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A secret that could cause scandal!
Jilted at the altar, Shefali Khanna should be humiliated. Instead she takes the opportunity to start again. Top of the priority list: do not tumble headfirst into another relationship!
But even moving from the city to the country can’t keep Shefali out of trouble—especially when she catches the eye of local celeb Neil Mitra! There is no way she can risk a scandal already! He might be gorgeous, but he’s totally off-limits…right?
And as an extra bonus, included is The Wedding Dress Diaries by Aimee Carson, the prequel to our fabulous new Modern Tempted quartet, The Wedding Season, starting next month!
Secrets & Saris
“I just told you—a serious relationship’s not something I can deal with right now,” Shefali said.
“But I do want to live life a little,” she continued. “I’ve never dated, never had a boyfriend, never stayed up the whole night dancing, never really had much fun. That’s all I want out of this. And if you don’t mind my saying, I think it’d do you some good, as well.”
Neil scanned her face, searching for a clue to how she really felt. Something about what she was saying didn’t ring true. He was incredibly tempted, though—the years since his daughter was born and his marriage ended had been completely devoid of anything remotely resembling fun with the opposite sex. Nothing that made him feel young and alive the way Shefali did.
“I’m not typical boyfriend material,” he warned finally. “And I don’t think this is the kind of place you can stay up the whole night dancing.”
“I’m sure we can think of something else to do all night long,” she said huskily, and Neil’s senses immediately sprang to high alert.
Secrets & Saris
Shoma Narayanan
About Shoma Narayanan
Shoma started reading Harlequin romances at the age of eleven, borrowing them from neighbors and hiding them inside textbooks so that her parents didn’t find out. At that time the thought of writing one herself never entered her head—she was convinced she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. When she was a little older she decided to become an engineer instead, and took a degree in electronics and telecommunications. Then she thought a career in management was probably a better bet, and went off to do an MBA. That was a decision she never regretted, because she met the man of her dreams in the first year of business school—fifteen years later they’re married with two adorable kids, whom they’re raising with the same careful attention to detail that they gave their second-year project on organizational behavior.
A couple of years ago Shoma took up writing as a hobby—after successively trying her hand at baking, sewing, knitting, crochet and patchwork—and was amazed at how much she enjoyed it. Now she works grimly at her banking job through the week, and tries to balance writing with household chores during weekends. Her family has been unfailingly supportive of her latest hobby, and are also secretly very, very relieved that they don’t have to eat, wear or display the results!
This and other titles by Shoma Narayanan are available in ebook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk.
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To Vishpala and Paramita for being my sounding boards
for every book I write, and to Malini for
being my sounding board for pretty much everything else!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
ONE
‘In the event of a water evacuation...’
The stewardess’s voice droned on and Shefali leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. Water evacuation, indeed! Unless they crash-landed in a river it was very unlikely they would need life jackets during this flight between one completely land-locked city and another. She winced. If there was only some way to block out all sound. Her head was pounding like crazy, and she had to stop herself from opening her bag and digging out yet another painkiller.
‘Cabin crew to stations for take-off,’ the Captain’s voice said over the plane’s PA system, and Shefali’s eyes flew open.
She looked out of the window involuntarily. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Delhi from a plane window—there had been trips to Mumbai, to Thailand, even to Paris—but this time she was leaving for good, and she couldn’t help but feel a lump in her throat.
The comfortable-looking matronly woman in the seat next to Shefali gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Flying for the first time?’ she asked.
Shefali shook her head. She didn’t want to spend the two-hour flight making polite conversation, and this lady looked the chatty kind. Before Shefali could shut her eyes again, she had started.
‘Are you from Delhi or Jabalpur?’
‘Neither,’ Shefali replied.
But the lady wasn’t about to give up. ‘Going for a wedding?’ she asked, pointing at the henna tattoos that covered Shefali’s hands.
Shefali pulled the long sleeves of her shirt down a little further to hide the elaborate designs that extended all the way up her forearms. The traditional mehandi ceremony had been held three days before her wedding-that-never-happened, and she’d had to wait for hours afterwards for the henna paste to dry. The rich black had now faded to orange, but to Shefali’s paranoid eyes her hands and arms still screamed out jilted bride.
