You're Invited(91)

“Glad you decided to keep up your end of the bargain,” Spencer whispered in my ear as he wrapped the necklace on me. It felt like a noose. “I was worried you’d have a change of heart and run away in the night.”

I smiled sweetly so the crowd wouldn’t notice anything amiss. I was just a happy bride, enjoying my big day.

“Kaavi, look, I’m sorry, okay?” He was whispering, also with a smile on his face. “I didn’t ever mean to make you feel trapped. I care about you. I want this. Just give me a chance. You’ll see what a perfect husband I’ll be.”

If my bouquet trembled in my hands, no one seemed to notice.

I excused myself from the crowd as soon as I could. It wasn’t easy. All the guests had to be greeted, elders had to be worshipped, and even though the main festivities were tomorrow, that didn’t stop the Sri Lankan uncles from taking maximum advantage of the open bar and busting out moves on the dance floor.

I was passed around from table to table, making small talk, listening to aunties gush over how I looked in the traditional Kandyan Osariya. I hung on to Spencer’s arm—my husband. Married in the eyes of tradition though not yet in the eyes of the law. He was disgusting, and I didn’t want to be anywhere close to him, much less touch him, but I just needed to get through this evening.

That’s what I kept telling myself.

I just needed to get through this evening.

“Kaavindi Baba, I’m so happy for you.” That was Seetha, grabbing both my hands with a huge smile on her face. “I only hope Amaya Baba will be as happy as you are one day.”

I had forgotten all about Amaya after Mike’s phone call, but who could blame me anyway?

“Thank you, Seetha. I must get going now.”

“Baba, do you have anyone to help you change? Would you like me to stay back?”

“That’s okay, Seetha. I’ll manage.”

That was sweet, albeit a little strange, but Seetha was always a strange woman. Neither Amaya nor I could ever really figure out what was going on in her head. To be honest, it had always freaked the fuck out of me, especially after Gayan’s drunk driving accident. It was cruel of me to accuse Amaya of killing him yesterday. That was just a rumor, of course, and wasn’t Colombo ripe with those? We’d just been surprised that Gayan was as drunk as they made him out to be. We’d all been pretty inexperienced drinkers back then, and Gayan, as always, was more interested in trying to get into my pants whenever Amaya was distracted.

The exhaustion from the past few days had settled into my bones. I had just made it past the guests and was almost inside the main hotel, when I saw someone lunge for me out of the corner of my eye.

I gasped, sidestepping, my bouquet dropping to the floor.

“Kaavindi!” Mr. Ananda cried, lunging for me again.

He smelled of arrack and his eyes were bloodshot. Thankfully, one of the drivers had seen the commotion and appeared out of nowhere, pulling him back. There were no other wedding guests around to see this, thank god.

“Why are you here?” I hissed.

“I need to talk to you. To make you pay for what you did.” He struggled against the man holding him.

“Anything we discuss will be through lawyers,” I said, turning away. I couldn’t deal with him right now. Definitely not today.

“You bitch,” he spat. “You’ve had everything in your life handed to you on a silver platter. You just float on with your head in a cloud, with no clue how the rest of us suffer.”

“I really am sorry about your wife, Mr. Ananda. I’ve told you that. But there’s nothing that can be done now.”

“You just wait. You’ll have what’s coming to you soon. You’ll see.” He reached behind him to the small of his back, fumbling to pull out something from his waistband.

“What’s going on here?” My mother’s voice rose over the commotion, and suddenly two more drivers appeared from god knows where. One of them stepped in front of me, while the other grabbed Mr. Ananda’s arms and twisted them behind his back.

“Podi madam-wa athulata geniyanna.” Get small-madam inside, my mother said, and I was swiftly escorted back to my room.

It was when I was locking the door that I realized how much my hands were trembling. Two threats in less than twenty-four hours, a sociopath husband, and a burned wedding dress. Everything was starting to snowball. I can’t have that. I need to be in control.

I tried taking a deep breath, but that was near impossible in Andre’s skintight sari jacket. And I had gone and rejected everyone’s help in getting changed because I just wanted to be alone.

I pulled off the sari fall—the fabric that draped over my shoulder—got rid of the frill around my waist, and finally managed to wriggle out of the skirt. Then I stood in my underskirt and contorted myself into the strangest positions to reach the buttons on the back of my blouse, but with no luck.

So when someone finally knocked on the door, I threw it open gratefully. Perhaps it was someone from my family checking in on me? I’d even bully a room service boy to help me out if it came down to it.

But it wasn’t any of them.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Amaya, who looked like she was about to faint.

“I need to talk to you, Kaavi.”

“Well, I have nothing to say to you. And I asked you to stay the fuck away from me.”