Beautiful Girl

Part Nineteen

Her declaration is followed by a judgemental silence and he can feel the glares of these people who never deserved her, not in the least.
"Lakshan dekho ladki ke," Payal's mother whispers to her sister-in-law.
"Ar-Arnav please," She sobs against his chest. "I can't leave you. I ca-can't go back."
"Khushi, baccha stop this nonsense now," Sam's mothers rebukes an already devasted Khushi.
"Khushi, sweetheart, look at me."
He never knew he had this reservoir of patience, that he was strong enough to stand against the whole world not for himself, but for someone else, not until she came to him with her sad eyes and even sadder smiles.
"Khushi, you're mine, my love," He gives her the words he had vowed never to use first, not until she did. But there is no vow that matters more than the one he swore the night he put his rings on her finger.
To protect her.
"I love you, sweetheart. I love you like I've loved nothing else in my life..."
"No, no, no. You can't tell me that and then tell me to go away," She cries out, beating against his chest. "I will hate you, Arnav Singh Raizada! If you send me away, I will hate you till the day I die..."
"You're not going anywhere," He tells her, cupping her face in between his palms. "You're stuck with me, my darling. You're not going anywhere."
He lays a featherlight kiss on her forehead and then raises his head to face her tormentors.
"You weren't the guardians named in the will of Khushi's parents, were you?" He directs his question to Shashi Gupta and watches as color drains from his face.
"See, when you're as rich as I am, you tend to hire people who do their work diligently. My lawyer tells me there are no guardianship forms filed in the court for her."
"Wh-What-"
"I will lay it out for you. Khushi was the heir to everything her parents left behind. The money, the house, the investments. They didn't make a provision for guardianship. You lot heard of their death, rushed to take in their daughter, so that you could have all her wealth. Am I wrong?"
"We took her in out of our sense of responsibility. Warna anathashram nhi khol rakha humne apne ghar me," Garmia hisses at him and Khushi flinches in his arms.
"Ghar? Accha yaad dilaaya aap logo ne. The suit for fraud is going to be filed soon in the civil court. Aur aap logon ke sadak pe aane ki khushi sabse jyada mujhe hogi," He delivers with a nasty smile before turning to Sam's parents.
"Her parents were your friends! Did you ever think of taking her in? Did you ever consider why she used to ring you people up at all the odd hours? Did you ever think about visiting her?"
"Arnav, let it be," Khushi mutters against his chest.
"No, sweetheart. Where were these people when you needed them? When that asshole Shyam was trying to feel you up?"
"What?" Sam's mother sputters.
"You know what, just get out of my house. My wife doesn't want you people in here."
No one moves a muscle.
"Do I need to call security? I will repeat it for your benefit one last time. Khushi is of age. She and I, we are married. And you people can't do jack shit about it. Now, get the fuck out of my house..."
"Khushi-"
"Out. Now."
"Court jayenge hum," Payal's bua mutters under her breath.
"Haan zaroor jayiye. Notice aapko mil jaegi case ki kuch dino mein. You will get the quote of the lumpsum amount that you will have to return to my wife, the money that you stole from her with interest. Now, scram."
They drag their feets on his carpet, moving far slower than he would like them to, and that fucker Shyam, he lingers.
He turns to stare at Khushi and-
By the time he realizes that he has dragged Shyam on the ground and is pulverizing that asshole, Khushi is already trying to drag him away from that fucker.
"Keep your eyes away from her, you piece of shit. Warna agli baar aankhe nikal lunga!"
The silence that descends after their unwanted guests have departed has undercurrents of a tension that never existed between him and Khushi before.
"Arnav, I-" She starts tentatively, but he is too tired, too raw to not hear what she is about to say and take it for what she isn't going to mean.
He knows what's making her antsy.
But he doesn't want to hear it.
He is human too.
If she returns the words he gave her, the confession that was coerced out of him, he might not let her go.
Ever.
And that's not what love is.
Love isn't the gratitude she feels right now. Love isn't the compromise she had to settle for.
He probably isn't what she wanted her love to be.
He-
"Arnav, I-" She clears her throat when she falters and he should give her points for trying.
She is at least trying.
And it breaks his fucking heart to watch her try.
"Leave it be, Khushi," He pleads softly. "Can we please not discuss it? Ever?"
"Why?"
He chuckles in self deprecating fashion. "Would you mind leaving me a little bit of dignity? I find myself stripped of all of it before you. And it's a little jarring..."
"Arnav, I-"
"You don't need to. It's my problem. You don't need to be burdened. I won't impose my feelings on you. Ever. I promise..." He tries to assure her, but she looks confused.
"What are you-"
"I am tired, Khushi. May I please be excused?"
And it's a first when he turns his back on her to walk away.
He forgot while they were playing husband and wife that they aren't husband and wife.
That in future, she's going to fall for someone who deserves her and he's going to be left behind.
He forgot that he is Arnav Singh Raizada. He only knows how to fuck them. He never learnt about loving anyone.
And is there a guarantee that what he feels for her is love?
How is he different than people who exploited her before she ran to him?
He is using her to fulfill a sick fantasy of his because he knows he can't have her.
He gets into his bed, slipping beneath the covers. The weight of them over him is reassuring.
"I will hate you, Arnav... "
She said it in the flow. She didn't mean anything by it. He tries telling himself that, but her words keep ringing in his ears.
He doesn't know how long he lies awake. He can hear the hands of clock on his bedside moving rhythmically.
For the life of him, he can't fall asleep. He closes his eyes, and his head starts playing his memories like a goddamn movie.
It hurts.
His head is pounding and he feels like scratching the shit out of his eyes.
There is a quite knock on his door.
He squeezes his eyes shut, praying for her to go back to her room, but when have his prayers been answered?
After a series of knocks, the handle turns.
There is no salvation for the likes of him, he thinks wearily when he hears her tiptoe inside his room.
She comes to stand near his head.
"Arnav?" She whispers softly, but he keeps his eyes closed, his body still.
Please, let her think he's in deep sleep, he prays to whatever God is out there.
"Arnav? I know you're not sleeping."
He doesn't move a muscle. She will tire herself and then she will go back and leave him alone.
"Are you mad at me?" She asks in a small voice, and the instinct to turn and assure her that he isn't angry at her is almost crippling.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?"
"What?"
He forgets that he was pretending to sleep soundly.
If this is some harebrained idea of hers, some notion that she will pay him back for what he did by sleeping with him, he needs to nip it in the bud.
But she doesn't look resigned and falsely cheerful, determined to pay him back by letting him fuck her.
In the timid yellow glow of the lamp by his bedside, she looks like a dream he pulled out of his head.
She is still wearing his Harvard sweatshirt.
It drowns her, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"There you are, my darling," She tells him with a smile that probably started and ended hundreds of wars in some parallel dimension.
"I thought you were going to pretend to sleep till I crawled beside you beneath the covers... "