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“Just water,” Anant snapped. “Don’t try to act too smart,” he warned the waiter, clearly pissed at the man’s attempts to make Raashi feel comfortable.
She tried to smile at him comfortingly, but the mortified waiter beat a hasty retreat not daring a second look at their table.
“Nothing’s changed,” she remarked, snapping her own napkin open and putting it on her lap.
“You certainly have,” he replied, his tone telling her he didn’t believe the change was for the better.
Raashi smiled, dark pleasure sliding through her at the thought of him being displeased. “Have I?” she murmured.
“Don’t play games, Raashi. It doesn’t suit you. Plus, you don’t really have the brains for it.”
Her water arrived and Raashi picked up the glass, taking a delicate sip. “But…but…but I’m one of the smartest people you’ve ever known. Don’t you remember telling me that, Anant?”
“Book smarts don’t translate to life smarts.” He picked up his glass of scotch and swirled the golden-brown liquid around before taking a hefty slug of it. “You’re clearly proving that with your idiotic choices.”
“Did you call me here to berate me for those choices?” The dimsums arrived and the waiter proceeded to serve them.
Anant waited for him to leave before saying, “You’re getting married to that overgrown toddler tomorrow. What the fuck are you thinking, Raashi?”
“I’m getting married to Harsh Kodela tomorrow,” she said, her voice infused with steel. “I’m thinking I’m the luckiest girl in Telangana.”
He started to laugh, deep, belly shaking chortles, that had her frowning. A plate of chicken 65 arrived and was served before he stopped laughing, wiping at the tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.
“You’re even talking like one of his brain-dead fans.”
“Brain-dead fans?” It didn’t matter that Raashi had shared that opinion not so long ago. It rankled now. And it annoyed the fuck out of her that this toxic, sanctimonious man thought he could run Harsh down. He didn’t deserve to wipe the dirt off Harsh’s shoes.
Harsh was everything this asshole wasn’t. He was kind, gentle, sweet, funny, hot as the fucking sun itself, and –
Raashi’s mouth dropped open. Oh. My. God. She was in love with him. She was in love with Harsh Kodela. And she was marrying him tomorrow.
Suddenly queasy, Raashi brought a hand to her stomach. Anant’s eyes dropped to the motion.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he hissed. “Have you really been that stupid? Are you pregnant? Is that why you’re having this shotgun wedding?”
Raashi put her fork down before she stabbed the sanctimonious ass with it. “Why did you force me to come here, Anant? What do you want?”
“I want you to stop with this farce of a wedding.” He folded his hands in his lap and stared down his nose at her.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I am telling you to.”
“And if I don’t?” she dared him, the final tether to her commonsense snapping.
“Don’t force me to remind you of what I can do if you don’t listen to me, Raashi.” His voice was silken soft, the voice from her nightmares.
She picked up her fork again, instinct pushing her to stay armed, pitiful though the weapon was.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” Her voice was thin and high, making him smile.
“Are you willing to bet on that?” he asked, his triumphant sneer growing. “You had a lot to lose in the past, Raashi. But now, with the Kodelas in play, you don’t just have a lot to lose. You have everything to lose.”
Raashi held his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum in motion.
“Call the wedding off.”
“No.” The war drum sped up, sweat pooling at the base of her spine.
