Page 21 of The Promise of a Traitor

“Protect me?” Advik’s eyebrows shot up. “Protect me from what?”

Her entire body ran hot and cold as she tried to think of a plausible explanation. “Being married to someone you hate will destroy you, Advik,” she whispered finally, speaking one truth while hiding another. “I don’t want that for you.”

“There is nothing left of me to destroy,” he replied, grimly, pulling up in front of her apartment building. Aastha flinched, his words slicing through her.

She saw his curious gaze take in the older but still respectable building they lived in. It was nothing like his swanky, bougee one but it was still decent. She had nothing to be ashamed of. On the outside. She was a shiny apple with a rotten core.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked, praying he’d decline.

He saw it in her face, her desperate need for him to refuse her polite invitation. And he grinned, a cruel slash of white in the darkness of the car.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to meet my in-laws.”

Chapter Thirteen

Advik

Aastha’s home looked like something out of a design magazine until you looked closely. And Advik always looked closely. Paint blistered near the windows, the veneer on the dining table had started to lift, the linen upholstery bore the faded echo of old stains, and the scent of fresh lilies couldn't quite mask the damp that lingered in the walls.

Bhajans played from a room in the corner, a room her father eventually emerged from to welcome him. Aastha’s mother flitted around them like a butterfly with ADHD, vacillating between offering Advik items to eat or drink and berating Aastha for not having warned her that he was coming.

Advik sat down in the armchair across Aastha’s father and smiled politely. The older man nodded but didn’t smile. Advik had the strangest sensation of having been judged and found wanting.

“Aastha!” Binita’s raised voice had Advik startling a little. “Go make coffee for Advik.” She smiled over at him. “Aastha makes wonderful coffee, did you know?”

Yes, he knew. He’d spent many lazy Sundays in bed, drinking the wonderful coffee she made.

“It’s ten thirty at night,” Aastha said evenly. “I doubt he wants coffee.”

“I would love some,” Advik interjected, grinning when Aastha turned to glare at him. “It would kill the hunger pangs.”

“You’re hungry?” Binita straightened in her seat. “I thought you all had dinner together.”

“I couldn’t finish my meal,” he answered. “Something came up.”

He could feel every word fanning the flames of Aastha’s temper. They both knew why he’d left his meal unfinished but neither was going to acknowledge it. Not now, while her parents watched them expectantly.

“Oh you’re a workaholic,” Binita laughed. “Just like Pramod. He would also forget all about food and water when he was working. In fact, he would forget he had a family also.”

That last bit came out a trifle venomously and an awkward silence fell over their little group.

“But Aastha!” she exclaimed now, making Aastha jump a little in her seat. “You go make him something to eat.”

Aastha didn’t move an inch. Except to look at her mother with eyes that shot figurative flames.

“Go.” Binita made a shooing motion with her hands. “Make some bhajjis to give with the coffee.”

“Bhajjis go better with tea,” Advik said helpfully from the side.

Aastha’s head swivelled on her neck like something from the exorcist as she froze him with a look. “I am not cooking for you at eleven at night.”

“It’s only ten forty five,” Advik replied, pretending to look at his watch while enjoying himself immensely even as Binita hissed “Aastha” in the background.

“If you’re so damn hungry,” she snapped but before she could continue a soft voice came from a nearby bedroom.

“Why is everyone still awake?”

All three of them froze. Advik’s gaze scanned their faces, puzzled by the sudden tension that seemed to grip the room. A young girl appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. A teenager, he surmised, around Zara, Kabir’s sister’s age. She was sporting an impressive case of bed head but didn’t seem to care as she wandered further into the room.