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He was not just his father’s son but a power in his own right. And he was nervous…because an evening spent in his delectable wife’s company, every moment spent with her, had a tendency to unravel his normally iron grip on his control.
With a rough exhale, he pushed himself to his feet and left the sanctuary of his study. He made it all the way to his room without encountering anyone which was a miracle in itself. His hand hovered on the doorknob for a second before he turned it and let himself in.
And then stopped short, his jaw dropping.
Veda stood in the middle of the room and she was like Ganesh said ready for the evening. Except…
“What the hell are you wearing?”
“You don’t like it?” she asked with an insolent eyebrow raise. “I thought this would totally be your vibe.”
“My vibe??” Agastya wasn’t even sure he had a vibe but if he did, this definitely wouldn’t be it.
Veda stood in the center of the suite’s living room in a simple white saree with black embroidery, her hair pulled back into a viciously tight bun. His gaze travelled over the blouse with the elbow length sleeves, the high neckline and the saree pleats that were tied high on her waist. She looked like the headmistress of a convent school.
“I’m channeling my mood board on ‘politician’s wives’,” she deadpanned.
Agastya burst out laughing, tears streaming down his face as he bent over, his hands on his knees. A reluctant smile tugged at Veda’s lips.
“I take it this wasn’t your idea?” she asked, wryly.
“My idea?” he asked, still huffing with laughter, as he straightened. “What’s my idea?”
“Getting your mother to dress me up as the ideal politician wife?” Veda held her hands out on either side of her. “Because, apparently, I’m incapable of dressing myself.”
Agastya’s laughter fled. “First, my mother shouldn’t be allowed to dress anyone up, including herself. Have you seen the atrocious outfits she’s forced on Priyanka for years?”
“They’ve always been appropriate though,” Veda said, sounding a little lost and forlorn.
Agastya walked up to her, grasping her chin and tipping her face up so she was looking at him. “Tonight isn’t a political rally or a constituency visit. It’s just a social event. If it’s something that requires a certain look from you, I’ll tell you. And then you can make that look work for you. Do it your way.”
Veda didn’t respond, her eyes blinking rapidly as she forced back sudden tears.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “I don’t know how to be your wife.”
Agastya pulled her in close, a hair pin from her formidable bun digging into the underside of his chin. Veda sniffled, hugging him back.
“You are my wife. There isn’t anything else to do but just be.”
“That’s bullshit,” she wailed. “You’re not a normal person. You’re you.”
That last bit sounded an awful lot like an insult. Agastya fought to keep his smile from appearing, but she pulled back and glared at him.
“I’m glad you find me funny.”
“I don’t,” he corrected her, guiding her to the couch in the corner and making her sit. “I find you a lot of things, Veda. Funny isn’t one of them.”
“What do you find me?” she asked sullenly.
Agastya went down on his haunches in front of her so he could look her in the eyes. “Witty, compassionate, beautiful, loyal, warm, kind…the list is endless.”
Her lips parted in a silent ‘o’ as she looked at him. And then she said, “You forgot graceful.”
Agastya chuckled. “The most graceful dancer in the world.”
“How would you know that? You’ve never seen me dance.”
“Not on stage,” he admitted. “But I’ve seen you dance. Whenever you’ve danced, you’re all I’ve seen.”