‘Excuse me a second,’ she muttered, and pressed the button to call the flight attendant. ‘Can I shift to a seat in the emergency exit row?’ she asked when the attendant came up to her. ‘I have a...a knee problem. I need more leg-room.’
She picked up her handbag and moved gratefully to the seat pointed out to her. It was an aisle seat two rows ahead, and the window seat next to it was occupied by a man around her age who was peering intently into his laptop screen.
Shefali was fastening her seatbelt when the man spoke without looking up from the screen.
‘So where are you from, then? If you’re not from Delhi or from Jabalpur.’
She gave him a startled look. ‘I’m sorry?’
The man turned, and Shefali saw his face for the first time. He was quite strikingly good-looking, with blue-grey eyes and perfectly chiselled features. For a few moments Shefali found herself staring stupidly without a word to say. Fortunately he gave her a quick smile and turned back to his computer.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing,’ he said, and lowering his voice. ‘Good thinking with the knee problem.’
‘Thanks,’ Shefali said. ‘I think.’
The man nodded and started typing something into the computer. He didn’t seem disposed to talk any more, and Shefali felt a pang of something approaching disappointment. A random conversation with an attractive stranger might have helped take her mind off things. But who was she kidding? Nothing could take her mind off the single, mind-numbingly humiliating fact that her fiancé hadn’t bothered to turn up for their wedding. The wedding that she had spent the last year planning and preparing for.
Sometimes it felt as if her whole life had been geared towards that one day when she’d marry the perfect man and settle down into happy domesticity. And Pranav had seemed perfect when her parents had introduced him to her. He was rich, successful, and very attractive—and though it was to have been an arranged marriage she’d very quickly started weaving him into her daydreams. Finding out on their wedding day that he’d decided to go back to his ex-girlfriend had been the biggest shock she’d ever had in her sheltered and slightly pampered life.
The attendant brought across their pre-ordered lunch trays. Her neighbour closed his laptop and took his. Shefali shook her head abruptly.
‘No, thanks,’ she said. Her head was still aching, and even the sight of food was off-putting.
‘Can I have it?’ the man next to her asked. He gave her a quick grin. ‘I missed breakfast—and, well...’ He gestured towards his tray. ‘This doesn’t look like enough to keep a mouse alive.’
‘OK,’ Shefali said, taking her tray from the attendant and passing it on. His hands were good, she noticed. Strong, with square-tipped fingers, sinewy wrists and no rings. She’d never liked Pranav’s hands—thin and hairy: an awful combination. Pity they hadn’t been grounds enough for her to decide against marrying him.
‘You’re sure you don’t want any of this?’ the man was asking, gesturing towards the two trays.
Shefali barely repressed a shudder. ‘I’m sure, thanks. Just the bottle of water, please.’
He handed it to her, and she took it, carefully avoiding touching his hand. His proximity was affecting her weirdly, and she didn’t want him to notice. Her head still ached, and she picked up her bag, rummaging around in it for the package of painkillers. They seemed to have vanished, so she pulled out her table and starting putting the contents of her designer bag on it one by one. The painkillers finally turned up, wedged between the pages of the novel she’d been too stressed to take out and read. Heaving a sigh of relief, she popped open the blister pack and put one into her mouth.
She hadn’t opened the bottle of water yet. She tried to twist it open, but the seal stubbornly refused to break. And the pill she’d put in the centre of her tongue—because, according to her primary school science teacher, there were no tastebuds there—was slowly dissolving in her saliva and spreading to parts of her mouth where there were tastebuds. It tasted vile.
‘Ugh,’ she said, as politely as she could to the man next to her.
He had stopped eating and was staring with horrified fascination at the heap of things that had emerged from her bag.
‘Ugh,’ she said again, and finally nudged him with her elbow and pointed at the bottle.
‘Oh—sorry,’ he said, taking the bottle from her and opening it with an effortless twist of his wrist. ‘Here you go.’
She grabbed it from him with more haste than grace and took a few rapid gulps. The pill finally went down, though it cleaved lovingly to the roof her mouth for as long as it could. She made a face—the bitter taste in her mouth was refusing to go away.
