Chapter 7 — Petty and Hypocrite

Beautiful glass candles and fairy lights dipped the room in a warm golden hue, and the soft perfume filled the atmosphere with sensual love. Rose petals and lilies were decorated everywhere, making the room seem almost magical.

The room was the definition of romantic. From the fragrance, flowers and candles to the choice of bed sheets, curtains and fairy lights, everything looked straight out of a romantic movie.

Too bad I would experience none of that in a genuine sense.

In awe, I stepped inside and dipped low as I sat on the fluffy bed. Suddenly, the exhaustion of the past three days slammed on me and my eyelids felt heavy, but I resisted. I wanted to ask questions. I wouldn’t sleep, not now.

Shanaya squeezed my hand and sat beside me, her presence a silent comfort.

Manoj, Liam, and Krish walked in and wrapped their arms around me. Like a reel at the end of my life, all my best memories with them started flashing in front of me and a sad smile took ahold of my lips. They were my best friends; they would always be, even if I was in a different city now.

I wanted to tell them about the note and the truth of this marriage, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t bring myself to word it. I still had a small hope blooming about this being false, and I couldn’t murder it right now. I didn’t have the strength, nor did I have the strength to deal with the aftermath.

So, I stayed silent, basking in their warmth as they whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

They left soon, wishing me luck, and I waited with bated breath for my husband to arrive. Ten agonizing minutes later, I stopped waiting and decided to call it a night.

Removing my jewelry, I looked for the bathroom and just as I started towards it; the door started opening and I sat my ass back down.

My husband, Aarav Singhaniya, entered the room like a lion enters his den. Power and confidence radiated out of him and he walked as if he owned the world. Well, he did own this hotel, so I guess he had the right to walk like that.

But the grace with which he carried himself was sexy, even to me.

Only now did I notice that not only was he handsome, but his physique was one to comment on. He was lean with broad shoulders and mercifully proportionate. And he was tall, man, was he tall. Almost as tall as Dev, but while Dev was bulky and muscular, he was on a leaner side, but you could tell he spent a lot of time at the gym.

Murdering that line of thought, I stood up to greet him.

He approached me, slowly, hesitantly almost, like I was a hunter preying on him.

“I have questions,” I stated, maintaining steady eye contact.

“Ask away,” he answered smoothly and grabbed a chair from his right to deposit himself on it.

“Who was the note for?” I asked—a dumb, but nonetheless important question. I was 99.99% sure that the note was for me, but I couldn’t rule out the 0.1%—the little hope I had for it be false, or just a case of a misplaced parcel.

His face contorted to give a mixture of condescending and pitiful expression, almost asking, “How devastating that this girl doesn’t even have two working brain cells”

Guess I had my answer! I ignored his silent remark and instead asked, “Who was it from? And what deal were they talking about?”

He stayed silent, probably forming an answer, but when the silence stretched long, I prompted and knocked on an imaginary door, “Hello? There?”

“I’m sorry, but you will have to ask these questions to your parents,” he shrugged.

“No, you tell me,” I demanded.

“No.”

“Why not?” I asked furiously.

"Look, I'm not allowed to disclose everything to you, but I'll give you the basic gist of it. Who it is from, we are not yet sure, but they want to marry you and your father wanted to keep you safe,” he shrugged and as if he hadn't just dropped a huge bomb on me asked, "Does that answer your questions?"

I stared at him, almost disbelievingly because what he just said sounded straight out of a crime story news report. My head was exploding. My poor little brain hadn't evolved to accept so much information at once, it was in shock and sending weird-ass nerve signals in my body.

"Are you serious?” I asked in a loud voice.

"I have no reason to waste my time."

A whole internal moment later, I asked, "So, someone wants to marry me but how does you marrying me come into this equation, like why?"

"This marriage was more for the business side of things, and also we thought that if you were already married, they wouldn't try so hard."

"Are you telling me that I was forced to marry you because of business? Business?” I screeched as I spat the words slowly and stood up on the bed.

