Page 105 of Runaway in the Mafia
“Everything,” he muttered.
“What?”
“I am everything Ahana desires.”
My eyes stuck to his. My heart wobbled precariously like an Indian train on a rusty rail track. He didn’t do love. This felt like it to me.
I’d lost the saliva in my throat. It was suddenly dry as a desert. My gaze followed the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. No words fell between us. Only silence echoed in the open space. Modern furniture and a high-tech home surrounded us. But I couldn’t find the words to convey a mutual feeling. I guessed he couldn’t either, because his next words were rough and meant as a distraction.
“You hungry?”
I nodded numbly.
“Me too,” he groaned before pushing me off him and pulling me along by my ankle up to his mouth. “Fucking starving for your pussy.” He buried his head between my thighs to my squeals, hiding words and actions behind them.
There was an art to every conversation. And there was one for avoiding it. We took that path. Because our hearts were fragile, and we didn’t want to face disappointment at the end of a rusty road when the journey to get there had been filled with thorns.
CHAPTER FORTY
AHANA
Not deciding was deciding. I knew I had to put on my big girl shoes and either not keep my promise to Vitale or let Papa know what had happened since I left India all those months ago. I didn’t want to lie to my husband. Every day that passed by left the sourness of acid coating the edges of my stomach wall. So that only left one option open to me. A gaping hole of imminent heartache either way. So against all odds, even my sorry expectations of myself, I’d picked the phone up and called Papa this morning. Only to have his calls diverted to his secretary, who’d told me that he had foreign delegates visiting him. She’d asked me if it was urgent. ‘Yes’, was what I should have said. But I chickened out. Took the excuse she gave me when I knew if I’d said yes, she’d have put the call through to him. One day wasn’t going to make a difference. Until I realised after hanging up that it was a Friday. I’d have to wait two more days to have Papa alone in the office again. Frustration crawled at my inability to speak up. Hatred brewed at my own cowardice.To distract myself from banging my head against the wall, I threw myself at my work.
My husband, though, kept to his word. Several maids from the main house had arrived before he left for work. Part of me had thought he wouldn’t go through with it. He had been balls deep inside me when he’d said that, and if I had to do all the shit I screamed out to get off… I guessed he wasn’t like that. Something about it added an extra weight to his scale. As if it wasn’t tipping enough already because, well, I thought I loved the man.
It should have made me break out into a song and dance in a garden like in a Bollywood movie. But the thing about ignoring the inevitable was the weight of it that took you down. It clung to your conscience like a deadbeat. The sinking feeling in my heart remained, no matter what I did. I didn’t even care about how Maa or society would react. But what this would do to Papa and the consequences for Amara… The dread in my heart throbbed insistently. Refused to budge even when I got the call that I was getting the contract to do the marketing for a well-known restaurant chain all over Europe.
I got it!
It was an autopilot gesture. I had texted him without giving it much thought. His answer was instant, and it seeped into my heart like warm honey.
Of course you did.
You could act surprised!
Why? Told you. You’re the queen of your kingdom. We’re celebrating tonight.
Huh… I know how you celebrate, and I’m not in the mood.
Yeah right. Send me a picture to prove it.
Please…
Then you’re in the mood.
I want to go clubbing with Lia.
Rash? Yes. But a new adventure could distract me. I was sick of the imagined gossip echoing in my heartbeat. Sick of the nightmares, detailing the scandal of my family. I found Lia’s number and typed.
Want to go clubbing tonight?
Ugh? Aren’t you married to my brother?
Your point?
He’s allowing this?
He’s about to.
