Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (20 page)

* * *

Sometimes every moment dragged. And this was one of those times. Every time he looked at Vishakha he was clutched with the impulse to ask her to stay with him. Tomorrow seemed to become a leaden weight on the horizon, about to crash down on his shoulders.

He was standing in the recessed porch, looking at the herbaceous potted plants, and he tensed as he heard a step behind him.

‘Mia,' he said without turning, as he felt the touch on his shoulder. Not Vishakha, he could tell by the scent, so it only left her. Though the strength of his wish that it was Vishakha made a complete mockery of all his good intentions where she was concerned.

Inside, dancing had commenced and he'd excused himself, preferring the secluded semi-darkness. If he had to hold Vishakha in his arms now…

‘How astute you are, Zaheer!' the woman laughed. ‘And also clever.'

He turned to look at her, reading the underlying nuance in her tone. She continued, ‘Clever to find a fiancée so opportunely.'

The game was up.
He didn't know how she had found out. But she had. ‘What are you trying to say?' he grated.

‘I heard your supposed betrothed begging you for more last night. How hard you are, Zaheer! But I'm not complaining. Smart of you to think of a way to convince Armaan like that. Don't worry. I don't mean to give the game away. Fiancées and husbands can be quite convenient if properly used…If you know what I mean?'

He got her meaning all right. But obviously she hadn't caught on to the true state of things. ‘If you like freedom, why get shackled, Mia?'

She shrugged lightly. ‘Let's say a time comes in everyone's life when they may as well settle down. Well, what do you say? Armaan is going to be checking the set all day tomorrow. I'm free—'

She stepped up close, laying a hand on his lapel. He gripped her upper arms, giving her a little shake of impatience. ‘This isn't a game you can win, Mia. You are going to be damned for this!'

‘What's going on here?'

Bloody hell!
The last thing he needed was his director coming upon them when Mia was alone with him. Disgusted, Zaheer let her go, seeing the rapidly reddening face of his host.

‘Armaan!' Mia stumbled over to him. Zaheer clenched his fists, cursing his loss of control at this ill-timed moment, but Mia's effrontery had been beyond belief.

‘Ask this woman who calls herself your wife,' he bit out.

‘Armaan, he…he's still in love with me.' Mia wasn't an acclaimed actress for nothing. Her voice held the horror of recent discovery and, more amazingly, tears. ‘He's been forcing me to meet him behind your back. And he threatened to tell you all sorts of lies about him and me if I didn't agree.'

Zaheer felt his fists bunch. ‘You little—'

‘I can't believe you did this, Zaheer,' Armaan gritted. ‘When I trusted you enough to give you a role in this movie, despite all the talk about Mia and you. How the
hell
—' Words failed him and then he stood staring at Zaheer.

Zaheer saw in his eyes the antagonism of an adversary. The air had changed, tension riding high, and he wasn't quite the congenial host any more.

‘She's lying,' he said flatly. No use gold-plating the ugly truth.

‘No!' Armaan swallowed, turned away, turned back, obviously fighting for control…and failing because his face was suffused with black rage, the finger he finally levelled at Zaheer shaking. ‘This finishes it all. That's it. I don't care what happens but you're out of it!'

It took seconds for his meaning to sink in. Armaan had just cast him out of the film. Zaheer felt muscles coil tight as though preparing to deflect a knife hand strike in a martial attack move.

‘You don't mean that.' Breath squeezed out of his lungs. He wasn't going to beg, damn it. But that film was his ladder, his plane to go up and up till he could skydive and feel the thrill of being weightless and free.

Now he had crash-landed.

‘I have nothing more to say.' Zaheer felt ice creep up his spine at Armaan's words. So they were going to be civilized about it. ‘Whether the film makes it to the floors or not, I'm not having you in line of my cameras! And that's final. Final. Our lawyers can sort it out with the producer tomorrow.'

Zaheer wasn't staying there to hear the rest of it. He went back inside the huge hall. For a minute it all seemed unreal, the colours too bright. He blinked. It had been dark outside. What a laugh! It was bloody dark inside too.