‘Have some sugar,’ the man suggested, giving her a little sachet from one of his two lunch trays.
His voice was perfectly grave, but he was laughing, his eyes crinkling up at the corners in the most attractive way possible. His teeth were perfect, Shefali noticed. Having gone through years of painful and extremely expensive orthodontic treatment to achieve her own current flawless smile, she resented people who’d been born to have perfectly aligned teeth. He looked as if he’d never had to go to a dentist in his life.
Her neighbour polished off his second dessert and handed the empty trays to one of the stewards. ‘We’ve almost arrived,’ he remarked, looking at his watch, and the seatbelt sign came on as if on cue.
Shefali didn’t answer, but clenched her hands unconsciously. This was it, then. The start of her brand-new life. In a few minutes they’d be landing in a city where no one knew about her engagement and the disastrous end to it, and she could make a completely new start. She’d never taken her job very seriously—teaching at a playschool had been just something she did to fill the time between graduation and marriage—but when she’d wanted to get out of Delhi it had been her boss who’d come to her rescue, offering her the job of centre manager at their Jabalpur branch, and she was determined not to let him down.
* * *
Neil Mitra was looking at his neighbour curiously. There was something odd about her—some kind of pent-up anxiety that came through in her strained expression and rather jerky movements. Also, from what he’d been able to see of the packaging, the pills she’d been popping were either anti-depressants or pretty strong painkillers. If not for the haunted look in her eyes she’d be an attractive girl—she had neat, very regular features, a flawless complexion, and rather nice eyes with lovely long eyelashes.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked quietly as the plane came to a halt and girl tried to jerk to her feet without undoing her seatbelt.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, but her voice sounded artificially cheerful.
Her glossy, perfectly styled hair fell across her face and hid her expression as she bent to open the recalcitrant catch of her seatbelt. Finally getting it undone, she stood up and opened one of the overhead lockers, tugging valiantly at her bag. After watching her struggle for a few seconds, Neil got up to free it for her. She was taller than he’d thought, just half a head below his own imposing six-foot two inches. The flowery scent from her hair teased at his nostrils, and for a second their eyes met and held as he took the case out and handed it to her.
Shefali looked away first, flustered by her reaction to him. Perhaps she was going crazy, she thought, suddenly furious with herself. Pranav’s betrayal was making her overly susceptible to the slightest bit of attention from any good-looking man. She tried to take a step away from him, but there was nowhere either of them could move—everyone in the plane was standing in the aisle, trying to get at their luggage, and the doors hadn’t opened yet.
‘Relax, I don’t bite,’ he said, sounding amused as he noticed her trying to move away.
Shefali flushed angrily. It was bad enough realising how pathetic she was without him noticing too. Luckily the doors opened just then, and she was able turn towards the exit.
‘Here—let me take that,’ he said, leaning down to take the handle of her case from her.
Relinquishing it, she followed him into the airport, her nose wrinkling just a little as she noticed how tiny it was.
Neil grinned at her reaction, Neil grinned. ‘Doesn’t match up to Delhi T3, does it?’ he asked.
Refusing to be embarrassed any further, Shefali shrugged. ‘It’s quaint,’ she said. ‘Oh, look—my cases are here.’
Neil helped her get the bags off the carousel, his smoky blue eyes widening as he realised how many there were. ‘Arctic expedition?’ he asked, his brows quirking up.
‘I’m moving here for work,’ Shefali said stiffly. ‘Two of the cartons are full of educational aids I’ll need for my job.’
It had taken her days to pack, choosing between sentimental reminders of her growing-up years in Delhi and more practical things like dishes and clothes. And then her boss had landed her with the two cartons to carry, airily offering to pay for the extra baggage. The last thing she needed now was to be given grief for the amount of luggage she had. She eyed his mid-sized rucksack contemptuously—he was probably carrying clothes for a two-day trip, and she had her entire life in her bags.
Suddenly overcome by the enormity of what she was doing, she shoved her remaining bags onto the trolley and said gruffly, ‘Well, thanks for everything. I guess you need to head off now...’
