His Monsoon Bride. Aastha Atray

to me, so I can tell you how it’s going to be.’

      Piramal had sighed and just said, ‘What do you want?’

      Mehtab had not minced his words. ‘Your daughter as my wife. That’s all.’ Though Piramal had simply walked away, Mehtab knew he would consider it. It could be the wedding of the year and Piramal knew that.

      Mehtab smiled gleefully now as he glanced round the buzzing ballroom. This was great. He would get two things he desired for the price of one. He had heard contrary reports about Amrita, though—some said she was extremely smart and refined, while a rich heiress he once dated had bitchily remarked she was fat and clumsy. Where was she? he thought as his reverie was broken by a tall, stunning woman who walked over to him and licked her lips. ‘Wanna dance?’

      He flashed her a wicked grin and took her hand. This was a perfect way to while away time while he waited for Amrita to appear. Then halfway to the dance floor he noticed the elevator doors open. The woman who stepped out looked slightly nervous but that just added to her delicate beauty. Mehtab knew at once that this was Amrita. He was shocked by his reaction—she was so unlike the women he had got used to seeing in Mumbai’s swish set. For starters, she was wearing a salwar kameez and she certainly had the curves to fill it out. Her body was like an Indian goddess’s and her face belonged in a painting. Finally, it was time to strike.

      Amrita hugged her father and realised how old he had started looking in the past few days. His worry was reflected in his face. She forced herself to smile as he guided her across the room and introduced her to some new faces. She knew most of this crowd, even though she could not admit to liking them. She tried to explain that to her father with a nonchalant, ‘We are all very different,’ but she knew that really it was because none of them looked beyond themselves.

      Her father paused in front of a man she had never seen before and said, ‘Amrita, this is Mehtab Rathod of Rathod Real Estate. Surely you have heard of him?’

      Amrita sucked in her breath; he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Dressed in a tailor-made suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular torso, he looked more like a model than one of her father’s business associates. His hair was wavy and long enough that she wanted to run her fingers through it. A day’s stubble added to his rugged appeal and he was six feet tall with such strong-looking arms that she suddenly wanted to be held by him. She felt a blush on her cheeks and she realised she was staring at him.

      ‘You look mesmerising. That’s an unusual choice of outfit for a party like this,’ he purred in his deep voice, and then smiled at her in amusement. Amrita didn’t know if he was making fun of her or complimenting her.

      She caught his gaze and replied smoothly, ‘I like to do unexpected things.’

      She saw her father look at them warily before he said, ‘Amrita, did you know Mehtab just topped India’s rich list? That would have been me not so long ago. Those were the days, right!’

      Amrita hated seeing her father so sad. She turned to say something when Mehtab said, ‘Sir, it’s all an illusion—this wealth, I mean. Here today, gone tomorrow. Happiness comes from having people to love, like you have your daughter.’

      Amrita was filled with surprise. Did this man with that annoying grin just say something so sweet?

      Her father smiled but he still looked a bit preoccupied. ‘So true. Mehtab, why don’t you keep my lovely daughter company while I mingle?’

      As he walked away Manoj Piramal looked back at his daughter, who was now being led towards the bar by Mehtab. He knew Amrita was not going to like what he was going to propose to her soon—he wanted to ask Mehtab if he would marry Amrita.

      When Mehtab had suggested it, Manoj had felt immense anger. But then, as he had given it more thought, he felt drawn to the proposal. He felt guilty even thinking about asking Amrita to do such a thing. But she wasn’t with anybody, and maybe she would like Mehtab. He winced. He knew Mehtab wasn’t Amrita’s type—he was ruthless and Manoj was sure that he would never ever love his daughter. So why was he even thinking of this? But he knew that if there was anyone who could save Piramal Industries, it would be Mehtab, who had proven his brilliant business acumen through the years. He knew he was putting Amrita in a difficult position—maybe the most difficult one in her life—but he could not see any way out. He’d had Mehtab checked out and what he found was worrying—he was a ladies’ man who never dated the same woman twice, and nobody had a clue who the real Mehtab was. Though there were reports he was liked by everyone in his company, especially the ground-level workers, the tales of his ruthlessness when it came to business were endless. Would he be like that with his wife as well? Manoj felt a sense of foreboding at what he was about to do, but he knew he had no other choice.

      At the bar, Mehtab grimaced. ‘I find these parties a bit hard to handle, you know. Too many beautiful people for my comfort. They put me on edge.’

      ‘I know what you mean,’ Amrita said, surprised by his confession. Mehtab didn’t seem like the sort of man who felt uneasy very often. No, he seemed confident and in control. ‘I was born into this and I still feel left out. The perfectly groomed façade takes a lot of time, you know, but take away the expensive clothes, the make-up and the cars, and you won’t have much left.’

      ‘Yes, yes, it’s all an illusion, one that I have necessarily had to buy into, by the way. But please don’t hate me.’ He smiled and put an arm round Amrita’s waist. ‘Would you like a glass of white wine? Or do you just drink organic tea? Now that would be unexpected.’

      Amrita knew he was pulling her leg so she tossed her hair back and smiled. ‘White wine would be good. And you? Will you order a whiskey on the rocks like the rest of your mindless colleagues?’

      Mehtab threw his head back and laughed. Amrita laughed too and found herself admiring the deep, throaty sound he made. God, why did she just do that? He stopped mid-laugh and said gruffly, ‘I am not used to women who make me laugh. You have to tell me how you developed such a sharp tongue. It’s refreshing as well as very threatening.’

      ‘Why do you find it threatening, Mr Rathod? Are you telling me a big, strong man like you can’t win a word duel with little ol’ me? A little friendly competition never hurt anybody.’

      Mehtab was enjoying this verbal spar. Most girls he met just giggled at whatever he said and then turned all seductive as he neared for the kill. It was as if women were born to play only two roles—the femme fatale or the damsel in distress. But Amrita was neither, and he found that intriguing. He mentally reminded himself that it was not the time to start admiring Amrita, but time to pursue her. He knew pursuing Amrita would be his greatest challenge yet, but one he would rise to and most certainly enjoy….

      ‘I don’t find you threatening, Miss Piramal. If anything, you are making me wish I had my special speech writer here to help me with the repartee. Tell me, are all society girls as witty as you, Miss Piramal, or is that a trait only reserved for the daughter of the great Reshma Singh?’ He smirked and saw her flinch instantly at the comparison. But she recovered with the grace of an heiress, he noticed, with just dots of pink on her cheeks belying her anger.

      ‘My mother had many charms I didn’t have the fortune of inheriting, Mr Rathod. But the wittiness is all mine. It just takes a little reading and a lot of practice at fending off unwanted male attention. You wouldn’t understand.’

      ‘Aww, Miss Piramal, Amrita. You got me there. Fending off unwanted male attention isn’t something I’ve had much practice in. Female attention however, now that’s another matter. Though I can say it’s rarely unwanted. Can I call you Amrita?’ She could just about nod when he said, ‘Well, I like wittiness, and especially when it’s being delivered with such tenacity. And tenacious women just make me want to do things I know your father won’t approve of.’

      ‘Like what?’ Amrita found herself saying as they walked out onto the verandah and she could feel the eyes of the size-zero gang on her.

      Mehtab sensed her discomfort. ‘They are jealous of us,’ he said, and led her around