Everything was blurred for next two days.
Her room was flooded with maids, beauticians, and hair dressers. Their meandering as annoying as unbothered.
It didn't matter, and for that matter, nothing mattered. She did not notice their presence, their existence all but the remnants of reality as she expressionlessly watched it in the dazed state. She realised what sham of a matrix she had been living so far while the only truth was him - the stoutness of his features, the roughness of his skin, the coldness of his gaze, the harshness of his actions.
In the minutes of their meet, he had changed the definitions of marriage for her. For someone who hadn't experienced a man's touch, she had had nothing than a roller coaster ride that night, riding to the heights of pleasures and the depths of pain. And it was all but a glimpse, she knew, a quick peek over what he could actually do.
A sudden shiver ran over her skin at the thought. She internally shook her head, already scared of her future. Not that she hadn't thought about her wedding night before, but the man had promised atrocity running far beyond her expectations.
She didn't know who she was anymore. After what had happened that night, she felt ruined skin shedding, covering her in the novel layer of shame. She hadn't yet forgotten her body's audacious reaction, exuding the viscous excitement to drench his lips and fingers.
The mere idea of seeing him ever again chilled her to the bones, seeming downright obnoxious. She shut her brain from bringing back carnal images of his inglorious acts. He was stuck in her mind like a spider in its own web, unable to leave her alone. Even when she was surrounded by enormous humans, he was all over her, the fading scent of his cologne still mingled in her senses, the tingles of his hard smack on her pussy still burnt, the wink on his way out replayed like a faulty cassette. He had clawed her soul to an unrepairable damage, costing her lot more than sanity.
She only wished for him to lose his interest in her. She was plain, unadorned, unambitious, nothing that a man like him would ever seek in his wife. She hoped it was as obvious as that, simple in its nature, untangled and clear like a sky that he wouldn't find her attractive, she hoped his interest was was all but infatuation, very soon to be flying out of the window as if it never existed.
As much as that night had emblemed on her soul, she assumed this was just a part of routine for him, something that he regularly engaged on with his women. Little did she know, like the guest he had been in her mind, she had made a palace in his, crashing his believes like walls of sand. Little gap from their last meet had amplified his thirst tenfold. He ran painfully low on patience to have her under his mercy, to take her to his home, his room, his bed.
...
Italians and Indians had agreed upon arranging wedding in both cultures. Indian ceremonies were arranged in her home in all their grandiloquent ways. Couple was to immediately leave Italy after that, consummating their marriage in Christian wedding.
A traditional red veil was introduced on her head, partially covering her face. She gave herself a final look before carefully walking out the room for what she knew was the last time.
She didn't look back to have a moment with her room, finding nothing memorable about the prison she had spent all her life in. Two maids walked beside her, helping with heavy weight of her lehenga. As soon as she reached garden she became conscious of everyone's eyes. From never having to attend an Indian wedding before, Italians' brows raised at her attire, astonished and admiring all the same. They took their time in telling her she looked beautiful looked beautiful, and as everyone would have agreed, she did.
She politely smiled at their kindness. Her guilt peeked out as she realised she knew nothing about them, especially when they were to be more around her in future. But who was she kidding, she didn't even know about him, her soon to be everything. His arrogant self hadn't even considered to tell her who he was, and as strange as it was, she did not care, knowing that being accustomed to his identity wouldn't change her destiny.
Another concern that churned in her mind was she hadn't yet seen their don. Italians always invited their don to important weddings. Seeing her future husband, she was pretty sure he was of higher rank, and if he was, invitation must've sent to Don.
It wouldn't have been difficult to spot him, everyone would have made it clear that she perfectly knew his presence and bid her respect. Nothing of that sort had yet happened. Maybe he'll attend the Christian wedding, Tara told herself. She hardly made her way to the ornate aisle, knowing her future husband waited, staring the way she entered, stealing everyone's gazes.
As soon as she spotted him, her insides twisted in shameful coil, revisiting the night that should have never happened. She walked as slowly as she could, delaying her embarrassment. Her gaze immediately caught to floor, adamant on never meeting his eyes.
Once closer, her gaze inadvertently shifted to his hand that remained neatly tucked in his pocket. That hand had been on my... she forced herself to push those thoughts back, cringing at the way her mind traumatized her with sinful visuals.
His face was blank not betraying a single emotion. She was thankful he remained silent all the time. She'd feel his longing gaze on her once in a while but that was all. After long sets of tiring ceremonies pandit declared their marriage in Sanskrit. The only reason that encouraged her to release a sigh of relief was she could finally get rid of the heavy attire. By sunset she changed into a red saari, the one women always wore after wedding, plausibly indicating the delightful beginning of their new life. Much to the irony Tara knew, it was anything but.
