Hateful Games: (An arranged marriage billionaire romance) (Arranged Games Book 2)
Chapter 27

“How the hell do women carry this around?” I complain.

“It’s just a sari, Ro,” says Bianca with a roll of her eyes.

“The damn pallu keeps falling off.”

“It’s supposed to,” adds Iris.

Bianca scolds, “You wanted it to be that way.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” I stop before we can walk out of my suite, where the makeup artists—Ria, Pia, and Mia; the rhyming trio, as refer to them—spent the last two hours primping me and working their magic. Although, the last one spent most of it trying to flirt her way into Bianca’s panties.

Too bad, Dash would castrate anyone—female or not—if they tried to steal her from him.

Since I’m impressed by the crazy and loud trio and want them here tomorrow, I cannot let that happen.

“Where are you going?” yells Bianca, ever the punctual one. “We’re already late.”

“I’m going to have Pia redo my sari like Deepika from Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani.”

When else will I get the chance to flaunt my curves in a black shimmery sari with a sleeveless maroon blouse knotted in the back? I love saris as much as the next Indian girl but there are not a lot of occasions to wear them often.

After tonight, I probably wouldn’t even want to for a very long time.

Pia and the others are cleaning the room and packing their stuff when I come inside. Ria looks up and smiles. “Did you forget something?”

“Can I have one of you pin the pallu over my shoulder?”

“And show that sexy-as-fuck piercing?” says Mia, the flirt, with a lascivious grin. “Makes me want to take a bite.”

“Do you ever stop?” I tease.

She winks. “Never.”

“And here I thought I was special,” says Bianca in mock hurt, entering the room behind me with Iris alongside her.

“I told you my magic fingers are all yours.”

“Don’t say that in front of her soon-to-be husband.”

Mia frowns. “I thought you were married to Dash?”

“That was a fake one to fool my parents.”

I meet Ria halfway, who is the quiet leader among them, and she begins redoing my sari. Over my shoulder, I tell Mia, “Then he broke her heart and they were separated for months.”

“The idiot,” curses Mia, and I love her even more.

“I know, right.”

Iris, the romantic, jumps in, “But he groveled and won her back.”

“How?” asks Pia, riveted by the story.

Mia jumps in and says, “Pretty please tell me you made him walk on hot coals or something.”

Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?

Reading my mind, Bianca warns with a stern expression, “Don’t you dare. How about we save it for Nova? He’s bound to fuck up at some point.”

“Worse than what he’s been doing all these years?”

“You’re not in love?” Pia gasps, dumbfounded. Even Ria pauses and waits for my answer. “But you both look so happy in the pictures.”

“Which arranged marriage has ever been about love?” Before their expression can switch to pity, I say, “Back to Bee. She made Dash her assistant, aka her bitch, for months before giving him a second chance.”

“Ro!” snaps Bianca with a stunned expression.

“Bee, you had the billionaire quit his job and run your errands for six freaking months. Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you. Kudos to you.”

The others hoot in agreement.

“You’re all a crazy bunch.”

“All done,” informs Ria, stepping back and giving me a once-over. “You look hotter like this.”

Turning, I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My hair is perfectly curled, wavy and bouncy. My makeup dark and sultry with long diamond earrings. With the pallu cinched and over my shoulder, it falls down my back and shy of touching the floor. The thin lace material accentuates my slim figure, displaying my stomach and my back enticingly.

“You look stunning and we have pictures to take downstairs,” announces Bianca impatiently. “Can we please hurry now, your highness?”

“Just say you’re having Dash withdrawal.”

“I’m just doing my bridesmaid duties.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” I taunt before taking mercy on her and exiting the room. Bianca takes the lead, her steps so eager she’s literally running. Throwing open the door, she stops short from barely slamming into none other than Dash.

He stands outside, fist raised to knock on the door. His broody face relaxes a little as soon as he sees Bianca. His chest expanding as he runs his gaze down her appreciatively. “You look so beautiful, kitten.”

In an instant, both of them forget the rest of us.

It’s the moment I’ve read and obsessed over countless times where the main characters forget the world around them until all that exists is them. Witnessing it is nothing short of magical. It’s what makes me know they’re perfect for each other.

Bianca takes a step forward just as his arm circles her naked waist in the lehnga and yanks her flush against him. “What is taking so long?”

“We were just coming downstairs,” Bianca murmurs.

I clear my throat, snapping Dash’s attention to mine. His expression turning hard at the interruption. No surprise there.

“Stop hogging my wife, Rosalie,” he grunts.

I smile deviously. “Is my wedding an inconvenience for you, lover boy?”

“Did you think otherwise?”

“Careful or I’d be tempted to keep her away from you even longer.”

“Stop, you two!” sighs Bianca with an amused smile. Before rising on her toes to kiss him, which he only ends after he’s satisfied. Bianca breathlessly whispers, “Just a few more minutes and then I’m all yours, darling.”

His green eyes soften and he cups her cheek, stealing another kiss. As if he needs her to breathe. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll wait downstairs.” Reluctantly, he lets her go and disappears down the hall.

