Aryan wasn't why she'd taken this assignment on. Or maybe he was. Maybe there was a small part of Imlie that needed to prove to herself that she was completely over Aryan – that he no longer wielded the same intense power he once had.
And she was off to a flying start. In the twenty four hours since arriving in Rathore Mansion and posing as a lowly household assistant, she'd seen Aryan three times, all from a distance, and all encounters had almost knocked her to her feet.
He couldn't recognize her – she had made a point of keeping her head bent, the fine, gauze scarf she wore around her glossy brown hair providing an added shield. She knew it would be a disaster if he were to pick her out of the crowd, but in that moment, watching the ceremony, how she wished he would look her way! How she ached for his head to turn, for his eyes to scan the crowd and land on her face. For him to see her and her to see him, and for Imlie to once more feel that heady throb of acknowledgement that had always raged between them.
It was absurd.
She was in his house to get what information she could and get out. The article would focus on the Rathores and their legacy – one acknowledged, one not.
The crowd stood, and Imlie blinked. The ceremony had come to a close – it was over. She flashed her gaze at the couple for a brief moment before returning her eyes to their original resting place, homing in on Aryan as though her every breath was dependent on seeing him.
And by the hand of fate, for no reason that Imlie could offer, Aryan's head turned at precisely that moment and his eyes, as brown as polished amber in first rays of dawn, landed directly on Imlie's face.
The butterfly inside her burst to life – she'd been discovered.
~o~
"What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, and though the words were said quietly, there was no point pretending she hadn't heard. Nor that she didn't know he was addressing her.
With a heart that was hammering so hard and fast she thought her ribs might splinter, Imlie turned, her skin pale, her eyes on the alert. "Aryan.." She said, the very name on her lips a lash of desire that should have been long-dead.
The ceremony was over but there were people everywhere, and already Imlie could feel eyes turning towards them. Dressed as she was, in the uniform of a servant, it was highly irregular for her to be conversing with a guest – particularly the honoured brother of the host, Arpita Prasad née Singh Rathore.
"Please." She implored softly. "Log humein dekh rahein hain!"
'Log humein dekh rahein hain, Aru. Tum ek baar mere saath chalo!'
His eyes knit closer together and his handsome face formed a dark scowl. "Of course, log dekh rahein hain." He put a hand beneath her elbow and steered her away from the crowd, through the assembly room and into a wide hallway with tall, vaulted ceilings and so many floral arrangements that the air was thick with the sweet fragrance of outside.
'Logon ke dekhne ke liye hi toh tumne yeh sab kiya hai na? Toh dekhne do inhe! Banne do mera tamasha.. In fact, main tumhaare next article ka title abhi se hi de deta hoon - ARYAN SINGH RATHORE BREAKS DOWN. Kya pata log mujhe bhi jalaane aa jayein? Aane do unhe.. Unhe kuch nahi milega.. Kyunki mera antim sanskaar toh tumne already kar diya hai!'
"Tum yahaan kya kar rahi ho?" He demanded once more, when they had slightly more privacy. He didn't stop walking though, frog-marching her through the mansion as though she were a criminal. Which, she supposed, in his eyes she was.
