e watched her body move to the beat of the lively music. Her teal and pink bangles sparkled under the strategically placed lights. The heavy beadwork on her flowing traditional skirt should have made it difficult to move as gracefully as she did.
She had curves. The last time he’d seen her two years ago, she was all bones, and skipping meals – sometimes for days – was her way of life.
The groom leaned in and whispered in her ear. She laughed and playfully punched his arm. The bride and another couple joined them on the dance floor. Her smile widened. The world had never got to see her smile because, back then, she was encouraged to appear indifferent, cold or expressionless.
But now she smiled.
When he checked into the hotel two days ago, preparations were afoot for the wedding of the year. He overheard staff talking about the marriage of a pair from two prominent families in Rally. Apparently, the couple had wanted an intimate wedding, but looking down from his vantage point on the balcony where he stood out of sight there was nothing intimateabout this reception. The dance floor was crowded, every chair around it filled, and guests spilled onto the lawn.
Earlier, he’d spotted a notice welcoming guests to the venue. The names – Senthil Aiyer and Shona Shah – were not familiar to him. Judging from the hotel’s attention to detail, the staff’s excitement, and the guests’ enthusiasm, the couple was popular in this little town. But he couldn’t care less. He wasn’t there for them.
The upbeat song was replaced by a ballad. The groom reached for the bride and the other couple embraced as they started to dance. She was alone. She walked off the dance floor and took a seat at the nearest table.
Her traditional outfit, a cropped blouse paired with a long, flowy skirt and scarf, was dusky pink with a hint of teal. It was an outfit that didn’t stand out among the deep reds, blues and greens that most guests favoured.
Yet she stood out from the crowd with her high cheekbones, long straight black hair and bewitching eyes. She always did.
He’d have to wait. Tonight was not the night. He wasn’t a brute. He would let her enjoy the wedding celebrations. Because he knew her – every inch of her – he knew that his wife’s beautiful smile would instantly be wiped off her face when she laid eyes on him.
Kaavi Archary yawned as she waited for her toast to pop up. Her phone vibrated on the granite counter she was leaning against. She reached for it and yawned again. It was a message from her cousin Senthil, letting her know that he and his wife Shona had arrived safely at their honeymoon destination.
She replied with a thumbs-up and a heart. It was weird to think of Sen having a wife, and of him being a husband. He was heronly cousin and, with her being an only child too, they regarded each other as siblings. There was a three-year age difference between them and even though she was 28, he still saw her as his baby sister.
That was the reason she was in his upmarket, far-too-expensive apartment where she’d been living rent-free for the past three months. When she moved to Rally, he claimed that she was doing him a favour by staying there while he moved back into his parents’ home ahead of his wedding – although he’d practically been living in Shona’s apartment for some time anyway.
Kaavi wanted a fresh start, which included finding her own place, but she knew her cousin was just looking out for her, so she’d accepted his offer. Her decision to move to Rally had shocked everyone she knew. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. In the first month she’d been there, the tabloids had been fascinated that a retired supermodel – yes, retired at 28 – would give up the glamour of travelling around the world for a quaint town. And that’s exactly what Rally was: quaint, charming and peaceful. Sure, everyone knew one another and it was hard to do anything in secret. Everyone always knew your business, but it was simply accepted. Community spirit was at the forefront of everything because that’s what Rally was named after. According to the tourism office, the community had rallied together to rebuild the town after a devastating flood. Her cousin and Shona didn’t believe the story, but Kaavi lapped it up. She even took photos of what they called the ‘ghastly statue’ in the town square.
It was a terrible attempt at depicting two neighbours helping each other, but for someone like Kaavi, who had grown up in Johannesburg and subsequently travelled the world, this town’s spirit was fascinating and even comforting. Her father didn’t see it that way – he’d kept her and her mother away from Rally because he said its name was ‘trashy’. This meant she hadno childhood memories based there. Her maternal grandfather, Sen and his parents had always been obliged to visit her family in a bustling, suffocating city, almost seven hours away by car.
