Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)(29)

After Raj’s threat, Nayna was on tenterhooks the next day, but it passed disappointingly smoothly. Even her parents stopped their attempts at an inquisition. Nayna got an answer as to why when she accidentally overheard them talking.

“I thought Raj was a good boy,” Nayna’s father was saying, openly dubious.

“I’m sure he is. I spoke to Babita yesterday at the Mehras. She knows the entire family, and she said Raj is very honest and hardworking. She even tried to set up her own daughter with him, but he said no straightaway. Didn’t try to take advantage or lead her on. So if he’s still thinking about Nayna, he must be very serious.”

“Well,” her father mused. “That Babita does know everyone’s business. I think she has people’s houses wired.”

Nayna’s lips twitched as her mother laughed. Thank God for nosy aunties like Babita. At least Nayna would have clear air for a while before her father decided it was all taking too long. Tiptoeing away from the bedroom door that had been left slightly ajar, Nayna made her way outside.

She’d thought her grandmother was out here, but there was no sign of her. Frowning, Nayna glanced toward Mr. Hohepa’s house. Her lips curved as she spotted them through the window—Mr. Hohepa and her grandmother were dancing, slow and sweet, with proper steps. For a long time, Nayna just watched them, her heart full.

When her mother opened the back door, she called out a loud, “Hi, Ma!”

“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood, beta. Come help me in the garden.”

Nayna snuck a look at the neighboring window as she walked. The dancing figures had disappeared. Sweetly delighted at being able to help the secret romance along, Nayna took the spare hat her mother had brought out, then got down on her knees in the dirt. Her mind suddenly announced that this would be an excellent position for her and Raj. Her height wouldn’t matter then.

Skin burning to ash from the inside out, Nayna told her brain to shut up. The last thing she needed was more sexual frustration. She’d already spent the previous night sweat-soaked and woken with the sheets tangled around her legs, her dreams full of dirty things. If he’d phrased his message to drive her insane, he’d succeeded. Oh, how he’d succeeded.

“Did you see that article your father printed out about Raj’s last project?” her mother said. “Such intricate work.”

“Yes,” Nayna said past the thickness of arousal threatening to choke her. “He’s very talented with his hands.”

Her breasts ached, wanting those talented hands on them.

She was cursing him under her breath by the time she got dressed for the wedding that night. Tonight was the actual ceremony and she had to bling it up. Anything less than dazzling and her mother would accuse her of making them look poor and hard up—and the assorted aunties would shake their heads at how she was letting herself go. Sure sign she was on the road to spinsterhood.

She was fingering a stunning but heavy sari of a deep burnt orange accented with peacock blue that had been a gift from Aji on her birthday when Madhuri walked into her room. Her sister was already dressed in a shimmering black sari with intricate glass beading of emerald green and white. Hair shiny and healthy—and tousled just so—brushed her shoulders. The black kurta she wore below the sari was sleeveless and cut to fit snugly just under her breasts. Black bangles covered her wrists and iridescent black jewels fell from her ears.

“You look like a movie star,” Nayna said, astonished as always that this divine creature was her big sister.

Madhuri beamed. “You’re going to knock it out of the park in that sari.”

“Hah.” Nayna shook her head. “This is way too hard for me.” Not only was the material a nightmare to handle while pleating, the pattern was such that it had to be wrapped in a specific way. “I’ll—”

“No, no.” Madhuri halted her when she would’ve reached for another piece. “We have time. I’ll put you into it.”

Nayna hesitated, but Madhuri was already in full motion. She pulled out the matching orange underskirt, found the peacock blue kurta, and threw both at Nayna. “Which shoes?”

“Nothing too high,” Nayna said. “I’ll trip.”

“Hmm.” Madhuri walked effortlessly across the carpet in her own ice-pick-thin heels. “These?” She held up a pair of low-heeled silver sandals. “Easy to walk in but sari appropriate.”

Nayna took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

Stripping to her nude underwear, she pulled on the underskirt and tied it around her waist. Madhuri snorted. “That’s not tight enough.” She took over.

“You’re cutting me in half!” Nayna moaned as her sister pulled the drawstring waist to a vicious tightness.

“The weight of the sari will pull it down, you wuss,” her sister said. “It has to start off circulation erasing.” That torture complete, she shook her head at Nayna’s bra. “That’ll show in the kurta. It’s got a crisscross back.”

Nayna picked up the top, examined it. “Built-in bra.” Lucky for her because she hadn’t bought a special bra to go under the top. And not even women with small breasts looked good in this kind of kurta without having some structure in that region.

Once she’d put on the kurta—it was about the same length as Madhuri’s and fitted as close to her body but had cap sleeves—she stepped into the heeled sandals and the wrapping began. Only neophyte sari-wearers attempted to put on a sari without shoes on. That way led to disaster. Either too short or too long, never just right.