Looking slightly taken aback, Neil gestured towards the trolley groaning under the weight of three cases, two large cartons and a carryall. ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to manage that?’
‘Perfectly sure,’ Shefali said, dredging up a polite little smile, though her heart sank into her shoes at the thought of having to wrestle with all that stuff on her own. Then her sense of pride reasserted itself. She wasn’t helpless. She’d be fine. She didn’t need help from random strangers, however good-looking they were. ‘Thanks again for your help,’ she said, trying to sound as gracious as possible. ‘I’m sure we’ll see each other around, this is such a small place.’
‘It has a population of over a million,’ he said drily. ‘But if we do run into each other I’ll come across and say hello.’
Someone from the throng of people outside the airport yelled, ‘Neil—over here!’, and the man gave Shefali a brief nod before turning away.
Flushing, Shefali watched him stride off, his broad, athletic frame a stark contrast to the frankly pudgy man with a ponytail who’d greeted him exuberantly as soon as he’d stepped out.
He was nowhere in sight when Shefali finally managed to get her trolley out, but by then she had other things to worry about. The airport seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Apart from a small car park there was nothing—trees and more trees surrounded the area, and there was not a cab in sight. Everyone else who’d got off the flight was being met by someone, and the couple of auto-rickshaw drivers who were hanging around looked as if they spent their spare time mugging little old ladies and stealing candy from kids.
She looked around a little helplessly—the man Neil was driving out of the airport in a black SUV, and she wished she’d asked him for a lift.
‘Need a lift somewhere?’
Shefali turned to look into the concerned eyes of the motherly woman she’d been sitting next to at first. Shefali shook her head. The woman seemed nice enough, but she reminded her way too strongly of all the curious aunties back in Delhi, who’d been simultaneously horrified, pitying and excited at her wedding being called off.
In her hurry to get away Shefali beckoned to the least ruffianly-looking of the auto-rickshaw drivers and gave him the address of her hotel. The auto was cramped—her bags took up most of the back seat of the three-wheeler—and she had to sit to one side, almost falling out of the open vehicle as it zipped through almost deserted roads. For a while she tried to look out and interest herself in her surroundings, but then her shoulders slumped and she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. The first day of her new and independent life had been exhausting, to say the least.
TWO
‘This is...really impressive,’ Shefali said, barely able to conceal the surprise in her voice.
Mrs Dubey, the outgoing centre manager of the playschool, smiled. ‘Not as villagey as you expected, then,’ she said, her voice dry.
Shefali turned around quickly. ‘Oh, no—I didn’t mean that!’ she exclaimed, though it was exactly what she’d meant and they both knew it. ‘It’s just that the centre looks so much like the one I worked in when I was in Delhi—at least from inside. And there’s so much space outside. You actually have a full-sized playground for the children. It’s lovely!’
There was enough genuine enthusiasm in her voice to win Mrs Dubey over, and her smile became a lot warmer. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ she said. ‘On Monday I’ll introduce you to the staff and take you through the paperwork, then you’ll be all set. I don’t think there’s anything else we need to cover now. What are your plans for the rest of the day?’
Shefali looked a little lost. It was a Saturday, and Mrs Dubey was right—without either the teachers or the children around, there wasn’t much for her to do here. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I’d assumed this would take a lot longer. Can I start moving my things into the flat today?’
The playschool was a two-storey building, and the upper storey had a decent-sized flat that came with the job. It had looked rather nice when Mrs Dubey had shown her around earlier, and Shefali was looking forward to moving in.
Mrs Dubey was shaking her head, though. ‘I still need to move some of my boxes out,’ she said. ‘I’m staying with friends for the next few days, before I head out to Pune to join my son, so I’m getting the bigger things packed today and sent on directly. And we did say that you’d move in tomorrow.’ Her face brightened up. ‘I’ll tell you what you can do,’ she said. ‘My car’s free—the driver can take you for a drive up to the river. The Marble Rocks and the waterfall are lovely, and you won’t get a chance to do any sightseeing once you get caught up with schoolwork.’