Not lady-like behavior, I know—but who decided ladies should behave in a certain way anyway? I wanted to show dominance by standing tall, but I just ended up looking like a fool.

"It's complicated,” he said, and I tell you, I have never hated a phrase more than this.

What do you mean, 'It's complicated?' Explain it to me! Bloody hell! Explain!

Unfortunately, this was not what I said. Instead, I said, "You know what? Forget about it. I can't take too much information at once, so I'll just pump information out of you drop by drop every day."

'It will be easier to process as well, my brain,’ I said lovingly to myself.

"Great! Assuming you wouldn't want to consummate our marriage, I'm going to sleep on the sofa,” he announced and started getting up from the chair he was seated on.

"No,” I cried out suddenly and then stuttered, embarrassed, "I mean yes, I mean no."

"Relax, I'm not going to eat you…unless you ask me to, of course, but that's beside the point,” he said and I chuckled. Looking down at his face, I expected a smile or an arrogant smirk, instead there was the same handsome face with a neutral expression.

Shaking my head, I said, "I have some questions."

"Didn't I already answer?"

"No! I have more questions and on a different topic!"

"Shoot, and please sit down,” he said, and I immediately sat down.

After I mentally went over the list of questions I had prepared, I asked, "Were you forced into this marriage?"

"Not really. I—” he said but before he could finish, I interrupted him with another question.

"Did you know that I was being forced, I mean, pushed?"

"Yes, I did, and I.."

"Do you have a love interest?"

"No"

"Did you know that I have one?"

"Yes, I knew, I..."

I interrupted him, again, and said, "This concludes the interview, thank you for answering"

"It's not an interview if you don't let the interviewee speak,” he said.

"Well, I got my answers,” I shrugged.

"And they are?"

"That you are an asshole"

"And how exactly, may I ask, do these answers make me an asshole?"

"You knew I was being coerced, and you still voluntarily married me. That's asshole-y in my books."

"If that's what it is, you could've decided it beforehand, without the questions,” he said as he raised his right brow.

At times I think, people are just flexing that they can do this because I can't.

"Well, I didn't want to judge a book by its cover, I wanted to know if what I thought was actually true."

"I would say what you did right now is essentially 'judge a book by its cover' because I have found reasons are far more important than the deed itself. And before you ask why, since you didn't let me complete any of my statements, your answers are half-truths and thus, just a cover,” he said and shot out of his seat.

"Tell me, then,” I said with a pout as he turned his back on me.

Without turning around, he said, "No, I don't think I will."

"Please tell me."

"No."

I ran in front of him and pleaded, "Please, Please, Please, Please, please."

"I don't give offers once they are rejected, interrupted in this case,” he answered and moving around me, grabbed a comforter and settled on the sofa.

"Pretty please?” I looked at him, trying the Shinchan 'star-in-your eyes' hack, unfortunately it didn't work.

"Petty,” I muttered under my breath.

But his hearing was vampire-sharp because he twitted, "I don't want to judge a book by its cover, she says, hypocrite"

I glared at him as I retired in my bed—or his, if you consider who paid for it. But it was mine for the night and so I could take full advantage of the soft, fluffy, cotton bed.

I was mad at myself for judging him harshly when I hadn't given him a choice to speak completely.

I prided myself for the fact that I rarely, if ever, judged. Deliberate practice over the years had made it almost easy to not judge someone without knowing who they are and what they are going through, but today, I did just that and I wasn’t pleased.

Maybe my brain was in overdrive or I was pissed that I was forced into a marriage I didn’t want, but that still didn’t justify me judging someone harshly.

He wasn’t forced, true, but this marriage wasn’t going to be a very happy one so he must have his reasons, real reasons, for agreeing to it. I shouldn’t make everyone out as assholes just because I feel down, that’s not how it works.

Reprimanding myself for being an asshole, I closed my eyes and let the night do its magic.