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“You’ve chosen well,beta,” she had added softly. And Zara’s heart had felt full to bursting. “He seems like a very thoughtful young man.”
It had been a month since their fake engagement had turned into a real one. The night he’d proposed, Virat had simply asked her to consider his proposal without rejecting it outright. Had stayed with her all night long and made love to her in such a tender, gentle way that she’d ended up crying in his arms.
She’d woken up in the early hours of the morning to find his palm on her belly and a sort of wonder etched into his face. His gaze had been somewhere else, until Zara had clasped his cheek and kissed him. She’d seen something there, then—a wretched sort of loneliness that she understood very well. “Whatever you decide, Zara, we’ll be a family. Of our own making.”
She had nodded and demanded that he hold her. Desperate to have him back, away from the shadows of the painful past that glimmered in his face. And she’d known then that she’d already made her decision.
Happiness was a choice, and Zara wanted to spend the rest of her life building on the magic that was already there between them. Not that Virat had taken her acceptance for granted.
No, he’d waged a weeklong seduction campaign that Zara had been all too happy to succumb to. If he wasn’t bringing her her favorite desserts from all around the world, he was bringing her old gramophone records of artists from a long-gone era. He’d cooked for her, gone over possible scripts with her that she might consider in the future, and found new and adventurous ways to make love to her.
Just thinking of the last time he had taken her to bed sent heat flushing through Zara. What had begun as an innocent massage of her feet when she’d complained of exhaustion had somehow turned into the wicked man going on his knees in front of the sofa where she’d been sitting, and burying his face between her thighs.
Zara still had no idea how he made sex so raw and intimate.
How one night, they’d communicate with greedy fingers and throaty gasps and the damp slide of their bodies in the darkness. And the next, they would be watching some cheesy movie in bed for research, laughing, taunting each other. And amid that laughter he would strip her and slowly slide into her ready heat, and her laughter would transform into desperate need.
One evening, she’d opened a safe sex box from one of the rural outreach projects she was overseeing, and out had popped a tube of lube. Of course, the wicked man had immediately suggested they test the product and they’d lost track of time and had arrived flushed and late to a dinner with Vikram and Naina.
If she’d been hovering over the threshold before, now she was completely, irrevocably in love with him. She loved how he didn’t hesitate to discuss their future. How he bossed her around when he thought she was unnecessarily tiring herself.
How he spoiled her rotten when the mood took him. How he could go from demanding and insatiable to a gentle lover who wanted nothing more than to hold her through the night.
“I’m so happy for you both, Zara,” Naina had said, when Zara had informed them that the wedding was imminent. Vikram had looked relieved and hugged Zara so tight for so long that Virat had growled and pulled her away. Leaving Naina in a fit of giggles at his jealous behavior.
Zara had felt a strange reluctance to share the news of their pregnancy, even with her best friend and his wife. And Virat had understood her reluctance without her having to spell it out. Only then did Zara realize that he was a very private man. Especially when it came to things that mattered the most to him.
That even with his brother—with whom he shared a true bond despite their creative differences and career trajectories—there was a shield he maintained. As if he didn’t dare let anyone close. As if he’d become an island so that no one could hurt him.
And yet he’d let her in, Zara knew. He’d let her see the true Virat, despite what he thought she’d done to him. The man who loved and hurt and felt things so deeply.
Despite that, she didn’t have a single doubt in her head that her pregnancy was the primary reason he had proposed marriage. She did want her child to know her father, but sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night feeling as if she had lost him once again, and reached for him.
His bare back warm to her touch, his muscles solid and real, he was always there. She blinked at the realization that in the weeks since they had been engaged—the real engagement—he’d spent almost every evening with her. It was as if he had decided, just as she had, that he was going to give this everything.
When Zara had asked him if they should have the wedding the morning before the release of the movie, he had sent her an almost forbidding look. Not that it scared her one bit.
“Don’t glare at me,” she’d said, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his chest. Outside of having him inside her, making sweet love to her, this was Zara’s favorite thing to do. She’d realized he wasn’t given to overt displays of affection but she didn’t care. He was big and solid and hers, and she had already spent so many years denying what she felt for him, battling loneliness. The thud of his heart against her ear made her feel safe and warm and alive. “It’s an option I’m exploring, that’s all,” she’d said, pressing her finger to the ferocious scowl he wore. “Your schedule is crazy bonkers and that’s one of the days where everyone is available and—”
“I don’t care if it ends up being just you and me, Zara. And your mother, of course. I don’t want to face your mother’s wrath if she can’t attend.” His sudden grin and warmth reminded her of when she’d met him for the first time. “But I don’t want even a hint of PR spin about our wedding. If Bhai tries to convince you that the idea of us appearing as a married couple on the eve of the premiere after some top secret, romantic wedding that morning—because we just couldn’t wait,” he said in a mocking, high voice, “will skyrocket the ratings for the movie and create even more interest, then I’ll throw the punch that he deserved to get the other night at dinner when he kept hugging you.”
Zara’s mouth twitched and his scowl turned into an outright glower. “Let’s not get crazy, darling,” she said, pressing her lips to his. “That’s the last thing we need when the tale of our supposedly twisted love triangle has finally died down. I’ll tell your brother that he’s not invited to the wedding, how about that?”
“Are you managing me,shahzadi?” he’d said then, his eyes blazing with mock severity.
“Manage the most brilliant director of our generation? Me, I wouldn’t dare,” she’d said, going on her toes, ruffling his hair. She undid the tie he’d just spent ages putting on and slid her greedy hands under his shirt to find the warm, smooth skin of his pecs. She kissed him again, deep and long, uncaring what they’d been talking about, and he let her, knowing very well that she was trying to do exactly that.
It was quite a while before both of them made their way back to the discussion at hand. He looked rumpled from her kisses and Zara decided she liked him like that best.
“I want our marriage, our child, our lives, our entire future,” he said, putting on his Italian handmade shoes, “to be separate from the lives we lead on-screen. No performances for the media.
“No public avowals of affection. No discussing our private lives in front of the camera for someone else’s titillation. Not even for one of your numerous charity projects and empowerment efforts or anything else. Not even in front of Bhai and my mother will we talk about our life together.” He finally looked up. “Is that clear, Zara?”
Zara had simply nodded, knowing where the words were coming from. “I understand, Virat.”
“I don’t want to have to send our child away to boarding school at some far-off destination, but if that’s what it takes to keep the drama of our public lives away from him or her, we will do it. I can’t stand the idea of anything or anyone hurting the...baby, even through words.”
Zara had gone to him then and hugged him tight, letting him know that she understood perfectly. That he could dictate to her about this until the end of time and she would only agree with him. That their life together would be real and have none of the glittering artificiality his parents had embraced.
