Read Online The Bollywood Bride by Sonali Dev - Free Book Online Page B

her. She would have spun around, Disney-princess style, if she were given to doing that sort of thing.
    She didn’t bother to turn on a light. She knew exactly where everything was. Reaching into a cabinet, she pulled out a glass, and then turned on the faucet. A lullaby Uma had sung to her played in her head as she let the water turn warm before filling the glass, humming softly. Bubbles danced in the water and she watched them fizzle before downing the entire glass.
    Her trainer insisted three glasses of warm water with lemon first thing in the morning washed away all the toxins in your body. She had already sent Ria a text last night reminding her to “stay on top of her program,” and Ria couldn’t bring herself to let her down. It was bad enough that she wasn’t bothering to squeeze half a lemon in each glass.
    Feeling quite the rebel, she sucked in her breath, pulling her stomach all the way back to her spine, and did a quick set of breathing exercises—a separate text had been sent for this. Quick in-and-out breaths pumping through her stomach, like someone was punching her. Oof. Oof. Oof. She chugged the second glass. Then another set of breaths. Oof. Oof. Oof. Then another glass and she was done.
    She put the glass in the sink, which was piled high with dishes. The party must’ve ended really late last night if Uma and the aunties had left the dishes unwashed. She turned around to survey the rest of the kitchen.
    “Hi.”
    She jumped and slammed into the counter behind her. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling the yelp that escaped nonetheless.
    Vikram sat at the dining table, leaning over a huge bowl of cereal, his face a mask of indifference. He popped a spoonful in his mouth and started chewing as if Ria routinely walked in on him eating cereal in the middle of the night and subjected him to absurd breathing routines.
    Sparkles of pain danced across her back and her heart hammered as though she were having a heart attack. She dragged her hand from her mouth to her chest and waited for the beat to slow. “I—what—I didn’t see you.”
    He lifted his shoulders in the slightest shrug. “Obviously,” his eyes said.
    “I was waiting for you to put the glass down before I said anything. Don’t want to demolish all of Uma’s glassware.” He didn’t smile, just disinterestedly pushed another spoonful in his mouth and looked away.
    An awkward silence settled between them. All that terrifying anticipation and it had led to this?
    At least his hands were holding a spoon, not squeezing someone’s butt.
    Great, that visual again. She felt like the reel of film she was on was jammed. Across from her, Vikram continued to eat as though she wasn’t even in the room. His jaw moved in a strong, steady rhythm. The subtle ridges along his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Despite the rumpled hair, despite the shadowy stubble and that cold, hard set of his jaw, he looked like you could put him on a billboard and the public would buy whatever you were selling. He looked perfect. There was just no other word for it. Warm and vital and perfect.
    She gripped the cold granite behind her.
    Of course he chose that precise moment to look up and catch her staring.
    “Your back okay?” he asked, his tone sharp. He might as well have snapped his fingers in her face to snap her out of her trance.
    “I’m fine. Thank you.”
    Another shrug. Another long silence.
    “It’s a mess in here.” Saying something inane and obvious was possibly the only way to make things more awkward. So, naturally that’s what she did.
    Before he could present her with another shrug she turned away and started to unload the dishwasher, pulling out a plate, and then completely blanking out on where it went. She hugged it to her chest and studied the cabinets, waiting for it to come back to her, willing her brain to start functioning again.
    “The cabinet next to the microwave,” he said.
    She turned around to thank him, but no words came out,