Читать книгу Take One Arranged Marriage... - Шома Нараянан - Страница 8

TARA looked at the photograph she’d saved on her phone, and then up again at the passengers alighting from the air-conditioned section of the train. There were several families whom she ignored, her eyes searching for a man travelling alone. That one, maybe? No, he looked too old—forty at least, or even older. And the next man getting off alone was almost completely bald.

Maybe Vikram Krishnan wasn’t on this train after all, she thought, her heart sinking. Maybe his flight into Kolkata had got delayed, and he’d missed the connecting train to Jamshedpur. She punched a small fist into the palm of her other hand in an unconscious gesture, and more than a few people on the busy platform turned to look at her curiously.

So far her plan had seemed to have a reasonable chance of success. The general manager and his wife had turned out to be an extremely likeable couple—for a few minutes Tara had actually caught herself wishing her parents were more like them. She’d set out to charm them and had succeeded, having them laughing at her carefully self-censored little jokes and practically eating out of her hand in a few minutes. They’d told her parents eagerly that they thought she’d be ‘perfect’ for Vikram.

Now Vikram was coming down to Jamshedpur for the express purpose of meeting her and deciding whether she was worthy of becoming his wife—Tara involuntarily curled her lip at the thought—and all she needed to do was to catch him alone before he came to her house to inspect her. Her parents had said that he’d told them not to meet him at the station, but it seemed the ideal opportunity. Assuming she could find him, that was.

There was a flurry near the door of the compartment opposite her as an elderly lady carrying two suitcases and a Peke got jammed in the doorway. A porter tried to extricate her as the Peke yapped wildly and a bunch of excited relatives on the platform shouted encouragement. Tara’s attention was drawn to them for a few seconds and she almost missed seeing a tall, well-built figure push open the other door of the compartment, and swing lightly down onto the platform.

It was definitely the man in the photograph—though he looked a little older, and harder somehow. Tara pulled up the image once again to make doubly sure. It was blurred, a shot of the original that she’d clicked sneakily on her phone’s camera when her mother wasn’t paying attention. Same man. No doubt about it.

Vikram Krishnan had taken his luggage down and was now surveying the crowded station with deep-set jet-black eyes, his slanting eyebrows giving him a rather cynical look. In spite of the cold his jacket was slung over one shoulder. He was wearing designer jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt open at the collar, and he looked like a model for something foreign-sounding and expensive. As Tara watched, he waved away the red-coated porters milling around him and, picking up his suitcase with one capable-looking hand, started walking towards the exit.

Now that she’d finally spotted him, Tara felt a large part of her confidence desert her. He looked so big, for one, and so terribly sure of himself. She’d been crazy to think he’d even want to listen to her.

His long strides had taken him halfway down the platform before she managed to gather her wits and run after him. The platform was full of people, and Tara found herself falling behind. ‘Sir!’ she called out, and then ‘Mr Krishnan! Vikram!’ He didn’t seem to hear her, though several other people turned to stare. ‘Vikram! Sir!’ she yelled again, hurrying after him.

He stopped finally. Tara was gasping a little by the time she caught up with him, and she felt the last bits of her courage ooze out of her as she looked up at his forbidding expression.

‘You want to speak to me?’ he asked.

His voice was deep, with a gravelly undertone that was so unexpectedly sexy it took her completely off guard. When she kept on staring at him without answering, he raised an eyebrow and repeated the question in Hindi.

‘I’m Tara,’ she said, and then, when he looked at her uncomprehendingly, she made a helpless little gesture. ‘I met your parents a few days ago. My dad works with yours …’ He still looked blank, and Tara abandoned the roundabout approach. ‘They’re looking for a wife for you, right? They want you to meet me—you’re supposed to come over to our house tomorrow.’

If she’d been looking for a lightbulb moment it wasn’t forthcoming. ‘There’s only one girl they’ve asked me to meet,’ he said. ‘And her name’s Naina, or something like that.’