When she’d visited a year ago, at a time when she needed to make serious life changes, she’d found tranquillity in Rally. There was no pounding in her chest, no sweaty palms, no nausea and definitely no feelings of the walls closing in on her. The doctors called it anxiety. An unopened bottle of pills remained in her cosmetic bag, but she didn’t need them in Rally. Yes, she didn’t have a job. She didn’t really need one though because she had a tidy sum saved from her lucrative modelling career, and she was still being paid residuals from appearances in sitcoms and adverts.
When she visited last year, she had no intention of moving to Rally. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, who she wanted to be. But when she got on the plane to go back to the fashion scene, she knew she had to make a big change. She just didn’t know it would involve moving to Rally. Three months ago, when she’d finally had enough, she simply packed her things and showed up at her grandfather’s mansion. The next day, she moved into Senthil’s apartment.
Her last job offer came two days before she left for Rally. Aspiring models and actresses would have jumped at the offer. It should have been a dream come true for her; it would have been when she’d first started out, but now she saw it as a noose. With streaming services becoming more inclusive, she’d been offered a starring role as an exotic brown in a hit romance series. But she wasn’t an actress. The directors and producers didn’t care; they just wanted her for her face. Everyone always wanted her for her face because that was all they saw – a pretty face.
When she refused the offer, her agent showed her the door. He said he was fed up with her diva ways. Was she being a diva because she wanted out of the superficial world of skinnymodels, handsy superiors and unreasonable designers?
She buttered her toast and sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. She looked at the time on her phone and let out a sigh of relief. Her mother would already be on a plane. There was no chance of seeing her before she went back home. It should have made Kaavi sad, but it didn’t. She’d barely made it through the weekend with her mother being around for the wedding. Of course, her father didn’t attend. Senthil was her mother’s brother’s son, so he would have felt nothing about missing the momentous occasion. No doubt he would have called her mother numerous times to find out exactly where she was, what she was doing, what she was wearing and who she was talking to. And her mother would have answered obediently.
Kaavi was his biggest failure. She chose fashion runways over college. She fled as soon as she turned 18, defying him by making her way overseas. He despised her grandfather for funding her freedom and resented Senthil for accompanying her. And her? He disowned. She hadn’t set foot in her parents’ home in ten years. Her mother secretly met her when she flew into Johannesburg from time to time. But their meetings always revolved around her mom’s anxiety about the chance of her husband finding out that she’d met Kaavi. In the end, it just wasn’t worth it. Kaavi started making excuses, and lied that her schedule was too busy to fit her mother in.
She popped the last piece of toast in her mouth and chewed quickly as she went to the sink to wash her coffee mug. She had no plans today – like every other day – but now she was bored with simply sitting around scrolling through social media or watching a foreign soapie that she’d become somewhat addicted to.
On her way to the living room, she caught sight of a pamphlet from the local library on a table in the hallway. Yes, Senthil’s apartment had a hallway; that’s how ridiculously luxurious itwas. She read the pamphlet and decided to join the library. Sure, she could read on her Kindle, but she wanted to meet new people, be sociable and become part of the community. Reading had always been her escape. As a teen, she would hide in her bedroom, reading to escape the hell at home. Perhaps joining the library was exactly what she needed right now.
Kaavi’s long hair was still damp from her shower and that was okay; she no longer had to worry about looking ‘perfect’. She wore a yellow summer dress and flat sandals. Yes, they were designer, but it wasn’t deliberate. She didn’t plan to throw out her clothing and shoes from her life as a model.
Her face was bare of makeup and had never felt better. She grabbed her handbag, locked the door and started to scroll through her phone as she waited for the lift. As she left the apartment building, her eyes were still on the phone as she searched for walking directions to the library. She suddenly smiled to herself as she realised there actually wasn’t much chance of getting lost in Rally.
‘So how do you greet the wife you haven’t seen in two years? A kiss? A handshake?’
Kaavi stopped dead in her tracks and looked up.
Neel Naran. He was exactly as she remembered him, but his dark eyes were colder. He was taller than her and she felt petite next to him despite her height as a model. His hair was still clean cut, but his dimples were invisible as he stood expressionless in front of her.
‘Ex-wife,’ she said flatly.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell me, how exactly do you think divorce works?’
