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Dumping her handbag and overnight bag on an armchair that had heavy dark wood and modern upholstery in a perfect marriage of old and new, she stole a surreptitious glance at Simon first.
Seeing him here in her suite, three days after she’d made that foolishly passionate declaration about how much she wanted him, after they’d shared such a raw, needy kiss was shock enough. But to face him with her brothers watching on... Anya rubbed a hand over her temple, more than physical exhaustion catching up with her.
With all the decisions she’d been making recently, she had known that some version of her brothers butting in would happen soon. But she’d naively hoped for it to be later rather than sooner.
She’d barely slept in the last three days. The costume designs she’d been working on for Zara and Meera had finally clicked. With Virat’s demand for perfection in every small detail, they were nowhere near finalized. But he had said “brilliant” to her, and that was high praise indeed. After his approval, she’d gone into a frenzy with her production team to get them finished in time for the costume rehearsal. She’d been working long hours at her workshop, where she worked with some of the best seamstresses and tailors in the country.
It was a world of its own—her sanctuary when reality became too much for her. And maybe, just maybe, she’d also been hiding from her own desperate need to see Simon again.
Anya had no doubt that Naina’s and Zara’s presence was to corral her brothers’ inclination to be overly protective of her. No one else dared to try, much less succeed.
“What? Is there something on my face?” she barked at her brothers, her crankiness coming out at impending family drama.
This was her fault. She’d let them cocoon her and cosset her for far too long. Now, they’d have trouble accepting that she could think and act for herself.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Vikram demanded.
Virat simply studied her.
“Tell you what?” Anya asked.
“Have you looked at any social media recently, Anya?” Zara asked in a soft, concerned tone.
Her heart thudded against her rib cage, fear snaking through her veins like tendrils taking root. “Not at all. I’ve been at the workshop. There’s barely any internet connection there and I like it like that.” Her hands shook as she unraveled the scarf from around her neck. God, what had they written about her family now?
“Is it about Mama and Papa?”
“No,” Virat spoke finally. “It’s about you.”
About her? About her and who? What about her?
Her gaze instantly sought Simon. Broad shoulders leaning against the French doors, he simply watched her.
“Simon? Is it bad?”
“Depends, Angel.” He didn’t sound angry but there was a tightness to his mouth. And the fact that he’d called her Angel instead of Anya or Ms. Raawal in that formal tone of his...helped her draw a breath. “I tried to contact you but you weren’t picking up.”
“I don’t usually check my cell phone when I’m at the last stage of production. They know what it’s like,” she said, pointing to the four gazes shifting between her and Simon, all of them having clearly registered his nickname for her. “Why were you looking for me?”
“Because I think you and I should deal with this. Just the two of us. Not the entire damned world.” The dark look he sent her older brother might have felled a lesser man.
Vikram simply glared back at Simon.
“Anya, we don’t want to interfere in your private life. Your brothers just want to know if everything’s okay, that’s all.” Naina’s soft, calming voice couldn’t hide the thread of curiosity beneath or the warning she was issuing her husband. “To reassure themselves that this latest social media stunt hasn’t upset you.”
Anya flushed as she realized she’d walked halfway up the suite toward Simon. As if he were her true north.
She was not all right. Her knees were shaking and there was already a cold sweat breaking out all over her skin. She was close to falling apart. “I don’t care who’s here, Simon. Will you please...” Her breath turned choppy as a ghastly thought stuck her next. “Is it...to do with Meera?” she asked in a soft whisper, covering the distance between them. “Do they know about her? Oh, my God... I promise you I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my family. How did this...? How is she? Does she hate me?”
Simon’s hands clamped down firmly, reassuringly on her shoulders, pulling her out of the spiral. “No, sweetheart. She doesn’t know. No one knows,” he said, an instant softening in his eyes. “Only you and me, Anya. Not anyone else.”
A shuddering exhale left Anya, but the shivers continued. She wanted to drown in the depths of these eyes, wanted to burrow into his heart and stay there.
“Why didn’t you tell us that you were...seeing him?”
Vikram clearly still had a PhD in overprotective nonsense. Still, Anya could see the real worry in his eyes. “I’m not seeing him so much as... Wait, how do you even know that?”
“So youaredating him?” Vikram pounced on her.
