Tanu Jain - His Runaway Royal Bride

Meethi listened to his diatribe, and bitterness filled her. He hadn’t once mentioned his feelings on losing her. It was only about his loss of face, his honour, his reputation. It would always be the same.

Family name and honour were the only codes he lived by and that still remained unchanged. He simply considered her another of his possessions, an object he owned that would be relegated to a back corner the moment she outlived her usefulness.

And she had proved a failure. She couldn’t provide the heir that he wanted. A heart-rending cry almost left her throat as painful memories of her miscarriage threatened to inundate her, but she ruthlessly pushed the door shut on them.

There was no point trying to sort out the convoluted mess of their relationship. Let him rave and rant and say what he wanted to, but when the time came she would run away again. She let his acrimony wash over her, wiped all expression from her face and turned away slightly.

She was dismissing him. She had run off. Fooled him. Her betrayal had blown a hole in his soul. And she didn’t care! The heartless manner in which she had tricked him by concocting the story of her fatal accident slammed into his memory and his fury reached mammoth proportions.

Veer wanted to demand further answers but he didn’t trust himself around her any more. He walked out of the room, leaving her alone. He had always been clear-sighted and decisive but Meethi managed to disturb his cool and left his thought processes completely tangled and in disarray. His formidable control always deserted him when she was around and she had managed to do what no one else had ever managed to do—hurt him where it mattered most. His head was spinning and he needed to put things in perspective.

MEETHI CURLED UP on her side, utterly drained and trying to stifle the sobs rising in her throat. She had been so happy when they got married. It had seemed as if she had found her sapno ka rajkumar —the prince of her dreams.

She remembered their first meeting, when she had saved a puppy from being run over by his car.

When he’d alighted from the car, his dark, smouldering looks had taken her breath away. He’d stood there, broad-shouldered and so tall that she had to crane her neck to look into the midnight-black eyes staring out of a chiselled face. He had been the most handsome man she had ever seen and, for a moment, her voice had threatened to desert her.

But his haughty, disdainful expression and regal air had angered her. She had sensed he was royalty by the way he carried himself and by the subservient attitude of the three men who had jumped out of the car with him. She had dismissed him as a typical royal, full of swagger and self-importance. And, not being kindly disposed towards royals in general, despite her thudding heart she had lambasted him.

Later, when she’d encountered him at a wedding she had gone to, she had felt his eyes following her and had tried her best to ignore him, feeling breathless and nervous. Inexperienced though she was with men, her senses had been aware of his dark sex appeal and the charged heat which seemed to shimmer whenever their glances met.

He had approached her the next morning when she was out early jogging and, striking up a conversation, had apologised for the car incident. Floored by his sincere apology, she had acquiesced to his invitation for breakfast and, before she knew it, they had driven down to a nearby heritage resort.

He had proved an interesting conversationalist and, over a sumptuous breakfast, they had talked about a variety of subjects. Though there was a difference of nine years between them, they had discovered a common love of music and cricket and there had been humorous bickering over favourites.

She had so thoroughly enjoyed herself that time had flown and she had been aghast to realise that it was already afternoon when they returned.

On their return, Veer had met her father and asked for her hand in marriage.

Her father had been ecstatic. Veer’s impeccable lineage and spotless reputation had bowled him over. He had approved wholeheartedly of the match.

But Meethi had felt piqued at what she considered Veer’s high-handed, archaic behaviour. The entire morning, he hadn’t given a single hint of any such interest and then he had suddenly gone behind her back to talk to her father.

She was also upset because she didn’t want to get married at nineteen.

Since she’d been seventeen her father had been inundated with proposals from well-meaning relatives. But her father had withstood the pressure from family and relatives and remained firm that she would complete her studies first.

Meethi had wanted to go to college and graduate with a degree in Fine Arts and Baba had always supported her desire but, worryingly, he had recently started hinting at finding a suitable match for her. And now he was serious about Veer’s proposal.

Though his dark good looks had mesmerised her and her heart beat loudly when he was around, she was deeply scared of giving up her life as she knew it. She knew life changed for a girl when she married. She had seen her friends married off young, freedom curtailed, circumscribed within the four walls of their sasural— their marital homes. Their lives revolved around their husband, in-laws and huge joint families and they had no independence or say in the running of their own lives.

And, most of all, she hadn’t want to leave her father alone. So she had refused, even though her father was being stubborn and adamant that she agree to Veer’s proposal.

Then Veer had stepped in.

With her father’s permission, he had taken her out for a drive and stopped the car in a quiet copse across the main road. He’d opened her door and held out his hand to help her step out.

Meethi had looked at him with beating heart and stepped out.

‘Why don’t you want to marry me?’ he asked her gently.

‘Why do you want to marry me?’ she asked through thundering beats of her heart.

His eyes crinkling at the corners, Veer smiled in amusement. ‘Life with you will never be dull, I guarantee! Well, I want to marry you because I think you’re extremely suitable for me,’ he said with gentle mockery.

Meethi saw red. ‘Don’t be patronising! Aren’t there any other suitable girls? Surely parents must be queuing up at your door in hordes!’ she hissed angrily.

Veer couldn’t contain his amusement and burst out laughing. ‘My dear girl, much as I hate to disappoint you, there is no horde or even a queue at my door. You are the girl I want to marry, and I think we’ll be very happy together,’ he added softly.

‘What about what I want? I don’t want to get married!’ she snapped, angry at his domineering attitude.

‘You don’t want to get married at all or you don’t want to marry me?’ he asked, suddenly serious.

‘I don’t want to get married right now,’ Meethi said truculently.

‘Why?’ Veer asked tautly.

Meethi remained silent.

‘Is there someone else?’ he asked with a strange expression on his face. ‘A boy you study with, perhaps? Does your father know?’ he asked with cold suspicion.

‘Of course not! What do you think I am? I wouldn’t go behind Baba ’s back and do something underhand!’ Meethi was aghast at his fertile imagination.

Veer prodded her. ‘At least let me know the reason for your refusal.’

‘Well, sorry to let down your wild imaginings, but I don’t want to get married because, firstly, I want to go to art college and, secondly, I don’t want to leave my father alone,’ Meethi said stiffly, the words forced out of her.

‘Well, you can go to college even after marriage. No one will stop you. These are not the Dark Ages, you know! And, as for leaving your father, one day, sooner or later, you will have to get married. Do you think your father would be happy if you never married or if you stayed with him for ever? It is every father’s dream to see his daughter well settled. And your father is so happy with the idea of our marriage!’ Veer was all persuasion.