It sounded as good a plan as any—and it would definitely beat spending the rest of the day in her hotel room brooding. The couple of quick internet searches that she’d done before she’d left Delhi had touted the stretch of the River Narmada running past the city as one of the most beautiful and unspoilt river views in the country.
An hour later, however, she was frowning as she stood at the riverbank. What she could see of the river as it meandered between tall cliffs of white marble was stunning. But the point of coming all this way had been to take a boat ride through the cliffs, and that was one thing she was apparently not going to be able to do. Every single boat seemed to have been commandeered by a TV crew that had set up operations on the riverbank.
‘But why can’t you rent me your boat?’ she asked one of the boatmen.
He shook his head firmly. ‘They’ve paid all of us to keep off the river while shooting is going on,’ he said self-importantly.
‘I need to speak to someone in charge,’ Shefali said, and before the man could stop her she had pushed through the crowd gawking at the cameras.
No one objected—probably with her ‘big city’ looks they thought she was part of the crew. At any rate, she managed to grab the sleeve of a harried-looking girl who was standing by the side of one of the cameras holding a large sheaf of papers.
‘Are you part of the crew?’ she asked, and the girl nodded. ‘I understand that you’ve paid the boatmen so that they won’t take any boats out. Is that correct?’
‘That’s right,’ the girl said, sounding wary now.
‘Look, I’m here on a very short trip, and I was really keen on a boat ride,’ Shefali said rapidly. ‘Is there any way I could take one of the boats out for a short while? Maybe when you’re taking a break or something?’
‘I’ll have to ask Neil,’ she replied. ‘He told us not to let any of the boats go out.’
At the name Shefali automatically looked at the crew, scanning through the faces. There he was, just a few feet away, she realised. Her tummy did an involuntary flip-flop of excitement. The man from the flight, looking even better now, his hair ruffled by the breeze and his tanned biceps exposed in a short-sleeved white T-shirt.
‘Who’s he?’ she asked the girl in an undertone.
The girl looked surprised. ‘Neil Mitra,’ she said. ‘He’s the anchor for our show.’
What show? Shefali felt like asking. They were from a TV channel, that was obvious—there was enough branding around to convert the entire city to single channel viewership—but... ‘I don’t remember seeing him in anything,’ she said instead. ‘Is he well-known?’ Neil’s looks were too unconventional to fit in the filmstar category, but she could imagine him being a hit on TV, with his direct eyes and quirky smile.
‘No,’ said a voice near her ear. ‘Not at all. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we really need to begin shooting. We lost two days while I was in Delhi.’ He nodded at the girl, who backed away, looking flustered.
‘I’ll get the guys together, then,’ she said, and made a rapid exit.
Neil turned to Shefali. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged it from him, but he’d thought about her quite a bit since he’d last seen her.
‘A very short trip?’ he asked, his voice sardonic. ‘I thought you’d moved here? Something to do with education if I’m not wrong?’
Damn—he’d overheard her earlier. Determined to brazen it out, Shefali lifted her chin. ‘I meant it’s a short trip to this place. It’s miles out of the city, and I’m not planning to come here again in a hurry.’
Neil shrugged. ‘Well, tough luck. I guess you’ll have to get here some other day if you’re really set on boating.’
‘Or you could let one of the boatmen take me across when you’re on a teabreak,’ she suggested, keeping her voice even. He seemed to be being difficult for no reason at all.
‘Or you could watch a film of the cliffs,’ he said.
Shefali glared at him, and Neil gave her an unapologetic grin. ‘It’s not about when you leave,’ he said. ‘It’s about when you come back. You could land up bang in the middle of a take and ruin it for us.’ He thought for a bit. ‘Look, the waterfall is on a different section of the river—maybe if you go there and come back in a few hours we’ll be done.’
‘All right,’ Shefali said, and turned to go. She had no intention of coming back—not while Neil was around at any rate.
Neil watched her leave with mixed feelings. There was something about the girl that got to him. Probably the air of privilege that surrounded her—she assumed that people around her would do what she wanted. And she’d been pretty dismissive at the airport when he’d only been trying to help her. In stark contrast to the way she behaved, though, was the look in her eyes, which was guarded and vulnerable at the same time.
