Page 14 of No Other Love
He gave a lopsided smile. I felt sick looking at it. Sick with longing and regret and a love that just wouldn’t go.
His smile faded because I didn’t smile back. I couldn’t.
‘The bus ride was okay?’ He asked, after a moment’s pause.
‘It was fine. We had traffic till we reached the freeway. You know how it is with Mumbai’s peak hours.’
‘I know. I don’t miss it at all.’
We reached a shiny, black, open Jeep and Vikrant tossed my bag in the backseat. Which meant that this sexy beast of a vehicle was his. My staid, intense, doctor husband’s.Ex-husband.
My eyes widened. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a Jeep Commander. I got it second-hand from a nearby garage and the garage mechanic and I spent a few weekends fixing it up. It’s a hybrid.’
‘I’m impressed, Vikrant. I didn’t think you were capable of owning something as sexy as this.’ I hopped into it and wore the seatbelt.
Unfortunately, my khaki shorts were not meant for Jeep rides and rode up indecently high. I blushed hard because Vikrant was staring at my displayed thighs.
‘I haven’t shaved in a few weeks,’ I muttered and attempted to tug the hem of the shorts down.
‘Don’t bother on my account,’ he said in a low voice. Then he unclenched the fist which held the Jeep keys and walked to the other side of the vehicle.
The words vibrated deep inside of me. With sexy promise and unspoken admiration.
***
Vikrant wore pressed jeans at four am in the morning along with a simple checked cotton shirt open at the throat. I could see his chest hair curling above the button. And I wanted, so badly, to tug at it. To pull him closer and kiss him and have him devour me whole.
Even exes could have sex, right?
Desire churned messily inside me.
To combat it, I reached out and started the music system the exact same moment that he did.
He gave a startled glance and took his hand back. ‘Rider’s choice,’ he invited.
‘I think I’ll take a nap if it’s far,’ I said, pressing my hand close to the seat. The hand that had touched him.
‘It’s not very far. Twenty minutes at the most. Nothing’s very far here.’
‘Right.’ I nodded. ‘Music it is.’
I pressed the play button on the system and an old Atif Aslam song came on, singing about ‘Woh Lamhein, Who Baatein’. I leaned back against the seat and enjoyed the cold morning breeze against my body as Vikrant roared on empty roads toward his home.
I questioned my sanity in agreeing to this insane scheme.
I was not fond of Vikrant’s parents. They were judgmental, silently so. And they thought their son had made a mistake marrying a woman of a different character, who was neither conservative nor religious, who actually belittled their customs and way of life.
His mother had actually told him that I was the worst wife for Vikrant, during the last visit. I shouldn’t have heard it, but I had.
And what followed was worse.
Vikrant remained silent.
He’d agreed with his beloved, precious mother.
And that silence had broken my trust in him like nothing ever could. I had defended Vikrant and our relationship to my dad. Vehemently and so often that Vivek had finally given in and arranged for a grand reception at Mumbai’s lushest hotel, a month after our hasty court wedding.