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“Look, dismemberment takes time,” Harsh informed her solemnly. “And I need to get the torture out of the way first.”
“So, chop chop so you can start chopping on time?”
He gave her a droll look. “Stop now Rash. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The front door swung open and they stepped into an alternate universe. Soft, lush carpeting lined the floors and she found her grimy sneakers melting into them. A man in a suit materialized out of nowhere making her yelp in fright. He was tall and thin and rather pale. All he needed was a set of fangs to complete his ensemble. Hyderabadi Dracula at your service.
“Good evening Sir. A table for two?”
Harsh nodded. “How’s life been Murthy?”
“Well Sir, very well.” Spooky Butler smiled. Raashi needed to suppress a shudder at the sight of those pointy, blindingly white teeth.
“What is this place?” she asked Harsh in a hushed whisper as they followed the butler type person down the small corridor.
“Somewhere private to hang out where the press and the public can’t hassle you.” He gestured to her to precede him through the door at the end of the corridor. Raashi stepped through it and into a simple, yet luxurious dining set up. It managed to have casual bean bags and couches while still having a few tables with straight-backed chairs for the more discerning diners.
“A restaurant.” She was absolutely stunned. How had she never heard of this place? Surely, her brother knew about it? Or Veda and Agastya?
“No, none of them come here,” he answered her unasked question, leading them to a couch and bean bag set up. “It isn’t even on their radar. It’s not proper enough.”
The last of the tension she hadn’t even known was living inside her receded. He’d found a spot where the combined weight of their families couldn’t find them. This was their Bermuda Triangle! Raashi threw herself into a bean bag, heaving a huge sigh of relief.
“Can we live here? Forever?”
Harsh laughed, a dry chuckle that she felt in her bones. “That may be pushing it, but we can certainly stay here for some time.”
Spooky Butler glided up to their table. Raashi wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t Count Dracula and this wasn’t the Hyderabadi version of Transylvannia.
“Something to drink? Eat perhaps?” Count Murthy asked.
Harsh looked at her and she sat up. “Can I see the menu?”
“Don’t be absurd, Rash. There’s no menu.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to know what to order then?”
Harsh stretched his arms over his head as he reclined in a bean bag across from her. She expected his shirt to shred itself at any moment. “Just tell him what you want.”
“Anything I want?” Both her eyebrows had shot up now.
“Anything,” Harsh confirmed, glancing around and lifting his hand to wave at someone across the room. She noted that the other person didn’t bother to come over and interact beyond waving back. This place was her own, personal version of heaven.
“Anything at all?”
“Yes Madam,” Count Murthy intervened. “Anything at all. The chef will make it for you.”
Her stomach rumbled at the thought. “Okay then.” Raashi took a deep breath. “Chicken 65, pork baos, teriyaki mushrooms, mutton dum biryani and strawberry cheesecake.”
Harsh’s gaze shot back to her. “Hungry much?”
“You can share,” she shrugged. “A little.”
“I’ll have the quinoa and goat cheese salad,” he told the butler. “And everything else for her.”
The other man cleared his throat and asked, “Anything to drink Sir?”
Harsh looked at Raashi who shook her head. “Just a vodka for me. Neat.”
