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Harsh stared at him in mock outrage. “I’ll have you know I was never trained. The monkey business comes naturally to me.”
Anant stared at him, utter contempt for the younger man radiating from him. He turned away from him dismissively. “Raashi we need to speak alone. Let’s go.”
Her voice stayed frozen in her throat as she stared at the autocratic hand extended towards her. A hand she’d always reached for, a hand she’d always held believing in its goodness…
“No,” she croaked, finally finding her voice. “No.”
“No?” Anant frowned, confusion darkening his voice and making her heart thud. “Raashi…” Now, he was disappointed. In her. “What do you mean by no?”
“It’s a single syllable word,” Harsh drawled. “Even a trained monkey like me understood what it meant.”
Anant ignored him. “Raashi-“
“It’s our cocktail party, Anant.” Raashi reached for Harsh’s hand, grateful when he wrapped his around hers in a strong grip. “We have things to do. Excuse us.”
She stepped around him, tugging Harsh’s hand to get him to move with her. She needed to get away, to breathe freely again.
“Raashi!”
She flinched at the command in his voice, coming to a halt. Even after all these years, her body instinctively listened to him. She hated it. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face him, Harsh stepping closer, the warmth of his body bolstering her courage.
“You ever use that tone of voice with her again,” the lethally vicious voice came from behind her. Harsh’s hand came to rest against her lower back. “I’ll cut your tongue out and hand it to you.”
“You’re threatening me?” Anant stepped forward, his furious gaze on Harsh. “I was ruling this city when you were still running around in your underwear.”
Harsh smiled cynically. “Your time is long past then, Madhavan. Because there is only one person who has this city by the balls and his surname is the same as mine.” He brought Raashi’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “And for the record, I still run around in my underwear. People pay me truckloads of money to watch while I do.”
“Harsh! Raashi!”
They turned as one to see Raashi’s father beckoning them over.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Harsh said, with a jaunty smile. “Raashi and I have a party to enjoy. You can see yourself out.”
“I was invited,” Anant said stiffly.
“And now, I, the groom aka Chief Guest of this party, am uninviting you.” He tossed his head towards the gate in the distance. “Get out or I’ll have you physically thrown out. The media would love that news byte, your channel included.”
Anant’s eyes flashed fire. He looked from Harsh to Raashi for one long moment before he said, “Alright.”
Alright? Raashi knew what that meant and the look Anant sent in her direction said exactly what she expected.
I’ll deal with you later. In private.
Always in private. She swallowed hard as her father and brother joined their little group. She saw Anant morph into the man everyone knew, suave, sophisticated, charming. Ram came to stand beside her, ensuring his body was placed slightly in front of her. A silent show of support.
Ram Anna was the only one who knew a little bit of this twisted story. Raashi’s shame had been so great she’d hidden it from everyone. All Ram knew was that Raashi had had a girlhood crush on Anant and he had broken her heart.
All true and yet, horrifically false.
She watched her father chat with Anant, all genial bonhomie and professional respect. Her father had been to Anant what Anant had been to Raashi. A mentor who’d helped the other grow into their potential. Except that her father had never abused that bond, not in the manner Anant had.
And yet, she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. Because by the time she’d realised that a monster lurked beneath the façade of the man she’d thought she loved, it had been too late. She had been in too deep.
What would happen if people found out, she wondered. Would anyone look at her the same way again? Would Harsh still hold her hand the way he did right now? Or would she be the pariah she’d always deserved to be.
Bile rose in the back of her throat, sweat beading her brow as she looked around the little circle. All men she’d loved or still loved. And her, the common denominator. Or was it the detonator? The one that blew up all their lives?
Thirty-Three