* * *

‘Zaheer! What's happened?' Vishakha asked, worried at the look on his face.

They were in the car. Zaheer had suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her outside.

‘Nothing. We have another party to attend, that's all.' He smiled as though he had no care in the world.

She didn't like that smile. He was hiding something and it caused a little pain inside her. So she couldn't even ask him that. He'd gently but firmly nudged her away, making it hard to even be his friend.

Was it Mia? Had he found he had feelings for her? Her heart missed a beat as the thought popped in. What if her reading of that situation had been wrong? She knew how he felt love was an unwanted burden in his life. Had he just discovered he'd been running away uselessly?

Was that why he'd rejected her last night?
Because she couldn't replace Mia after all?

They stopped at an eminent bayside hotel, the interior done in a contemporary minimalist style. Zaheer nodded and greeted the various acquaintances, the usual flashy crowd, avoiding the milling dance floor. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was amiss. She wanted to talk to him. About his troubles. Herself. Him.
Them.
What time did she have? She had a morning flight. Surely she couldn't go without—without what? she asked herself. What did she want to say to him now?

Her throat went tight. Then there was a moment of respite in the incessant buzz of people and she cornered him. ‘Zaheer, we have to talk. I'm leaving tomorrow.'

‘I know that, babe.' He leaned back against one of the waist-high chrome glass tables dotted around, his eyes on the crowd rather than on her.

‘Do we have to spend our time together like this?' She had to ditch her pride and say it, suspecting what she did about Mia, but the words came from the depths of her. Whatever she felt, she should at least talk to him, feel again that empathy they'd shared. Say goodbye properly.

‘What's wrong with this?' He waved a hand casually.

‘We could spend some time alone. It might be a better way of saying goodbye.'

He finally stared into her eyes. ‘I don't have a better way of doing that.'

‘We can try to remember our time together pleasantly,' she persisted.

‘Pleasantly? What exactly do you expect from me, Vishakha?'

He wasn't listening. She was losing him. Tomorrow it might be too late.

Why was he doing this?

He didn't want Mia after all. He couldn't, from what he'd told her about the woman before. She took a deep breath. She had to have faith in him and in herself. He'd talked to her about his deepest feelings. Shared what she knew he hadn't with anyone else. They had something. Sometimes it felt perilously close to—

To love.
Briefly she closed her eyes, her hand seeking the support of the table edge. It felt so strong in her heart, whatever it was. For the first time in her life, she wanted to chance it. Explore. Live.

‘If you ask me, then I won't go back tomorrow, Zaheer. I can stay, if you need me.'

She met his gaze, which was hooded, narrowed. ‘You have a job to go back to.'

She did, but some madness had taken root because she found herself saying, ‘I'll leave it. I can get another here…we have something, Zaheer, we can't just let it go.'

God, she was talking of a long-term, or at least an intermediate, relationship here. She hadn't meant to. Was she begging him? Certainly imploring him to reconsider. Her breath became unsteady, her heart pounded, but he was shaking his head, eyes totally unreadable. Like malachite chips as they looked at her.

‘It's over, Vishakha.'

‘What is?' she whispered.

‘We're done here. You understand. Done.'

‘Done?'

There were white lines bracketing his mouth. ‘I'm out of the movie. And I don't need you any more,' he ground out.

Some people had stopped talking, sensing something was going on, and started listening to them.

He had to have seen that but he continued, not bothering to lower his voice. ‘Our. Bogus. Engagement. Is off.'

A soft gasp arose around them and Vishakha blanched. ‘Zaheer…'

His face was like a carved mask, pale, chiselled, the bones sharply drawn. He spoke in a steady, measured way. ‘It's so over, Vishakha. There isn't any need to pretend to everyone any more. Your problem is already solved and mine is redundant. So is this farce. Let's split now, shall we?'

‘But you promised…' If he didn't care about the people who were gaping at them…if he was bent upon humiliating her publicly, knowing how that must hurt her…at least she had to know. ‘You promised not to break it.'

