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Resentment heaved in her breast, but Veda wisely stilled it.
“Show me you haven’t lost your focus and the spot is still yours.” Guruma switched the last light off, shrouding them in darkness. “If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to take it from you. We have a month to the performance.” She came to Veda, her wrinkly yet strong hand reaching out to grip her chin. “Make it count.”
She left her there, standing alone, in the darkened hall that had been her everything since she was a child. Dance had given her what life never had, a sense of belonging. A cuckoo in the nest of her overachieving family, the one she was born into, an unwelcome burden in the family she’d married into…she’d never fit anywhere.
Except on a stage when she stood in Aramandi, the basic standing dance pose. Then she didn’t just belong, she ruled. And Veda was not going to let anyone take that from her.
She limped out of the dance hall, her aching, swollen feet taking her to the locker room where she’d stored her bag. When she came back out, her bodyguard reached to take the bag from her and stowed it in the car, holding the door open for her to get in. She levered herself into the Range Rover with difficulty, her muscles sore from both overuse and lack of practice. She hadn’t danced in fifteen days, not since wedding mania had taken over. No wonder Guruma was angry with her. She deserved it. She was right. Veda had been neglecting her craft.
She rested her head on the window frame, her eyes staring unseeingly at the road that flashed by. She couldn’t lose dance. It was all she’d ever truly had. She couldn’t lose it. She wouldn’t lose it. Irrespective of what else it cost her, she would prioritise her career, her passion, her craft…Her eyes fluttered shut as exhaustion overtook her.
But even as she slowly drifted to sleep, it wasn’t dance that floated through her mind but a vision of a dark room, a wall of glass and a hard body pressed up against her.
Twenty-Three
AGASTYA
Fatigue dragged at his feet as he finally left his father’s study. They’d spent hours going round in circles over a policy issue with no clear end in sight. His father was as stubborn as he was willful and it was a dangerous combination to butt heads against.
“Go home, Ganesh,” Agastya told his PA. “It’s late. We’ll come at this in the morning, fresh and rested.”
Ganesh nodded, looking perturbed. “Sir, we still haven’t found the missing documents.”
Agastya sighed. It weighed heavily on his conscience but recently he was asking himself if it was necessary to dedicate so many resources to this task when even the media furore had died down. His wedding and choice of bride had done exactly what he’d hoped, killed the story and muzzled her father. So, did he really need to prove their innocence? He knew they were innocent and the opposition didn’t have any evidence to bring charges. Wasn’t it enough? Should he let sleeping dogs lie?
His gaze was drawn to the stairs that led to the higher floor where his beautiful wife slept. Maybe if he let it go, he could finally allow himself to also accept the fact that he was married to an incredible woman. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, which past life he’d lived like a saint, for surely, she was the kind of blessing you only got for prior sainthood?
“Sir.”
A new voice intruded on their moment of exhausted silence. Agastya stared at the newcomer. Venkat, was one of Veda’s guards and a man he’d personally vetted before assigning to her. A strange fear assailed him as he stared at the other man’s worried face.
“What is it?” he asked, his gaze going to the empty stairs again.
“Sir, Madam…”
Agastya’s eyes snapped to the other man’s sweaty, stressed face. “What about Madam?” he growled.
“She was very tired after her work.”
“Work?” Agastya stared at the man blankly before remembering that Veda had gone for dance practice that evening. She was performing soon, wasn’t she? For Independence Day or something?
He dragged his mind back to the conversation. Was this idiot really bothering him with the fact that Veda was tired after her dance practice?
Ganesh shifted irritably. “You’re disturbing Sir for this?” he snapped in Telugu.
When the man still hovered uncomfortably in front of them, Agastya felt compelled to ask, “What is it? What are you not saying?”
Venkat cleared his throat and scratched his head. “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s not my place but first Madam fell asleep in the car and she kept crying in her sleep. And then when she got down and entered the house, I noticed that one foot was bleeding. I was looking for Pedammagaru to inform but I couldn’t find her and then I saw you and - ”
Agastya was already running towards the stairs before Venkat had even finished telling them how he couldn’t find Agastya’s mother. He took the stairs two at a time, racing down the corridor till he got to his door. He barged into the room expecting to find…he didn’t know what but it wasn’t the sight of his wife curled up under the covers, her hair falling in silky tangles around her face, a pillow hugged to her midriff, fast asleep.
Breath coming in short, hoarse pants, he dropped into a chair beside a corner table and watched her. Even in sleep, she frowned, her beautiful forehead crinkled and worried. The thought of her crying in her sleep in the car broke something inside him. He’d done this to her, hadn’t he? The Veda he’d known before marriage had laughed like the world was her oyster of joy. And in just a few short weeks, he’d shattered that oyster and ground it to dust under his foot.
He stood slowly, walking to the bed and raising the edge of her comforter to look at her feet. She’d wrapped bandages around them which were already coming loose. Agastya unwrapped them, meaning to fasten them tighter but his hand stilled at what he uncovered.
Blisters the size of two-rupee coins decorated the sole of her right foot. She’s clearly applied an ointment to it, but they still looked raw and angry, one of them continuing to leak blood from one corner.
He hissed, pain slicing through him at the sight. The thought of her dancing on these feet undid him and almost brought him to his knees. He got up and went into the bathroom, scrubbing his hands clean, up to his elbows, with soap and water. He then filled a bucket with warm water and picked up a clean hand towel. He walked back to the bed where she still slept and placed it on the marble floor beside it. Dampening the cloth, he slowly wiped her foot down, pressing on the bleeding blister gently to help it drain better.