‘Naintara,’ she said. ‘Most people call me Tara.’

‘Right,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. Why are you here if we’re supposed to meet tomorrow?’

‘It’s … complicated.’ Tara said. ‘Can we sit down somewhere? I won’t take long.’ Her heart was pounding in her chest, and all her well-rehearsed speeches had flown out of her head. She was not normally susceptible to even the most good-looking men, and her reaction to Vikram had thrown her off balance.

Vikram led the way to the station canteen, pulling out one of the plastic chairs for her before sitting down himself. ‘Coffee or tea?’ he asked.

Tara said, ‘Coffee.’

He turned to give the waiter their order, and Tara waited till the waiter had gone before she spoke again.

‘I need to ask you a couple of things,’ she said. ‘Are you really serious about this whole arranged marriage thing? Or are you here just to humour your parents?’

Vikram didn’t look annoyed by the questions, but he did think a little before he answered.

‘I’m serious about an arranged marriage,’ he said finally. ‘But I’m not planning to blindly marry someone my parents choose, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Right,’ Tara said. ‘And do you have plans to move out of Bengaluru any time soon? Like in the next three or four years?’

This time he looked puzzled, his forehead creasing a little. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty much permanently settled there.’

There was a brief silence. Tara had run out of questions and was wondering how to embark on an explanation of her behaviour. ‘I know this must seem odd, my turning up to meet you like this,’ she said, giving Vikram her most winning smile.

‘It’s unusual, I admit,’ he said, smiling back.

Tara was struck again by quite how good-looking he was. He looked like a completely different person when he smiled, his eyes losing their rather grim expression and the corners of his firm mouth tilting up boyishly.

‘Maybe you could tell me a little more about why you’re here?’ he said. ‘I assume there is a point to your questions?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Tara said. ‘It’s this—I’ve got a place in the Institute of Science at Bengaluru to do my doctorate in environmental studies and my dad is refusing to let me go. He thinks I’ve studied enough, and he’s desperate to get me married off. I told him I’m not interested, and he said he wouldn’t force me, but he won’t let me go to Bengaluru, either. The maximum he’s willing to do is allow me to become a schoolteacher till he manages to palm me off onto someone.’ She paused a little, a troubled look on her vibrant face. ‘I could ignore him and go, of course, but now my mum’s told me that they’ve spoken to your parents, and you’re from Bengaluru …’

Her voice trailed off, and Vikram continued the sentence for her. ‘And marrying me would please your parents and get you to Bengaluru? Is that it?’

She nodded, her big eyes absurdly hopeful as she stared at him across her coffee cup. ‘It did seem like the ideal solution,’ she admitted. ‘Assuming we hit it off, of course.’

Vikram leaned back in his chair, surveying her silently. She’d turned out to be a surprise in more ways than one, and he was at a stage in life when very few people surprised him. She was very direct, and very clear about what she wanted—both traits that he’d come to think of as uncommon in women. And her looks … His mother had told him that she was pretty, but ‘pretty’ didn’t begin to cover the allure of frank, intelligent eyes set in a heart-shaped face, and the mischievous smile trembling on her lush red lips. She wasn’t very tall, but the proportions of her slim body were perfect. And her hair was lovely—thick, straight and waist-length. A jolt of lust took him by surprise, turning his academic appreciation of her looks into something more urgent and immediate.

‘Why is doing your doctorate so important?’ he asked, partly to break the silence and partly because he genuinely wanted to know. ‘And especially one in environmental science? Aren’t the career options rather limited?’

Tara flushed a little. People kept asking her that, and she tended to get a bit worked up and annoyed about it. ‘I’ve always wanted to be an environmentalist,’ she said, in what she hoped was a calm and neutral-sounding voice. ‘I’d be getting an opportunity to work with one of the most well-known scientists in the field, and the research facilities at the institute are world-class. As for career options—I want to lead my own research team one day. Science isn’t a very well-paying field, but I’ll earn enough to get by.’

‘If you marry me you won’t have to worry about money,’ Vikram pointed out.

