and your ridiculous, never-ending threats! That’s exactly why I find you irresistible.”
I lean back, my eyes narrowing. “And this arrogance… it’s exactly why I find you disgusting.”
I don’t wait to hear his nonsense. Instead, I turn and head towards the stage, where Aunty waves for me to join.
I hand the thali of sweets to one of the uniformed helpers and climb onto the stage. Sonia sits on the couch with Kushal, his parents standing on one side and Aunty and me on the other. The Panditji begins chanting as they exchange rings, while the guests gather around, tossing flower petals at the happy couple and clicking pictures.
I force my gaze on Sonia, though it’s nearly impossible with Dev’s eyes burning into me from across the room. The moment he finally shifts his attention to a middle-aged man, I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding.
When they ask to clear the stage for the dance performance, I help Sonia down to the first-row couch reserved for her and Kushal. Once she’s settled with Kushal next to her, and his parents and Aunty on either side, I slip through the crowd in search of a drink, anything cold to clear my mind. As I reach the corner of the hall where the refreshments are lined up, two men in flashy silk kurtas stand nearby, talking.
“Man, the Rathores really know how to throw a party.”
“This?” the other laughs. “This is nothing. The real party is upstairs.”
My ears perk up immediately, all while pretending I’m not eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Upstairs?” the first man asks.
“Veer is on the first floor. Doing his usual…” He lowers his voice. “Drugs.”
A cold jolt shoots down my arms as my gaze drifts to the winding staircase at the side of the hall, half-hidden in shadow. I need to see this for myself. This might be exactly what I need.
Clutching my lehenga, I start towards the stairs, but before I can take the first step, Dev steps into my path.
“What happened? That annoying journalist friend of yours didn’t show up?”
“It’s none of your business.” I try moving to the side. He moves with me. I shift to the other side. He mirrors me again.
Annoyance scorches my patience. “Mr. Dev Rathore, get out of my way.”
“First, let’s have a glass of wine to celebrate this happy occasion,” he says, taking a glass from a passing waiter and extending it towards me.
I take the glass and meet his gaze as I let it slip from my fingers. It crashes against the marble floor, splashing red wine over his polished shoes.
“With you around, no occasion is ever happy.”
“Always hot,” he clicks his tongue softly. “Anyway, why are you going up? The party’s happening here. Looks like your intentions… aren’t very good.”
“You are well aware of my intentions. I’ve never hidden them from you, Mr. Dev Rathore.” I turn to walk away, but he catches my dupatta and yanks me back, tugging me off balance. I freeze as his fingers brush against my exposed back.
Heat flares across my skin… not the good kind.
I whirl around. “How dare you—”
“Your dori is open, sweetheart. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want people to see your little wardrobe malfunction.”
My cheeks flush, not with embarrassment, but with white-hot, pulsing rage. “I don’t need your help.”
“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to be stubborn about taking my help,” he croons, his hand snaking around my back towards the knot of my blouse.
But before I can slap him or push him away, a hand clamps down on his wrist and yanks it back.
“Don’t you dare, Mr. Rathore,” Samarth growls, standing protectively in front of me.
A muscle twitches in Dev’s jaw.
I slip my hand into Samarth’s, not wanting to get caught in any pointless fight when all I want is to reach Veer. Dev’s gaze drops to our joined hands, and his expression darkens, but I ignore him and squeeze Samarth’s hand.
