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unconscious reaction to the
thought that she’d been upset. There was a barrage of questions but an
officious-looking man to her right put up a hand. ‘Miss Adani is only here to
read out a statement. Please, no questions.’
                 Sebastian
could see Aneesa’s throat work and her hands shake slightly as she held a piece
of paper. He saw the sleeve of her jacket pulled down as far as possible over
the henna tattoo and his chest felt tight.
                 Her
voice was hesitant at first but grew stronger; he only caught snippets of what
she said, he was so distracted by seeing her.
                 ‘… like to extend
my profound apologies to Jamal Kapoor Khan and his family for any distress I
may have caused by my actions, and also to my own family…. My reasons for not
going through with the wedding are personal to me. I wish all the best for
Jamal and that he will find a partner who will appreciate him far more than I
ever could have. There was no third party involved in my actions — my decision was mine alone and I must live
with the consequences. I would just ask for some privacy for my family at this
time. Thank you …’
                 At
that moment she looked up and straight at the camera and Sebastian felt winded
all over again, as if she was looking directly at him. He had to laugh grimly
at his fanciful reaction, no wonder she was a major star. She lit up the
screen, even when she was at half wattage. And he felt inordinately proud of
her; she’d said exactly the right things, almost implying that she’d felt she
wasn’t good enough for
                 Jamal
so that she’d set him free to find someone more worthy.
                 A
discreet knock came on the door and Sebastian flinched slightly, engrossed with
watching how the media were braying for Aneesa’s blood as she got up and walked
away with a stiff back and heavy minders crowding around her. She’d slipped
huge black glasses on and the flashing lights of hundreds of cameras lit up the
screen.
                 Quelling
an almost overwhelming urge to go and find her and pluck her out of that
bloodthirsty horde, Sebastian flicked off the TV and reminded himself that she
wasn’t meant to be on his mind anymore. It had been one night, an interlude.
And it was over. His jaw was hard as he lifted up his bag and strode to the
door of the suite, not even glancing back once.
                 Five Weeks Later
                 Aneesa
was exhausted as she sank into the car that was to take her home from the film
studios. She had just finished shooting a cameo role in a big budget movie. A cameo role that had been handed to her on a platter following the
media furore after that press conference.
                 To
her utter shock and abject relief, the Indian people and film lovers hadn’t
turned on her as she’d expected and feared. Her agent’s strategy had worked;
they’d made it sound as if she felt she couldn’t be with Jamal as she wasn’t
good enough for him and the public had lapped this up, putting her in the role
of a romantic martyr who was setting Jamal free to find someone else. It
appealed to every level of the Bollywood-crazy film fans who thrived on similar melodramatic stories in the movies.
                 As
the public fervour rose and they’d embraced the romantic lovelorn Aneesa, Jamal
hadn’t had a leg to stand on. In order to save face himself he’d had to come out and humbly thank Aneesa for running out on their wedding.
She was the only one who’d read the daggers in his expression. She was the only
one who knew the truth behind her desire for him ‘to find someone who would
appreciate him for who he really was.’
                 It
was ironic, but at this busiest point in her career, she was turning down work
and her agent couldn’t understand why she wasn’t signing the umpteen lucrative
contracts