Tara gave him an appalled look. The money angle of marrying him hadn’t struck her at all, and for a second she’d been so busy defending her choice of career that she’d forgotten the reason she was talking to him. Now he probably thought she was out for a cushy corporate wife lifestyle while she played at being a scientist.

‘If you don’t marry me I’ll have to worry about it,’ she said, recovering quickly. ‘My stipend won’t be enough to keep a cat alive. I’ll need to work part-time until I complete my doctorate. But I think it’s worth it.’ The last bit came out sounding a little defiant, because Vikram’s expression was unreadable and she couldn’t help feeling that she wasn’t convincing him.

She was wrong, though—Vikram was intrigued. He didn’t come across too many starry-eyed idealists in his line of work, and Tara’s unshakeable confidence in her dream was impressive and oddly endearing at the same time.

‘Worth it?’ he asked, stretching the words out a little. ‘Even worth marrying someone you hardly know as long as you get to complete your degree?’

‘That part’s a little complicated,’ Tara muttered, hoping he wouldn’t ask her anything more right then. She didn’t want to explain the situation with her parents until absolutely necessary.

Thankfully, he didn’t probe further, instead asking abruptly, ‘How old are you anyway?’

‘Twenty-two,’ Tara said, and as a nasty thought struck her she bubbled into further speech. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of talking to my dad about this? He’ll burst a blood vessel if he finds out I came here to meet you. If you decide not to marry me tell your parents you don’t like the shape of my nose or something. Or say I’m too short. I’ll figure some other way out.’

‘But you’ll go and enrol for that PhD, no matter what?’ Vikram said. ‘Relax, I’m not planning to tell him.’ His lips twitched slightly. ‘And, for the record, I quite like the shape of your nose.’

‘Really?’ she asked. Distracted from her immediate woes, she put up a hand to touch it. ‘Everyone says it ruins my face—too snub.’

‘Snub is cute,’ Vikram said, standing up and touching her hair gently, sending an unexpected thrill through her body. ‘I need some time to think, and it’s time I left. We’re meeting tomorrow in any case—you can call me on this number if you need to talk.’

‘OK,’ Tara said, taking the card with his mobile number.

She managed to flash a smile at him as he said goodbye in the car park, but she felt deeply despondent. He’d sounded more like an indulgent older brother than someone even remotely interested in marrying her.

The next day Vikram sat silently in Tara’s parents’ living room, listening to his parents making polite conversation with her father. Tara’s father had so far not made a very good impression. He was over-eager to please, and his wife—an older, washed-out version of Tara—was obviously scared of him. Tara herself had not made an appearance yet, and Vikram was getting impatient.

He cut into a long-winded description of Tara’s various accomplishments and said pointedly, ‘Maybe she could tell us more herself?’

‘Of course, of course,’ Mr Sundaram said effusively. ‘You must be eager to meet her.’ He turned to his wife and said in an angry undertone, ‘Get Tara here quick. She should have been ready hours ago.’

‘I thought you said …’ his wife began, and then quailed under her husband’s glare.

‘I’ll call her right away,’ she said hurriedly, and left the room.

She came back with Tara a few minutes later.

Vikram blinked. Tara was almost unrecognisable. The day before she’d been dressed in jeans and a loose sweater, with her long hair gathered back in a ponytail. Today she was wearing a pale-pink salwar-kameez, and her hair was done up in an elaborate braid. Huge dangly earrings swamped her tiny shell-like ears and she was wearing a bindi in the centre of her forehead. His initial impression was a picture of modest womanhood—except for her eyes, which had a little glint in them that hinted at her being less than pleased with the situation she found herself in.

‘This is my daughter,’ Mr Sundaram was saying proudly. ‘Very well-educated, MSc in Botany, gold medallist. Tara, you’ve already met Mr and Mrs Krishnan.’

‘Namaskaram,’ Tara said, folding her hands in the traditional gesture.

