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“Well, for one thing, he has some distant cousins here. More importantly, his business partner and closest friend lives here. Ms. Sampson has visited us a few times after Mama died. I mean, she’s definitely not who I want for a stepmother but...”
“Stepmother?” Anya said, aghast. “Your dad’s marrying again?” The question burst out of her before she could judge the wisdom of asking the teenager about her dad’s love life. Her heart was racing, her thoughts already spiraling into a loop.
Had Simon been in a relationship when he and Anya had...had sex that first night? Was he with her, even now, while Anya was obsessing over him? God, why was she obsessing over him?
It had been a moment of madness—utterly pleasurable madness, but still. Knowing now who he was to Meera, she could never indulge with him like that again. Not when she was finally albeit slowly coming out of her shell after all these years.
“I don’t know,” Meera said, tugging her hair back. “When we went to dinner on our second day back here, she was hinting pretty hard about how well-suited they are. And to be honest, whenever he sees her, Dad does cheer up a bit. I mean, it’s not how Virat sir looks at Zara di or Vikram sir at Naina di,” she added with a dreamy sigh and Anya giggled.
Her powerful brothers—known to be ruthless and caustic and brilliant—turned into completely different people around their wives. Their marriages had truly taken on a dreamy Bollywood-esque fairy-tale quality in the media for how real and passionate they were. Something Anya couldn’t even imagine for herself. That kind of love needed utter surrender and vulnerability and a kind of bravery she’d never had.
“But his marrying Ms. Sampson has to be better than him being lonely, right?” Meera asked morosely.
“You don’t like her?” Anya said, frowning. Maybe she had no right to be jealous over some faceless woman, but she had every right to worry whether this woman would be kind to Meera as a stepmother.
“Not at all,” Meera said without hesitation. “For one thing, she treats me like I was...six instead of thirteen. And she pretends all this interest in me in front of Dad but I can totally see through her. Pfft...she’s not that good of an actress. She forgets I have Mama and Zara di for reference.”
Anya couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s phrasing and took her hand. “Meera, it’s not your job to worry over—”
“What’s happened? Meera, what are you worrying about?” came Simon’s deep voice behind them.
Releasing Meera’s hand, Anya turned. Dressed casually in a light blue V-necked sweater and dark denim, Simon instantly dominated the vast gym area, his rugged masculinity in contrast with the overtly muscular look that was all the rage on cinema screens right now. The gray at his temples, the laughter lines around his mouth, the easy confidence with which he greeted everyone—from her brothers to the errand boy on set—made him the most potently real man Anya had ever met.
Meera scrunched her nose when Simon bent his head. “I’m all sweaty, Dad.”
Simon kissed her cheek anyway. He cast Anya a quick but such a thorough glance that it sent a shiver down her spine before asking again, “What’s got you worried, Meera?”
“Oh, just Virat sir’s feedback today,” Meera said without blinking. “If anyone can get me to quit acting, it’s got be him.”
“What?” They both responded though Simon’s question came out in a thunderous growl. “Do you want me to talk to him?” Anya said, turning to her.
“God, no, I was just joking,” Meera said, making a face. “Stop looking like that. Both of you. Everyone in the industry knows he’s incredibly forthright when it comes to work. I’ve just got to grow a thicker skin.” She turned to her dad. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.” Meera looped her arm through Anya’s, innocently fluttering her lashes at them. “Maybe Anya can join us for dinner?”
“No.”
They both responded at the same time and with such emphasis that Meera’s eyes went wide. “You know I thought I was imagining it, but I’m not. Why do you guys dislike each other?” she said, her tone suddenly petulant enough to remind Anya that she was a teenager who always wanted to have her own way.
“I don’t dislike Ms. Raawal,” Simon protested, his gaze holding Anya’s. While every inch of his posture backed up his words, his eyes...his eyes said something else altogether. But Anya lacked both the confidence and the courage to call him on it.
“I’ve got to finish those initial sketches tonight,” she mumbled, patting Meera’s arm. “You just reminded me how Virat gets when he’s in the thick of a project.”
Hands on her hips, Meera turned her stubborn gaze to her dad, demanding an answer.
Simon sighed. “I haven’t seen you much this week, Meera. I’d rather it just be the two of us this evening.”
A whisper of dejection pinched Anya but she pushed it away. With Simon, she could always at least count on honesty. Grabbing her gym bag, Meera walked toward the bathroom.
Simon instantly switched his cell phone on, not even a little bothered by the cloud of awkwardness and tension swirling around them.
Anya stepped closer to him. The scent of him instantly made her belly tighten with longing. Both physical and...otherwise. Holding her spine straight took a lot of effort when all she wanted to do was to melt into his broad strength. “I need to talk to you.”
Simon sighed, switched off his phone and tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His whole “I’m bored with this conversation already” attitude made anger pour through Anya. “Yes, Ms. Raawal. What is it?”
“Don’t ‘Ms. Raawal’ me as if I’m another teenager bothering you.”
She sighed, instantly regretting her curt tone. He wasn’t acting any differently from what they’d agreed to be going forward—polite strangers.
But this suave, remote Simon...made her feel so unsure of herself. “That night...when we...”