‘You can take a boat out if you want,’ he said finally, just before she went out of earshot. ‘Only don’t wave wildly at the cameras or anything.’
Strongly tempted to tell him that she had no intention of looking at his precious cameras, Shefali nodded politely and waited while he beckoned one of the boatmen over and gave him a few quick instructions in Hindi. If he was expecting her to fall at his feet in gratitude, he had a long wait coming.
Once they were a few hundred metres from the bank, she turned to look at Neil. He was with the TV crew, busily arranging the next shot, and he seemed to have forgotten all about her. Frowning, Shefali turned back and tried to concentrate on the boatman who was giving her a long and, she suspected, almost completely fictional history of the region. The cliffs were impressive, though—not the pure white she’d expected, but pale grey and massive, looming over both sides of the river.
The boatman was still talking half an hour later, when the boat came back to the small wooden jetty they’d started from. Shefali stood up gingerly, almost losing her balance as the boat rocked under her.
‘Need a hand?’ an amused voice said, and she looked up to see Neil standing by the riverside.
They seemed to be done with the shoot—the camera had been packed up, and Neil looked far more relaxed than he had earlier.
Not wanting to fall over on her backside and make a fool of herself, she took Neil’s outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her out. Electricity zinged between them and Shefali felt her skin heat up. He seemed quite unaware of the effect he had on her, releasing her hand as soon as she was on dry ground.
‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to the crew,’ he said, and then smiled slightly. ‘It’d help if I knew your name first, though.’
‘Shefali,’ she said. ‘Shefali Khanna.’
‘Well, hello, Shefali Khanna,’ he said gravely. ‘Meet Rafiq, our director.’ He waved at the pudgy ponytailed man who had come to pick him up at the airport. ‘And this is Priti...’ The girl she’d spoken to earlier bobbed her head at Shefali with a quick smile. ‘And those scruffy guys over there are Animesh and Sohail.’ The cameraman and his assistant, who were both almost as well turned out as Neil, gave him indignant looks.
‘We’re the actual stars of the show,’ Animesh said. ‘This guy just hangs around and shoots his mouth off in front of the camera.’
Neil laughed. ‘Back in a minute,’ he said. ‘I need to pay the boatmen and figure out tomorrow’s schedule.’
Sohail followed him, and Shefali was left with Rafiq and Priti. ‘What’s the show about?’ she asked.
‘It’s called Soul of the City,’ Rafiq said. ‘We’re doing twelve episodes in twelve different cities. Here—take a look at some of the stuff we’ve done for one of the earlier episodes,’ he said, holding out an iPad to her. ‘This was in Vizag.’
‘It’s very rough,’ said Priti, the girl she’d spoken to earlier. ‘The final edit still needs to be done. But it gives you the feel of the thing.’
It certainly did. It cut between interviews with college students, politicians and housewives, with bits of local music interspersed with breathtaking footage of beaches and hills. And Neil was amazing—he looked even better on camera than he did in real life, and he managed to connect with each and every person he interviewed.
‘This is great stuff,’ Shefali said once the clip was over. ‘You guys are incredibly talented.’
Rafiq gave her a smug look. ‘Of course we are,’ he said. ‘And having Neil striding around and looking like God’s gift to womankind doesn’t harm our ratings either.’
‘Is this his first show?’ Shefali asked curiously.
Priti looked surprised. ‘You really don’t know who he is, do you?’ she said.
Shefali shook her head.
‘He’s pretty well known,’ Priti said. ‘Been with the channel for almost three years, and he’s had two very successful shows recently. Of course they’re on fairly serious themes, but he handled them brilliantly.’
She named the shows, but clearly she didn’t expect to Shefali to recognise them. Shefali wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused by Priti’s slightly patronising tone. She didn’t watch TV at all, except for the movie channels, and she had no idea if the shows Priti was talking about were big league or not. For all she knew they aired at ungodly hours, and only housewives who were very, very bored or very, very frustrated watched them.
Neil was standing next to her again. ‘Coffee, anyone?’ he asked.
Priti shook her head vigorously. ‘We need to wrap up some still shots of the river before the light goes. But we don’t need you for that—you and Shefali go ahead.’
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