Both the Krishnans beamed back, clearly enchanted by her. Vikram could see why—Tara looked the epitome of good daughter-in-law material, and in addition she was vibrant, intelligent and very pretty.

‘This is their son, Vikram,’ Mr Sundaram continued. ‘Very successful lawyer.’

‘Thirty-three years old, six feet two inches,’ Tara said demurely. ‘Bengaluru-based.’

Her father glared at her, but Vikram’s parents burst out laughing.

‘I told you the ad was a dumb idea,’ Mr Krishnan said to his wife. ‘Vikram’s annoyed we put it in without telling him, and Tara thinks it’s a joke.’

‘Of course not, sir. How can you say such a thing?’ Tara’s father said immediately.

Vikram remembered that his father was Mr Sundaram’s boss. That went a long way towards explaining his overly eager-to-please attitude.

‘You can ask Tara what you want,’ he was saying now, the ingratiating smile still in place. ‘She’s been very keen to meet you.’

The thought of conducting a stilted conversation under the eyes of both sets of parents obviously appealed to Tara as little as it did to him, because she shot him a quick look.

‘I’d actually prefer to talk to her alone,’ Vikram said crisply, and before anyone could suggest that they move to another room—or, worse, go outside and talk in the garden—he continued, ‘I was thinking of taking her out for dinner tonight.’

Going by the stunned silence that greeted this, he might have been suggesting that he take her out and rape her in the bushes. Tara’s father was the first person to find his voice.

He said weakly, ‘But, son, we’ve made dinner. I mean Tara’s made dinner. I thought it would be a good idea for you to sample her cooking …’

‘I chop vegetables really well,’ Tara said before she could stop herself.

She knew she was going to get into trouble with her father later on, but really! Sample her cooking, indeed. Not that she couldn’t cook, but for this occasion her mother had done everything—other than chop the vegetables. The whole charade was beginning to irritate Tara intensely—right from the fake smile her father had plastered on his face to the ridiculous earrings she’d been forced to wear.

‘I’ll leave my mother to judge her cooking,’ Vikram said, as if Tara hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll take the car, Dad, I’ll pick you up from here when I drop Tara off after dinner. OK by you, Tara?’

‘Can I change first?’ she asked. This time her mother gave her an appealing look, so Tara muttered, ‘Oh, all right. I look like a Christmas tree in this, that’s all.’

‘Have a good time!’ Vikram’s mother called after them as they left the room together.

Tara’s room was at the front of the house, and she stopped to pick up her handbag and a sweater before running outside. Vikram was holding the car door open for her, and she slid in with a muttered thank-you.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Vikram asked as he drove out of the lane.

‘Mmph,’ Tara said in response, her face obscured by the grey cashmere sweater she was trying to tug down over her head.

Vikram pulled to the side of the road, and waited patiently as she struggled. ‘Do you need help?’ he asked politely after a few minutes passed, and his prospective fiancée continued to wrestle with the sweater.

‘Darn thing’s caught on my earring,’ Tara panted, lifting a corner of the sweater to reveal her flushed face. ‘I should have taken the earrings off first. They’re like bloody chandeliers.’

‘Stop wriggling,’ Vikram said, clicking the car light on and reaching across to disentangle the earring. Tara obligingly leaned closer, and he was treated to a sudden glimpse of cleavage. Despite himself Vikram found himself looking—he had to tear his eyes away and concentrate on getting the earring out of the delicate wool. ‘Done,’ he said finally, his voice coming out a little thicker than normal.

In addition to the cleavage, there had been soft skin at the nape of her neck that he hadn’t been able to avoid touching several times. And she was wearing a perfume that managed to be sweetly innocent and madly tantalising at the same time—a lot like Tara herself, Vikram thought, before he shook himself. He’d been celibate too long, he thought cynically, if he was starting to get excited about touching a woman’s ear.

