His Monsoon Bride. Aastha Atray

never be uncomfortable with her. She knew Mehtab saw all this, and that was why he had chosen her to be the one.

      On her way to the Taj Amrita just kept saying the same thing over in her head. She was getting engaged, it was the smartest decision she could make, considering the circumstances.

      The hairstylist remarked, ‘You are looking gorgeous, Amrita. Obviously anyone getting married to such a handsome man will have a glow.’

      Amrita flushed. Mehtab was undoubtedly very handsome. With his tailored suits and perfectly coiffed hair, there was an Indian princely quality to him. She also noticed the way he always left that slight shadow of stubble on his jaw—maybe he knew it drove women mad? He would; he was smart that way.

      She knew that he might never love her. But then, did she really expect love any more after her last relationship? She had loved Akshaye with all her heart, and had really thought that she would do anything for him—but he had upped and left her in an instant, just because she had refused to sleep with him. Maybe he was just waiting for an excuse to leave her—in this fast-paced world she lived in, was there actually any time for love? Would he have stayed if she had given in?

      Maybe an arranged marriage was a practical plan—they could lead absolutely different lives, and, though it was far from being ideal, at least she could do what she wanted without the hassle of a partner who poked and prodded into her life. She would throw herself into work and not hope for a love life—things would be much more uncomplicated that way. It was perfect, really—that was if you let the romantic in you die a quick death, she thought wryly.

      She looked at the finished result in the mirror and it was like a stranger staring back at her. Her hair was immaculately styled and the blusher highlighted her delicate cheekbones, but it was all a mask. The gentlest of knocks would shatter this porcelain façade. But she had made her choice. This was the mask she was going to have to wear for the rest of her life.

      A few hours later, Meera pecked and cooed as she draped the saree around Amrita. ‘This is why a saree is so perfect for the Indian woman. It just shows the right amount of skin and makes all the curves look perfect. My darling Amrita, you look like a goddess—like goddess Sita herself. So beautiful. Mehtab is going to swoon tonight.’

      Amrita liked how soft the chiffon felt against her skin. They had decided on chiffon for the engagement party because it was just the right amount of dressy and she really did look as if she were from a different time in the pale pink saree, and some of her mother’s kundan jewellery that they just didn’t make any more. She had an intricate challa neatly tucked in at her waist that made the look seem so much more royal. She might look like a princess, but she knew there was nothing fairy tale about this wedding, it was all business. But there was no harm looking the part she was being forced to play now.