She walked out of her home, seeing there stood no one at the majestic door to bid her a goodbye. She felt at peace, knowing that it was far better than leaving with her father's snarky remarks. The setting sun still permitted warm sun rays to pierce through dense trees, bathing their garden in a beautiful warmth, cheerfully waving at the backdrop of chirping of returning birds. Her maids only watched her from the distance as she took a step out. Some of them had watched her grow from a little motherless child to the silent warm woman, but as they had given orders from her father, no one approached
her, letting her go, embracing only the fading scent of her existence.
She had briefly seen the hesitant maids in the corner, getting the message that they weren't allowed to bid her a farewell, she couldn't but sigh, not letting her father's last wicked punishment get to her.
He waited leaning on his Porsche, not participating in the trivial discussions. His gaze unconsciously travelling to the door, waiting for her to walk out so he could finally take her home.
As soon as she entered the premise outside of their mansion, the mutters hushed, giving attention to their new donna as she looked ready to leave. Her anxiety always grew with stares, of everything she hated, attention was first. In no time he opened the passenger door, gesturing her to enter. She quickly ushered herself in, ignoring the stares of his family that watched her like an alien.
He drove straight to the airport. As much she had expected a driver to take them, he always drove his two-seater Porsche, and carrying it all the way to India seemed to be worth it. He smirked when he noticed her jaw dropping at the its interior, it dropped further when the engine roared to life, hurtling at a deadly speed to their destination.
After she adjusted inside the metallic body of speeding Porsche, she couldn't help but rethink about her father's hostility. It was obvious he knew his future son in law had intruded their house at midnight to spend time with his daughter. He had assumed that his shameless daughter invited him. For all that he knew, his daughter was a facsimile of his late wife, and perhaps he presumed, it was the reason why Tara immorally sought more than what she had. Nonetheless, he hadn't cared to ask what had happened that night, she was thankful at the absence of that question.
She meticulously walked up the stairs of his private jet. She had to agree she hadn't expected him to own a private plane, and now if he had, it only meant one thing, He is important.
His body closely followed, ensuring she felt the sparks at his accidental touches. Once the plane took off, she slept on the seat far distant from his, shrugging off the exhaustion of the day.
Tara internally patted her back at the smart move, sleeping or at least pretended sleeping had successfully given her a break from his gaze. At the back of her mind she knew she was merely delaying what awaited, rejoicing the evanescent silence before the storm, the evening before the night. She could only use these tactics for a while, after that she'd just be a bystander, taking what he gave, gulping what he served.
He didn't seem interested in what she did either, working most of the time with a tabloid on his lap.
Looking at him being busy she remembered her interview was due tomorrow at 8pm. She hoped for her Christian wedding and reception to finish before that. She also had to convey him about her interview. The thought alone scared her. It seemed like an impossible task to do. She knew she had to tell him earlier but after the grave circumstances that he had laid between them, she had felt too embarrassed to even match his gaze, the talking was thrown way beyond her capabilities. Breaking her endless daze pilot instructed to fasten their seat belts, conveying they were about to land.
Upon landing a different car waited for them. Without much of a word they drove to mansion. Tara watched as the car sped on an empty highway, the houses lining road speaking stories that of a different culture, different people. She realised the sun she had said goodbye to in India was yet to reach Italy's soil. The dawn had obscured most of the things that could have been seen, but it did the job of realization that she had traveled so far to ever turn her back, this was it, everything had changed. And just like its inherent responsibility, the window of that car had taught her to accept her future, whatever it may be. She took a deep breathe, letting the hard truth sink.
A short young woman in maid's uniform waited at the door with a big smile. As soon as the woman saw her master her smile faltered and she bowed in submission. Tara's husband without giving the maid another look swiftly moved around in the mansion vanishing in one of the rooms in hall. Tara couldn't feel more grateful for his ignorance. The living room looked extravagant, five times greater than her home back in India, she watched the ceiling with open mouth as the painting above caught her attention. She admired the beauty as the short woman spoke in her thick Italian accent, hesitant but softly, "I am Sia, I would look up to your needs, welcome to Italy, this way please" she gestured Tara to follow her behind.
Tara couldn't help but smile, feeling like a guest in a five star hotel. On the second floor Sia walked towards a stellar wooden door adorned with arabesque design, giving it a forceful push with creek, a lavish room came into view. Tara was convinced she was at a hotel of sorts. She had never seen a home so beautiful. She walked up to the window near a king size bed. Swiftly sliding the curtains seeing the magnificent fountain sprinkling water in its circular pool. The mansion looked as if established in a thick forest, the silhouette of mountains clearly visible. Calming her nerves, she took a deep breathe to relax her tout muscles. It only lasted for a moment before Sia conveyed,
"This arrangement is only for tonight." her tone strong, sliding her mistress's purse in one of the drawers, "Tomorrow your luggage would be shifted into Don's room"
Tara's body stalled at that statement.
Don? My husband is don??