‘Thanks,’ Tara said, giving him a cheeky little smile. ‘I thought I’d be stuck inside that thing for ever, blundering around like a headless horseman.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he said, his voice sounding a little cold even to his own ears. ‘Now, where would you like to go for dinner?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tara said cheerfully as she tugged off the annoying earrings and deposited them in her handbag. ‘Dad always takes us to his club, but the food’s horrible and all the waiters have known me since I was ten years old.’

‘There’s a restaurant in the new five-star hotel, isn’t there?’ Vikram asked, mentioning the only decent hotel he’d seen in the city. ‘I don’t know Jamshedpur very well. This is my first visit since my father got transferred here.’

Tara was busy scrubbing the lipstick off her lips with a tissue. ‘I’ve never been there,’ she said. ‘It’s too expensive for the likes of us.’ A little too late she realised that the remark could be interpreted in several ways, and tried to correct herself. ‘I mean Dad doesn’t like eating out much. He says it’s a waste of money. And when we do go out …’

‘You go to his club.’ Vikram said. ‘You told me. How do I get to the hotel from here?’

‘You take the next left and go straight for around five kilometres,’ Tara said, sounding a little subdued.

Vikram glanced at her. She had managed to get her hair out of the complicated-looking braid it had been in and was now finger-combing it into obedience. It was really lovely hair, he thought, as she bent her head to dig in her purse for a scrunchie, and it fell over the side of her face like a jet-black curtain. An auto-rickshaw honked indignantly, and he turned his eyes hastily back to the road.

‘What’s the news on your PhD?’ he asked.

‘I spoke to my supervisor again,’ Tara replied. ‘She said she’s willing to wait for me till January, but after that she’s going to take on the next research applicant on her list.’

Vikram nodded, and she didn’t dare to ask him if he’d made up his mind. Presumably, as he was taking her out to dinner, he hadn’t decided definitely not to marry her. Or maybe he had, and he just wanted to tell her in person rather than on the phone. This was all very confusing, Tara thought, wrinkling up her nose and peeking quickly at his rather stern profile.

‘You look quite different now,’ Vikram remarked as Tara got out of the car at the hotel.

‘Different from yesterday, or different from five minutes ago?’ Tara asked.

‘Both, actually,’ Vikram said. ‘Though I meant your in-car makeover. An immense improvement, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

It was. Unlike the sweater she’d worn to the station, the plain grey one she was wearing now was clingy, outlining her slim curves perfectly. After several unsuccessful attempts at tying up her hair she’d let it hang loose—that and the kohl that she’d wisely not tried to rub off made her look older and way more sophisticated than she had earlier. Though a lot of the effect was neutralised by the way she now stared at the water feature in the foyer of the hotel. Vikram had the distinct feeling that if it weren’t for his hand under her elbow, steering her towards the restaurant, she would run up to it and stick her hands under the shimmering cascade of water.

‘This place is cool,’ she said, her eyes sparkling as she slid gracefully into a chair opposite Vikram.

He nodded, oddly touched at her excitement. He’d been to scores of restaurants, with scores of women, but none of them had been so genuinely pleased with so little. She went through the wine list carefully, but shook her head when he asked her what she’d like to drink.

‘Just a Coke please,’ she said. ‘I don’t drink. I was just looking at the names of the wines.’

Even the waiter smiled indulgently as he wrote her order down. Vikram had been about to order a Chilean wine that he was rather fond of, but he changed his mind and ordered a mocktail instead.

‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ he said after the waiter left. ‘Are you really serious about marrying me to get to Bengaluru and do your PhD?’

She nodded. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ she said awkwardly. ‘You must have thought I was crazy, accosting you like that. But your parents happened to mention that you didn’t want them meeting your train, and I thought that was the only opportunity I’d get to speak to you alone.’

‘I’m glad you came,’ he said. ‘It just took me a little while to understand what you wanted. Your father’s still absolutely against your studying further, is he?’

Tara nodded. ‘You saw him today,’ she said. ‘Getting me married off to a good South Indian man is currently topmost on his priority list. If he isn’t able to manage that, he’s OK with me taking up a teaching job while he continues with the manhunt.’ She looked straight into his eyes. ‘Look, I don’t want to put you on the spot,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want to marry me that’s perfectly OK. I understand.’

