Page 8 of That Same Old Love

She had thought of leaving him initially, within the first few months of marriage, but her father told her to hang on because he didn’t want to be an outcast in thesocietyby having adivorceddaughter.

She shook her head to stop thinking about her past and instead focused on present.

Samrat stopped in front of his door and was entering some code on a complicated looking lock. “Everyone in your family must be worried, about you living by yourself for an undetermined period of time, in what must be now a strange place for you,” he said, obviously trying to fish out information on when she was planning on returning back to the United States.

She looked at him and smirked slightly. “What’s this insane curiosity about my life? I hope you’re not vetting me for wife number two, because I’m really not interested toevermarry again. I love being free as a bird to do what I want, without having anyone breathing down my neck. And I need another man in my life… like I need a bullet to my head.”

Samrat looked up from the lock and his gaze swept over her. “Neither am I interested to marry again. And even if I were to marry you, I think you would accidentally end up dying a gruesome death within the first week of marriage. A bullet to your head would sound merciful compared to what I would plan,” he said casually, opening his door to lead the way.

She grinned. “I’ve been threatened with worse. So if you’re not looking to make me your bride, then let’s just stop the grilling sessions and remain silent for a while, shall we? Or at least until I eat something. I’m about to pass out from low sugar in this sweltering heat. Ishouldhave finished that darn granola bar.”

He cracked a tiny smile before leading the way. They passed through an impressive dining room that had a large white rectangular marble table and chairs.

She was about to sit down, when Samrat said, “Not here,” and led them into the kitchen.

The kitchen looked ultra-modern too with a lot of appliances. There was also a small breakfast nook with a table and four chairs.

“Get two plates from that shelf and I’ll get the food,” he instructed.

She got them and placed them on the small round table. Meantime, he got a large hot pack and a medium sized bowl. When he opened the lids, her eyes rolled over and she almost drooled at the sight of food. She quickly served herself four idlis while he passed on the coconut chutney.

She took a huge bite and almost moaned. “They taste amazing. Who cooks for you? I’m definitely going to steal the cook,” she told him, dipping an idli in the chutney with her hand.

She quickly polished four idlis in less than five minutes.

Meantime, he was eating elegantly with a spoon and watching her.

She looked up and saw him. “I was hungry,” she told him defensively. “And by the waysunnyCalifornia is almost never too warm most of the year for the idli batter to ferment well. So,goodidli’s are like some exotic treat.”

He looked surprised. “You cook?”

She wanted to reply with a sarcastic remark, but since he fed her, she was in a generous mood. “Yeah. It was one of the things that kept me sane most of the time.”

She expected him to pry more, but he thankfully didn’t ask or comment. “Do you cook?” she asked.

“Not really. I can cook, but I choose not to. I have someone come in during the mornings and evenings to prepare food for me every day. And since my cook has known me for over ten years, he’s very loyal to me. So you won’t be able tostealhim from me,” he told her in slight warning.

“We’ll see,” she said cryptically.

He served himself two more idlis.

“Haven’t you eaten already in the morning?” she asked.

“I did. But I’m a big man. I need a lot of food.”

She eyed him critically. “How lucky it doesn’t show.”

When he didn’t reply or comment, she looked at him thoughtfully. “Not that I’m not enjoying our breakfast here, but since I’m well fed now, tell me what is it that you needed so badly that you had to invite your old nemesis back into your house?”

He looked at her and his demeanor changed into a businesslike manner. “It’s about your land you own nearby. I want to buy it. At the market value of course. It’s about twenty acres of land that is adjoined to mine. I have a venture in mind for it, and before I can start, I need to buy your portion.”

“Who told you it was under my name?” she asked.

“Your father,” he said and then paused. “He didn’t tell you I was interested in buying it from you?”

Her father didn’t. And she wasn’t surprised by it. She remembered all the times she had tried to get her father’s attention when he was home. Only to be ignored. The only time he had paid any interest was when he asked her to marry Dinesh. He had told her it would make him very proud, if she were to give up, and then forget about her boyfriend from anothercasteand worse, aNorth Indianwho spoke a different language. She was asked to sacrifice her love for the sake offamily honor.

Brainwashed at twenty-one, and eager to impress her father, she hadn’t even put up much fight.

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