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That thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I had only been thinking about the immediate future, mainly about getting the deeds to Gulab Mahal transferred to my name as soon as we got married. I had given no thought to where we would live after the event.
“The future Maharaja of Jadhwal will live wherever his wife wants to live,” declared Veer from the doorway. “And if the future Maharani wants to live in her dream house, then that’s what we’re going to do.”
His mother looked very upset at his words, but Nandini Aunty played peacemaker.
“Uff, Raji! You sound so gawaar with all that ghar jamai stuff! Ranveer would be called a ghar jamai if he moved into Trikhera Palace after the wedding. But Gulab Mahal will be Isha’s own house, not her family’s property. As for campaigning in his constituency, it’s a mere twenty-minute helicopter ride to Jadhwal. He can commute there every day. Politicians do it all the time. Do you think any of them live in their constituencies when they can live it up in big cities?”
I shot her a grateful look before I turned to peek at my fiancé, who had thrown himself into the chair next to mine. He looked fresh and rested, as opposed to the swamp witch vibe I had going on. My heart rate sped up as I stared at his perfectly chiselled jawline. When he picked up a butter knife to slather his toast with butter, I couldn’t take my eyes off his gorgeous forearms and powerful hands. I stifled a sigh as I shot a covert look at his broad shoulders. How was this man so beautiful? And how in the world would I even match up to him?
I knew what people would say when they heard about our upcoming marriage. I was prepared for the trolls who would claim that he married me for money. But Veer was just as wealthy as my brother. So they would jump to the most obvious conclusion in light of his recent scandal. That he had married me to clean up his image. This time, I sighed with misery. Why else would a man like him marry a woman like me?
“Beta, you haven’t touched your paratha,” complained my mother. “Do you want a fresh one?”
“This is fine, Ma,” I replied, breaking off a small piece.
But as I raised it to my mouth, the ghee glistening on the surface made me pause. There was something very unappetising about the thought of that ghee turning to fat that clung to my hips. Or deposited in my arms and on my abdomen. Ugh! It made me want to throw up.
I set the morsel back on the plate and pushed my plate away. My mother tutted when she saw that.
“Beta, please don’t start the dieting thing again. Remember what your therapist told you,” she said worriedly.
“Haye haye! Therapist?” squawked Veer’s mother.
I took a deep breath and fought off the shame that threatened to overcome me when someone mentioned my therapy sessions. There was nothing to be ashamed of, I told myself. Therapy was as essential as a life-saving drug. If I had diabetes, I’d take meds for it, and I wouldn’t be afraid to own up to it. So why shouldn’t I accept that I need therapy?
This was a familiar script and I knew it by heart, but for once, it wasn’t as effective as it normally was. Because today, Veer was sitting right next to me. And if I spoke about why I needed therapy, he’d know I was flawed. Broken.
But he needed to know, and the sooner the better. Yet, the words just wouldn’t come.
“I didn’t know she needed therapy, Didi,” exclaimed his mother.
I was trying to sink deeper into my chair when Veer spoke.
“Everyone needs therapy, Ma. Only the brave actually go out and get it. And you forget that Diya also took therapy for years,” he said quietly.
“That was only a bit of counselling for when she missed Dheer,” stammered his mother. “Diya is perfectly fine otherwise.”
“Well, I’m not, Aunty,” I said firmly because I refused to hide from the world ever again. “I’ve struggled with an eating disorder for years, and I have to see a therapist every week to help me deal with it. I’m doing much better now, but it gets triggered by stress, and I’m probably always going to be a work in progress. If you feel that makes me defective or it’s not something you want to associate with, we can all walk away from the marriage right now with no hard feelings.”
“Over my dead body,” said Veer, as he took the paratha off my plate.
“Arre! Why are you taking her food? How is she going to fight this thing if she doesn’t eat?” asked his mother.
But I was relieved he did it because the sight, smell and stress of eating the paratha was making me sick.
Veer grabbed my hand under the table and gave it a tight squeeze.
“She will fight it the way she fights every other obstacle. With courage and grace,” he said firmly. “And no one is going to try and force-feed her ever again. Aunty, please text me a list of Isha’s safe foods. I’ll make sure to stock them in our house as well.”
Veer had no experience of how to deal with an eating disorder, but he had jumped into the deep end just to defend me. My lips wobbled and tears welled in my eyes. Just when I thought I had a grip on the marriage thing, he went and upended all my plans because how could a temporary marriage be enough with a man who was proving to be so addictive?
CHAPTER 14
VEER
Ihad known Isha for most of her life, and yet, I’d had no idea that she’d been battling an eating disorder. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the kind of trauma that would trigger such a condition, and it made me sick to know that Isha had gone through so much pain in her life.
I didn’t know how to help someone fight an eating disorder, but I swore to learn. I would read up on the subject and speak to Isha’s doctor for a better understanding. I could see that talking about it made her very uneasy, and harping on the subject wasn’t likely to make the damn paratha more appealing.