Vikram glanced away for a second. His motives for wanting to get married were complex, but his requirements were extremely simple. Pretty much any nice-looking, reasonably well-educated girl would do—Tara fitted the description, and he genuinely liked her.

‘I think marriage will work for us if we’re both clear about what the other person wants,’ he said finally. ‘I’m the first one to admit that I’m going about this in a rather cold-blooded way. At your age you probably expect romance and candlelit dinners and a fairytale wedding.’

Tara smiled, her face taking on an uncommonly wise expression. ‘People have been getting married in India for centuries without even meeting each other before the ceremony. I guess we’re lucky we’ve been born into a generation that has some choice. Or at least you do—I don’t think my dad has quite realised which century he’s living in.’ She took in the look on Vikram’s face and grinned. ‘The short answer is no, I’m not looking for romance. Though I wouldn’t mind a candlelit dinner now and then.’

‘You haven’t considered leaving home and striking out on your own?’ Vikram asked. He found it a little difficult to believe that a girl as confident as Tara was so closely controlled by her father. Her body language when her father was around didn’t suggest that she found him intimidating in the least.

‘Oh, I have,’ Tara said. ‘Until you appeared on the scene it seemed to be my only option. But my dad would have cut me off from the family completely—and though he’s a pain I wouldn’t like that to happen. My mum would be lost without me.’

The last bit was believable, Vikram thought. Her mother was definitely under her father’s thumb, and he could imagine Mr Sundaram making her life miserable if Tara left home against his wishes.

The waiter came up with their drinks, and Tara’s eyes lit up as she saw the mocktail. ‘Ooh, that looks cute,’ she said, pointing at the little umbrella perched on top of the bright blue drink.

Vikram winced. ‘You can have it if you want,’ he said. ‘I’m quite happy with a Coke.’

Tara exchanged the drinks and sipped at the blue mocktail. ‘It’s good,’ she pronounced. ‘It looks a bit like window-cleaning fluid, but it tastes nice.’ She plucked the umbrella off the drink and tried opening and shutting it a few times, before looking up. ‘You can ask questions now,’ she prompted politely.

Vikram gave her a puzzled look. ‘What questions?’

‘Marriage interview questions,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to quiz me on my hobbies, whether I can cook, how many children I’d like to have—that kind of thing?’

He laughed, and Tara found herself laughing with him.

‘OK, here goes,’ he said, entering into the spirit of the thing. ‘We’ll begin with a rapidfire round. What’s your favourite book?’

‘To Kill a Mockingbird. Yours?’

Vikram shook his head, his eyes dancing. ‘No, I get to ask the questions. Movie?’

‘Three Idiots. Except the bit where the guitarist guy hangs himself.’

‘Music?’

‘Classical Karnatic.’ He looked surprised, and she laughed. ‘My parents spent a bomb on lessons. It’s kind of expected. Though, to be honest, it’s grown on me.’

‘Right. Food?’

‘Rasam and rice.’

‘Hmm, very traditional. Hobbies?’

‘Science, trekking and crochet.’

‘Crochet?’

He sounded incredulous, and Tara’s ears went a little pink. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to sound as firm as she could.

‘Like Miss Marple? Fluffy wool and a little hooked needle?’

‘Yes,’ Tara said, her ears going pinker. But she stuck to her guns. ‘It’s creative and it’s easy to carry around. Don’t laugh.’

‘I’m not,’ Vikram said, looking so serious that Tara almost burst into giggles herself. ‘I have immense respect for crochet. And trekking. But—if I may ask—crocheting what? And trekking where?’

‘Crocheting purses for my mum and aunts, mainly.’ Tara said. ‘And trekking in the hills around the city—we had a group in college.’

‘OK,’ he said, consideringly. ‘Now, what else. Pet hates?’

