Tanu Jain - His Runaway Royal Bride

He was enjoying driving the powerful car at a breakneck speed when suddenly a puppy appeared from nowhere. He had braked frantically.

To his utter shock, a wisp of a girl appeared as well and she dived in front of his car to save the puppy. He almost lost control, and the car swerved, but he managed to bring it to a screeching stop.

Aghast and furious, he had jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Are you blind?’

‘No! You are!’ she retorted immediately, militantly.

He was taken aback. No one had ever dared to answer him back. Even his driver and bodyguards, who had leapt out urgently, were shocked into silence.

The chit of a girl continued her tirade. ‘Fancy car owners don’t own the road, you know! This puppy has as much right to this road as you have! Big car, small heart!’

Veer looked at her, stupefied. She barely reached his chin and she was staggeringly beautiful.

She had a heart-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes with impossibly long eyelashes and a rosebud mouth. A thick long braid that seemed almost too heavy for her swanlike neck lay sideways on her ample bosom.

His stupefaction wore off when he realised that the ample bosom that he was admiring was heaving with indignation. She was spitting fire, hurling insults and berating him.

He held up his hand to silence her. ‘Enough! You could have been terribly injured if I hadn’t braked in time! Have you no sense?’ he asked.

‘You don’t have any sense! If I hadn’t been here, this poor little puppy would have been dead!’ she retorted heatedly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to this poor thing instead of standing here making small talk with you!’ She stomped off, the puppy held securely in her arms.

Veer looked at her diminutive figure, bemused. He felt as if a tornado had just whizzed past him.

He had gone to the wedding, unable to shake off the bemusement that had beset him.

To his astonishment he had run into her there again. She was from the bride’s side of the family and had come with her father for the wedding.

Traditionally dressed in a lime-green ghagra choli , her beauty had stolen his breath away and her vivacious laughter had captivated him totally. He had fallen in instant lust—a lust so powerful and primitive that it had overshadowed all rational thought.

And, for the first time in his life, he had behaved impulsively and thoughtlessly. And had paid the price for his lapse in behaviour, he thought bitterly.

His eyes wintry, he recalled the horror he had felt when he learnt that Meethi had met with an accident while driving the Beetle which he had given her soon after their wedding. He had been away and had been told that she had supposedly lost control and the car had plunged into the river near their mahal.

He had immediately called divers, who had been on the job for two whole days before they admitted defeat. With the last ray of hope gone, he had felt as if he had been hurled down a cliff to lie in a broken heap. For the first time in his life, uncaring of appearances, he had dismissed everyone and spent the night slumped on the riverbank, filled with agonising grief. He had stayed alone, in a stupor, drowning in the hollowness besieging him. The cold misery of that night would remain in his consciousness till his dying day.

Adding to his misery was corrosive guilt because he felt responsible for her accident. If he hadn’t given the car to her and insisted she learn to drive she would’ve been alive.

When he had discovered that Meethi had staged the accident and feigned her death he had felt humiliated and betrayed. After all that he had done for her…

But no more! He would rectify his mistake now. He would make sure that Meethi paid for her heartless betrayal. He would enjoy making her fulfil her duties as his lawfully wedded wife.

He turned to ride back.

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