‘That was a mistake. Did you really think I could remain engaged to you for ever?' His cruel jibe took her breath away. He didn't even look at her.

I'm out of the movie.
Why? How? Why hadn't he told her? All the way in the car to here, he'd been keeping it to himself…because something had to have happened at the Khans' to cause that precipitate departure. He hadn't bothered to tell her. Share his troubles…

Now he didn't care that he targeted her in front of these people. His people. He would return to their fold, regardless of how he behaved. While she— She would live with the humiliation of their mockery. Or worse. Her hand clenched on the edge of her chiffon
pallu.
She looked around and saw the shock, the sympathy, the hidden sniggers in the multitude.

That he could have reduced her to this!

He knew it. She could see the knowledge in his eyes, narrow slits of green ice now but fully aware of what was going on inside her. He'd always been able to sense her every emotion and now was no different.

‘Why?' she whispered. But the flint-hardness didn't decrease. He had completely blocked her out.

‘Because there's no
us
and it would be foolhardy to go on believing that. You were here for a purpose, Vishakha, nothing more. Don't lose sight of the fact. I don't need you any more,' he reiterated.

The
beast.
Anger rose up inside her, choking her. She had a brief instinct to lash out and demand he should listen to her, take back his dismissive words. But pride stiffened her spine. If he thought she'd cry and beg, he was way off the mark.

‘You're right. You don't need me, Zaheer. What you need is an inclined plane and a speeding car, so you can jump off it again and again till you break your bones. Maybe that would knock some sense into your head. Why can't you see something that's so right just in front of you?' Tears came thick and unexpected, wetting her cheeks, blocking her throat. Fiercely she wiped them away. ‘Oh, what's the use talking to you? Just take this.' She twisted and pulled and took off the ring, holding it out to him.

He didn't extend his hand, standing there grim-faced, mouth compressed, and she took his hand, large and heavy, and placed the ring in his partially curled palm.

‘Goodbye. And thanks for the sightseeing!' she bit out, a stab of savage satisfaction hitting her as he winced at that parting shot.

She wouldn't look at anyone. She would not. With her head held high, she stalked out, though the way was blurred. He'd been wrong. He'd told her to come clean about her feelings but when she had he'd only used them to hurt her. What was he afraid of? She hadn't even wanted a long-term commitment from him. She'd told him as much.

Outside, she wiped her eyes fiercely and flagged a taxi, relieved to be speeding away from him. Her heart felt it was wrung out, twisted out of shape. Her breathing was shallow. Somewhere deep in her heart she could feel the stabbing pain for his obvious heartbreak over the film. He had wanted it so much. She could still see the blaze in his eyes when he had talked of it.

Why the hell was she thinking of that? Feeling sad for him? It made no sense when she was leaving him, never to see him again.

Never. A short word but a long meaning.

Her wounded heart thudded and began to pump painfully as the truth finally hit her. Every breath that felt as though it was pressing against broken ribs made it true. She couldn't lie to herself any more. Again she'd been pretending, while, under her calm front, hope grew. She
had
wanted more from him. She'd wanted his love.

His love. The phrase echoed in her brain over and over. With a muffled sound, she buried her face in her hands. How could she be stupid enough to fall for a man who'd never be hers? She'd known he didn't do commitment. She'd heard he was a rake of the first order. She'd felt him get close to her and then withdraw like an ebbing tide.

Now he'd not just built barriers around his heart but ensured she'd never attempt to scale them.

Good job. Zaheer. Hope your heart rots within those walls.

What could she do about the helpless part of her which furtively retracted the curse as soon as she'd made it?

* * *

Zaheer curled his fingers around the cold diamond ring till the jagged edges bit into his skin. The room full of people felt empty, the noise for a moment totally separate from him.

A shudder ran through him as he relived the scene from just moments ago. He'd wanted to crush her in his arms, bury his angst in her, forget the world existed.

Even now, the ache to hold her made his muscles tense. The instinct to run out and call her back arose so powerfully he actually took a step forward.