‘Frogs. The city’s overrun with them in the monsoons. I hate the way they look at me, as if they’re expecting me to kiss them.’ She gazed solemnly at Vikram, and his mouth twitched.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I hope I don’t remind you of one?’

She put her head to one side. ‘No. Though you’re still a few kisses short of turning into Prince Charming.’

He raised his eyebrows, and Tara wondered if she’d gone too far. Talking of kisses had automatically drawn her eyes to his firm, uncompromising and perfectly shaped mouth, making her wonder what kissing him would be like. Quickly she looked away and continued, ‘I mean, you’re good-looking, but you’re all dark and brooding—like something in a Gothic romance. Except when you laugh.’

‘Thank you,’ Vikram said politely. ‘I don’t think anyone’s referred to me as Gothic before, but if that’s the impression I’ve given I’ll live with it.’

Tara flushed. She’d allowed her tongue to run away with her again, but what she’d said was true. When Vikram wasn’t actively making an effort to be pleasant there was something remote and rather forbidding about him. And his height and undeniably impressive looks contributed to the effect.

She began to fiddle with the cocktail umbrella that was still lying on the table and he reached out, his fingers briefly twining with hers as he rescued it.

‘Stop mangling the poor thing,’ he said, putting the umbrella aside.

Tara stayed silent. The feel of his strong, lean fingers on hers had set up a little chorus of longing inside her, and she didn’t know how to react.

‘So, I’m done with my questions,’ he said. ‘Anything I’ve missed out?’

‘You haven’t asked me if I can cook,’ she pointed out. ‘My mother would be heartbroken. She’s spent hours teaching me.’

‘Ah, how could I have forgotten? So, have the lessons worked?’

‘I think so,’ she said cautiously. ‘At least my father doesn’t complain about my cooking any longer, and he’s the fussiest eater on the planet.’

‘I’m not fussy at all,’ Vikram assured her. ‘Besides, I employ a cook, so culinary skills aren’t high on my list of suitable wifely qualities. Is there anything you’d like to ask?’

‘Yes,’ Tara said. ‘There’s something I really want to know. What made you agree to an arranged marriage in the first place? You don’t seem the type.’

Vikram shrugged, his light-hearted mood dissipating a little. She was right—five years ago, if someone had told him he’d be marrying a woman his parents had chosen for him, he’d have laughed them out of the room. Things had changed a lot since then.

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ he said lightly. ‘I got tired of living alone, my parents would have found it difficult to adjust to a daughter-in-law from a different community—an arranged marriage just made more sense.’

It was a simplified version of the truth, and it would have to do till he got to know Tara better. He was still in two minds about marrying her. She was very attractive, but she was also very young—he felt positively ancient compared to her. A ‘desi’ Humbert Humbert with a legal-age Lolita. The thing that tilted the balance in her favour was the fact that she seemed absolutely transparent and straightforward. His last girlfriend had been a complex mass of half-truths and evasions, and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

‘Were you seeing someone?’ Tara asked, her curiosity piqued by his reference to a daughter-in-law from another community.

Vikram, unused to answering questions about his personal life, was tempted to retort that it was none of her business. Then, as he met Tara’s clear gaze, he realised that it was her business. She had just as much right to ask questions as he had—probably more, given that hers was a more vulnerable situation.

‘I was dating a girl called Anjali for a while,’ he said curtly. ‘It didn’t ever reach the marriage stage—she wasn’t what I’d expect my wife to be.’

‘What do you expect from your wife, then?’ Tara asked in a low voice. The dismissive tone in which he’d spoken of Anjali jarred on her—he’d sounded uncaring, and just a little hard.

Vikram shrugged. ‘I have a fairly busy social calendar because of my work. My wife would need to accompany me to parties and events, host people at our home. The house needs some work as well—I have a housekeeper and a cook, and they’re both fairly efficient, but there’s a lot that can be improved.’ He smiled briefly, before continuing, ‘Nothing much else that I can think of—except the obvious. Although I’m not keen on kids for a while, and I assume you aren’t, either.’

