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She stepped away from him instead, trying to find the shattered remnants of her composure and piece it back together.
“Well,” he said now, his voice taking on that familiar taunting sneer. “I am an actor.”
“And a good one at that,” she said quietly.
Harsh frowned, clearly surprised by her lack of snarky repartee but Raashi was feeling anything but snarky in that moment.
“Anna,” she said to Ram who was inexplicably staring at the wall behind Aadhya. “Can we leave?”
His gaze shot to hers and whatever he saw in her eyes had him nodding. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll walk you guys out,” Harsh said, his gaze still caught on Raashi’s downbent head.
“Bye,” Aadhya called, clearly not intending to join Harsh in walking them out. But as Raashi crossed her, Aadhya reached out and pulled her in for a hug.
“Hang in there,” Aadhya whispered, holding Raashi tight. “It’s all going to be over soon.”
Raashi hugged her back, a whiff of desperation leaking into the embrace. “Hopefully very soon.”
She stepped out of Aadhya’s embrace and onto Harsh’s foot. He groaned, a pained sound.
“Sorry,” she muttered, abashed and feeling more than ever like the troll at the fairy tale ball.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, limping along beside her. “Your boots have very pointy heels though.”
They made it all the way to the gate where the valets hovered in a rabid crowd. Ram walked over to hand his slip to them so they could bring their car around leaving Raashi and Harsh alone in a tiny pocket of silence for a few minutes.
Sudden tears stung Raashi’s eyes as she considered the debacle that was this evening. This was always her. Clumsy, awkward, and brash. The family embarrassment.
“Hey.” Harsh’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Raashi blinked furiously, forcing the ridiculous tears back. “Of course, I am.”
A chill breeze blew past them ruffling the torn edges of Harsh’s sweater, the sight of that gaping hole making Raashi want to bawl again.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. How long did it take the damn valet to get their car.
“For?” Harsh asked, shoving his hands into his jeans pocket like they were out for a stroll on a hot, summer day.
“You know for what,” she answered irritably, sniffling back a few stray tears.
Harsh held out one hand and started listing reasons on his fingers. “For tearing my sweater? For breaking my toes? For headbutting my chest in the guise of a hug?”
She swatted his hand, forcing it down. “Just shut up.”
His voice dropped to a dangerously low octave, simmering with undertones of sex and sin. “Or for claiming me as yours?”
Raashi turned bright red. Had she said it was cold? Nope. She was standing in a freaking furnace.
“Isn’t that what we’re here for?” she asked with what she thought was remarkable composure, keeping her voice just as low. Except hers did not sound sinful. She sounded an awful lot like a frog with a cold. “To establish our fake relationship in the eyes of the public?”
“True.” Harsh took a deliberate step closer to her.
Raashi stepped back. “Then, I’d say mission accomplished.”
“I never knew you were such a good actress, Rash,” Harsh crooned.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she shot back, feeling more like herself than before.
