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His sister stuck her tongue out at him in response.
Aryan shook his head and backed away from the car slowly.
“I’ll text you the rehearsal schedule,” Nivy called sweetly, as she put the car into gear.
Aryan held up a finger in response and stomped back to the clinic, muttering under his breath about sisters and the pain they brought with them. He ignored the part of his brain that was babbling excitedly about dancing with Jessie. At least, he tried to.
Two days later, he was bolting down a tasteless sandwich in his cabin between patients when his phone pinged. It was a text from Nivy.
“Rehearsal tonight at ten pm. Don’t be late.”
He sighed as he realised that he didn’t even have the excuse of working late. The viral diarrhoea outbreak was finally under control, so he could finish his rounds and get off by nine easily.
He drove up to the palace after dinner, and before he got out of the car, he read himself a stern lecture on how he hated dancing and that spending time with Jessie was injurious to his health. The irrational part of his brain merely yawned and pushed every rational thought aside as it jumped up and down in anticipation.
Nivy was waiting for him.
“Jessie and I are going to teach you the steps, don’t worry. We’ve kept it simple. Just feel the music and go with the flow.”
Every muscle in Aryan’s body stiffened in protest at the very thought of dancing in front of people. And with Jessie in his arms, no less. What if he stared into her eyes for a tad too long? Would his feelings for her be evident? God, he was going to make a fool of himself in front of the whole world, he thought with a groan.
“Nivy, listen to me. I’mnotthe dancing type. I love you to bits, but please don’t make me do this,” he begged.
“You haven’t even tried it yet, Aryan! At least give it a shot before you quit,” she said softly.
“All right, I’ll try it once. But if I can’t do it, you have to let me off the hook,” he replied, giving in because there was no way out.
“Done,” promised Nivy, looking far too cheerful for a woman whose brother was trying to wriggle out of dancing at her wedding. The damn woman was up to something.
She led him to the ballroom and clapped her hands in glee.
“Let’s get started, Jess.”
Jessie, Veer and another man were standing near the drinks table, and they turned around at Nivy’s proclamation. Veer’s eyes lit up at the sight of his fake-turned-real fiancée, and Aryan rolled his eyes and tried not to gag as Nivy flashed him a besotted smile. Those two really needed to get a room.
The stranger strolled over to Aryan and held out a hand.
“Since Veer is too busy cooing to his fiancée, I thought I’d better introduce myself. I’m Yash,” he said, with a grin.
“Also known as His Highness Yuvaraj Yashvardhan Rathore of Bannor. He’s Veer’s oldest friend,” chimed in Jessie, setting her glass down on the table and strolling towards them.
“Call me Yash,” insisted the princeling, winding his arm around her.
Aryan stared at him coldly. He couldn’t dance to save his life, but he had a black belt in aikido, and he could break that arm in three places if he wanted to. If the royal ass didn’t move his arm he was going to lose it. Painfully.
Some of his intent must have shown in his face, for Yash unhanded Jessie sharply.
“Erm, shall we get this party going?” he asked, running a finger around his collar.
“Of course,” said Aryan, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile.
Nivy hit play and the opening strains of Neele Neele Ambar Par filled the air.
Jessie stood before him, hand extended.
“Put your right hand on her left shoulder, and extend your left arm out. Right, now grasp her right hand with your left,” ordered Nivy.
Aryan felt stiff as a board, but he did his best to follow her instructions. He tried to follow the five basic steps, and while he got them in theory, it was difficult to put them into practice because Jessie was practically dragging him around the dance floor.