“Do the butterflies ever go away, Bee?” teases Iris.

Bianca blushes. “Never.”

“Let’s go before he comes searching again,” snickers Iris.

“Or Nathan,” I add.

“Oh, we’re safe. He’s busy with Nova.”

Just hearing my fiancé’s name brings the shivering memory of this afternoon. I can’t believe he actually wrote my name. Or how in a single glance, he found his on mine. In a couple of minutes, I’ll be wearing his ring, too, on the same finger.

A claim that’ll irrevocably change my world.

I can only imagine how smug he’ll be then.

He’s silently unhinged, unstoppable in savagely tying me to him in every way.

The truth is, even if our pasts weren’t twisted because of some rivalry and it was a simple arranged marriage, I still wouldn’t be willing and prepared. Or truly happy. Because how can another decide on the person you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with?

The whole concept is based on the logic that your parents know your choice in your life partner better than you do yourself. When the blunt truth is that no parent truly knows their child. Although they might think otherwise.

Each of us have a side, dreams, hopes, and values we keep close to our hearts while waiting for someone worthy to share them with. No one but you should get to decide who the one is for you.

I don’t want to be just another girl falling in the same rabbit hole. An ancient tradition we’ve been fed for centuries and are too afraid to break.

Some might say I have gamophobia, I call it being a free-spirited person.

I become restless, anxious, and suffocated as though I’m trapped in a cage.

I’ve been kept locked up my whole life.

Now, I’ll be replacing one glass prison for another.

Not for forever… I vow.

My mind wanders to Nova. I wonder what kind of husband will he be? Is he going to punish me behind closed doors for ending his bachelor life completely? Will our vows be sacred to him? Do I even want him to be loyal?

After today’s display at the mehndi, dare I imagine he’ll be as possessive as Dash is for Bianca? Because sometimes, Nova’s eyes mirror the same dark foreboding look. Or was it a figment of my imagination? I try and fail not to obsess over it as the elevator arrives for the three of us.

As the car descends, Bianca questions, “Who has the ring?”

“Jasmine has it,” answers Iris. “She and Aunty Lily are waiting for us. The Muhurat for the ring ceremony will be starting soon.”

I hold back a snort at the mention of Muhurat.

According to Indian tradition, it’s the auspicious time where the stars align favorably to do a ceremony, with the hope of bringing prosperity in the couple’s life.

No power in the universe could my marriage work.

Yet, we’re all pretending otherwise.

Tonight, we’ll be having the ring ceremony, as per my family’s tradition, followed by dancing. The whole day was jam-packed with one ritual after another. I lost count of how many times I had to smile and say namaste to my relatives. Half of whom I couldn’t even remember.

The elevator glides to a halt and immediately, I’m swarmed by Mom and Jasmine holding an energetic Suhana. My niece keeps trying to reach the pin on Jasmin’s head while she keeps batting it away.

“Can I please hold her?” asks Iris.

“Of course.” Jasmine smiles as she hands Suhana over. She’s miraculously a kid who gels with everyone. “Or else she’ll ruin my hair before the function even starts.”

“You look stunning, love,” praises Mom with teary eyes. “I’m going to be a crying mess tomorrow.”

“You already are, Ma,” I can’t help but tease.

Her arms wrap around me in a bear hug that takes me by surprise. The weight of it hitting me in the face that it’s been years since we’ve hugged. Did the distance become so wide that I forgot what her touch felt like? Have I unknowingly been pushing her away?

Forgetting everything that’s happened the last couple of years, I hold her tighter.

I need her strength if I’m going to survive the next few months.

“I love you, my baby girl,” she whispers. “I’ve been waiting and praying to see you as a bride. But you’ll always be my daughter first.”

“I love you too, Ma.”

Brushing a wayward tear away, I pull back. Right then, the wedding planner arrives, dressed to perfection and with her clipboard.

“It’s time for the entrance, Miss Kapoor,” Tamana informs me. “Except Rosalie, the rest of you should go inside. Everyone is ready.”

“Slay, Ro,” says Bianca, smirking.

Iris steps forward and whispers, “Remember, by hook or by crook.”

“I love you both,” I murmur, squeezing their hands. They turn and head for the ballroom, leaving me standing with a calm Tamana, who keeps checking her watch. Her assistant arrives to inform us that the photographers and musicians are all set.

“You ready, Rosalie?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

I’m led toward another set of double doors with a historical painting of a royal party with dancers. One of the assistants has a headset and gives a thumbs-up right when music from inside begins to play.

An instrumental version of the song “Love Story” by Indila.

The beat matches the rhythm of my heart as I step forward, feigning confidence and the fake smile I’ve taught myself. Bright lights fall over my head and the navy blue carpet below my feet.

The moment my eyes adjust and collide with Nova standing tall in a black tuxedo at the front, my practiced smiles falters. While my heart goes boom.

Trouble, my head warns.

The closer I get, the harder it becomes to keep up the act of pretending I’m in love.

Because all I want to do is turn and run away.

