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A few feet from them, Ram was arguing with one of the valets, his hands gesticulating in the air in frustration.
“Truth,” Harsh murmured, stepping closer again.
This time Raashi held her ground, her gaze rising to meet his challengingly. “And there’s a lot you’ll wish you never find out.”
“Lie,” he whispered, his breath fanning over her cheek as he bent towards her, one arm cradling her to him, his cheek nuzzling her hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her face resting on his chest, her fingers curled into the rip on his sweater.
“I want to know everything about you Raashi Gadde,” he murmured, not answering her question.
“Why?” she asked, a thrum of excitement coursing through her blood.
Harsh started to move slowly, guiding their bodies into a dance to music only he heard. The world receded leaving Raashi in a little bubble that encased the two of them. She couldn’t think, couldn’t argue, couldn’t form another coherent thought. All she could do in that moment was feel.
“Why?” Harsh repeated, his voice soft and musing. “Don’t they always say keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
The words hit her like a slap in the face, the strange feelings coursing through her receding.
“And I’m the enemy?” she asked, bitter scorn in her voice, even as she struggled to pull herself out of his embrace.
“I would have thought so but, now, I’m damned if I know,” Harsh said softly, holding her close and stilling her struggle.
A flash of light rent the air alerting her to the paparazzi who’d clearly gathered.
“And that, darling,” Harsh murmured, letting her go. “Is how you sell a fake relationship to the world.”
Fifteen
HARSH
“Cut!”
The word rang through the set, breaking the moment. Harsh sighed, dropping his arms from around his heroine and stepping back. He’d been shooting since five in the morning. It was now seven in the evening and he was ready to wrap up for the day. Unfortunately, his co-star kept forgetting her lines and they were now on the fifty eighth take of the same damn scene.
He rubbed a tired hand over his face as he slumped on the chair with his name on it.
“Sir?” His make-up artist hovered. “Touch up.”
Harsh shut his eyes and let the man do his thing. It felt like he had ten layers of the rubbish on his face already, but these were tools of his trade and he didn’t bother arguing with the experts.
Someone sat down in the chair beside him. He heard the creak of the chair and the shuffle of feet. His co-star he assumed. Probably sulking after the dressing down the director had just given her. He kept his eyes closed as the make-up artist used the setting spray.
“Done Sir.” The younger boy put his brushes away and stepped back.
“Thank you,” Harsh smiled at him absently, straightening in his chair. The lights on set were blinding and they hurt his head, exacerbating the migraine that had been lurking since morning. He glanced around looking for the director, hoping to ask for an early pack up.
“Did Naidu Garu tell you when we’re wrapping up for the day?” he asked his co-star.
“No.” A completely different voice answered.
Harsh fell out of his chair and landed on his butt. He gaped at Raashi who sat in the seat beside him, looking down at him like a judgy old aunty.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
She tsked at him. “Is that anyway to talk to your girlfriend?”
Then she held her phone up and waggled it in the air. “Especially a girlfriend who has a video of you putting on makeup.” She tapped the phone against her chin. “This has viral potential with the Harshians. Do you think I’d earn brownie points with them by sharing it?”
