Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)(13)

The longer she waited, the worse it would be.

No unknown car sat in the drive, and she saw no shoes on the front stoop that she didn’t recognize. No guest then. Walking in, she girded herself to jump right into the flames.

Her mother pounced on her before she was two feet inside; Shilpa Sharma’s face was flustered and happy. “There’s a boy coming, beta!” she blurted out before Nayna could speak. “He works late too, so we and his parents made the arrangements for a quarter to nine. Hurry, hurry, change quickly and freshen up!”

Plans shattered in an instant, Nayna walked into her bedroom and just stared at the wall for a minute before full panic screamed into her mind and she grabbed her phone and a paper bag, then went to hide in the bathroom to call ísa. What the hell was she going to do? She breathed into the paper bag while desperately hoping her best friend would pick up her phone.

She did—and was calm in the face of Nayna’s hyperventilating panic. “Just do the same thing you did with the other five. Tell your folks you have nothing in common with him and can’t see a marriage working out.”

“The other five were asses.” Nayna breathed into the paper bag again. “My family didn’t like them either. What if this guy isn’t an ass and my parents and grandmother love him?” It would be just her freaking luck that guy number six was the charm, a suitable boy with no flaws. “What if I’m trapped in a marriage I don’t want?”

“Look,” ísa said firmly. “This is your life. Your family can’t force you to the altar.”

Nayna put down the paper bag, her heart squeezing. “I love them, ísa.” It was as much a truth as her stick-straight black hair and dark brown skin. “No matter what, I love them. I can’t be like Madhuri and risk being cut off.” And their relationship wasn’t a simple equation where she didn’t feel loved in return.

Six months ago, her mother had spent three days hunched over with needle and thread, repairing Nayna’s favorite salwar kameez—a long tunic paired with thin pants cut close to her legs. An unfortunate incident featuring a badly maintained fence and darkness had left the tunic part of the outfit with a gigantic tear in an awkward spot—and destroyed the beaded pattern. Unexpectedly, her father had turned up with a handful of tiny, shimmering beads to match the ones lost in the darkness. He’d asked a colleague who did crafts for the name of her bead supplier, then personally gone and found matching beads.

Just like two years earlier he’d found a replacement for the fountain pen that had broken.

Her parents might have their blind spots, and they were driven too much by the pain of the past—pain not caused by Nayna—but she could never doubt that they loved her.

As for Aji, her love was a flame that would never go out. Madhuri had hurt their grandmother so much; Nayna had never seen her so wounded. She hadn’t understood why her cherished granddaughter hadn’t confided in her—and yet, despite that, Aji had sent money to Madhuri to help her out. A teenaged Nayna had helped her fill in the forms for the money transfer. Aji would’ve probably even gone to see Madhuri if Nayna’s sister hadn’t eloped all the way to Perth, Australia.

Nayna’s parents would’ve never let her go, and Aji didn’t like to fly alone.

Thankfully, ísa understood what it was to love family even when they drove you to the edge of madness. She loved her mother even though multimillionaire CEO Jacqueline Rain—aka the Dragon—was the least maternal person Nayna had ever met. “How about if…” A small pause before ísa’s voice brightened. “Say that during your private talk, you discovered that he’s a little dim in the brain department.”

Nayna’s eyes widened.

“Knowing your folks, he’s likely to have a degree or two, so maybe also hint that perhaps all isn’t kosher there,” ísa suggested with a deviousness that would’ve delighted the Dragon. “Or that you got the impression he barely scraped by.”

“Oh God, you’re a genius, ísa!” Scrunching up the bag, Nayna lifted the fist of victory. “My parents are already planning for grandchildren with doctorates—a less-than-intelligent son-in-law will not do.”

And no, she didn’t feel guilty besmirching a random stranger’s intelligence. Not when she’d be saving them both from the horror of wriggling out of an arrangement that had no chance in hell of success.

This was war.



* * *



Ten minutes later, she rubbed her damp palms over her pale pink tunic top. The color, which reminded her of the lotion her mother had slathered on her when she had chickenpox as a child, did awful things for her dark complexion. That was why she’d specially dug out the salwar kameez from the back of the closet where she’d shoved it after a relative gave it to her as a gift.

Her mother, usually keen for her girls to treasure any gifts, had taken one look at the salwar kameez and sniffed. “You’d think she didn’t like you. Probably she’s just used to her fair daughters. Not my beautiful Nayna who shines in jewel colors and looks like a queen in gold.”

God, she loved her mother.

Shilpa Sharma bustled in right then, all beaming smiles… until she set eyes on Nayna. A muted shriek. “Why are you wearing that ugly thing?” Shilpa threw up her hands before running over to fix the long pink dupatta Nayna had slung carelessly around her neck; usually she’d have pleated and neatly pinned the gauzy scarf over one shoulder.