His gaze crinkles at the corners just slightly, watching my face intensely. The only way he does, peering beneath my mask. Sensing my fright, he crosses the remaining distance between us and intertwines our hands. He does it every time I’m about to cause a blunder in public. Instead of leading me to the dais, he bends inches from my mouth.

“You’re not escaping me now, Rose,” he murmurs. His proximity making me dizzy. “Not after coming this far. You’re mine to burn for eternity, remember?”

Kissing my cheek, leaving the spot tingling, he straightens and gives the crowd his charming smile. Our hands locked, we finally reach the center, where our parents already wait. Suhana is perched in my mom’s arms, holding the ring box and attempting to open it.

Our fathers’ expressions are eased in reserved and civil smiles. Nowhere near friendly, not that the guests can tell the difference. Bad blood doesn’t go away so easily. Nova’s Mom, Teresa, and mine are the only ones conveying glowing and emotional emotions.

Teresa steps forward and cups my cheek. “So gorgeous. My son is lucky to have you, Rosalie. I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect girl for him. Both of you make such a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you, Mrs. D’Cruz.”

“You need to stop being so formal, sweetie,” she teases. “Call me Mom. We’re family now.”

Panic floods my system but before I can make a fool of myself, Nova saves me by saying, “Give her time, Ma.”

“Of course.” She smiles reassuringly and turns to my parents. “Shall we bring the rings?”

“Oh yes!” exclaims my mom, causing Danish, Nova’s father, to direct his gaze at her and linger. Their eyes meet and the smile he returns is actually genuine. Which is great, because I can’t have them hating each other too. After all, my mother is the reason behind this peace treaty.

The host, who has been entertaining the guests so far calls for attention after declaring the engagement ceremony is beginning. As he continues regaling everyone with stories of love and soulmates, Nova and I stand in front of each other, flanked by our parents.

His eyes, the color of whiskey, rake down my body. Warming places that have no business reacting to him. I lie to myself that it’s all for show. The con of the decade.

It’s certainly not because of the way the material of the tuxedo molds to his broad shoulders and chest. The bow tie that draws attention to his Adam’s apple. Or how his unruly hair has been tamed, kept longer on the top and trimmed on the slides.

“Rosa,” whispers Mom in my ear. “Give him your hand.”

I blink, not realizing I checked out whilst admiring him.

Nova smirks.

I have half a mind to slap him with the hand he’s supposed to put the ring on. Won’t that make this a memorable party? Instead, I do as I’ve been told and raise my left hand to his. He takes it and caresses the inside of my wrist, causing a shiver to zap down my spine. With his other hand, he slowly slides the ring on. The sight of it stealing my breath away.

A stunning iridescent black diamond in the shape of a rose.

That’s not all. Tiny diamonds surround the bigger rock in an intricate pattern.

The ring is custom-made without a doubt. I’m bewildered that Nova went above and beyond because no way anyone other than him put so much attention to the details.

Glancing up at Nova, I swallow at the satisfaction darkening his chiseled face. With my hand still in his, he brings it to his lips and kisses it while never breaking our connection.

“Your turn, Rosa,” says my mom, nudging the ring for Nova in my palm. That’s when I hear the loud claps and catcalls going around the room. The rapid flashes of the cameras.

Heart thundering behind my ribs, I grab Nova’s hand and slide the simple golden band onto his ring finger. My hand looking so small and frail against his. His fingers long and palms wide enough to wrap around my throat.

The feeling of being powerless under him still lingers as if it were just yesterday.

Except that day in London has never happened again.

Because his hatred deepened like barbwire around my neck.

“Congratulations, kids,” says Teresa, hugging us both.

“Welcome to the family, Rosalie,” warmly says Danish, his presence intimidating.

“Thank you!”

My parents are next to congratulate us and it soon turns to all of us clicking several pictures together. Then comes our close relatives, and Nova takes the lead in making small talk. His suave business persona shining through, charming everyone like bees to honey.

Tamana pushes her way through the crowd and stops before us.

“Would you both come with me?” she asks. “The photographer from the wedding magazine is waiting to begin the shoot.”

“Do w—”

“Of course,” Nova cuts me off. “Where?”

“In the garden near the maze.”

He nods, smiling. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Once she disappears, he grabs my hand and excuses us to guide me out to the hallway I came from earlier. It’s deserted and I quickly yank my hand free from his. “I’m not in the mood for photos, Nova.”

“I am.”

“Quit lying.”

“I’m not.” He invades my personal space, making my head tilt despite the four-inch heels I’m wearing. I hold my ground, letting my annoyance show. Grasping my left hand, he lifts it between us, thumb caressing the dazzling diamond, and drowns me in his chocolaty eyes. “Do you like your ring?”

“It’ll do,” I answer him, sounding unimpressed.

“It’s a twenty-carat ring, Rose.”

Jesus Christ. “Show-off,” I huff.

Smirking, he demands, “Will my wife like more?”

“Still a day left to call me your wife.”

“Not a day. Few hours.” Dropping his voice until it’s rough and deep, he murmurs, “And they make no difference. You’re a D’Cruz now, Rose. The world knows it. It’s time you accepted it too.”

Not forever… I vow.