Tara felt her cheeks heat up in spite herself. Kids. She’d never even thought of kids. She had thought of ‘the obvious’—thought about it more often and for longer than she cared to admit. She’d even had an embarrassingly erotic dream about Vikram, which she’d been trying to push to the back of her mind. She stayed silent as he continued.

‘I’m not a very demanding person. If we marry, you’d be free to lead your life the way you want. I travel a lot, and I work long hours. I won’t be around much—I’d expect you to be independent and able to take of yourself.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Tara said before she could stop herself. ‘I’m not exactly the clingy type.’

‘I know,’ Vikram said, his lips quirking. ‘From what I’ve seen of you so far, you seem to be about as clingy as The-Cat-That-Walked-by-Himself.’

Tara tried to frown, but ended up laughing. The discomfort she’d felt at the way he’d spoken about Anjali was gone—after all, she didn’t know the full story. Perhaps Anjali had been one of those dreadful ‘girlfriends from hell’ kind of women? And Vikram looked so sexy when he smiled, she thought, it was impossible to think ill of him.

The food arrived, and Vikram skilfully guided the conversation towards Tara’s plans to become an environmentalist and specialise in the conservation of indigenous ecosystems. He didn’t speak much, except to interject with a question here and there. It was a ploy he used often at work—making someone talk of something they were passionate about to get them to reveal more about themselves.

By the end of the meal he knew enough about the ecosystems in eastern India to write a monograph on the subject—he also knew a lot more about Tara than he had before. His initial impression of her being extremely intelligent was confirmed, and he’d developed a healthy respect for her commitment to her research work.

‘I’m sorry I talked so much,’ she said as they walked towards the car. ‘I get a bit carried away when I’m talking about something that interests me.’

‘You apologise way too often,’ Vikram replied. He took her hand gently as they stopped by the car. ‘Tara, I’d like to spend more time with you, to get to know you better, but I know your parents won’t be in favour of that.’

Here comes the brush-off, Tara thought despairingly, while a separate part of her brain thrilled to the touch of his hand. She’d handled this all wrong, she thought. She should have let him do more of the talking. And ordering him to ask her questions had been a terrible move—what could she have been thinking? And the worst thing, quite apart from not being able to do her PhD if he didn’t marry her, was that in addition to thinking he was hot she’d actually started liking him.

‘So, given that it’ll be difficult to get any more time together, I guess we’ll have to decide now.’ Vikram took a deep breath. ‘Tara Sundaram, will you marry me?’

It came out sounding a lot cheesier than he’d intended, but the impact on Tara was satisfying. She looked stunned, staring at him with her pretty lips parted slightly, her breath coming a little faster. He realised he wanted to kiss her very badly, and to avoid succumbing to the temptation he released her hand, stepping back to lean against the car.

Tara took a few seconds to find her voice. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked finally, her voice sounding childish and more than a little shaky to her own ears.

Vikram nodded. ‘I am. You’d be free to do your doctorate, work at whatever you want …’ He raised a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lightly caressing her cheek.

For a second Tara had actually forgotten completely about her career aspirations, she was too busy trying to get her head around the fact that Vikram really wanted to marry her. When he mentioned the PhD, though, a rush of relief coursed through her.

‘Thanks,’ she blurted out.

Vikram winced. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her at this stage, but it definitely wasn’t gratitude.

‘Let’s get back and tell our families, then,’ he said, opening the door for her before walking around to slide into the driver’s seat. ‘I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.’

Tara nodded silently, acutely aware of the awkwardness that had crept into the conversation. He was right—their parents would be thrilled. The magnitude of the step she was taking was just dawning on her, though, and an entire flock of butterflies seemed to have set up house in her stomach.

She clenched her hands together, willing herself to stay calm as they sped through the streets towards her parents’ home. It was done now, she told herself firmly, sneaking a quick glance at Vikram’s impassive profile. No turning back, even if she wanted to.