Take One Arranged Marriage.... Shoma Narayanan
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She couldn’t turn off the images in her mind, though—her anticipation for their first night together had just been turned up a notch.
Most of the ceremony passed by in blur—except for her having to perch on Vikram’s knee for the duration of one particularly complex ritual. In her efforts to a) not put her full weight on him, and b) not seem too flustered at having to climb onto his lap in front of a hundred interested onlookers, she almost overbalanced.
He put his hands around her waist, his warm palms touching her bare skin just above the waistband of the sari. ‘Relax, you won’t crush me,’ he said, and pulled her back against him.
Tara sat quietly, doing her best not to breathe. For the few minutes she stayed on his lap she felt as if they were isolated from the rest of the world. The priest’s chants and the excited conversation among their relatives seemed to be coming from a long, long distance away. All that was real was the feeling of his hands on her waist, and his breath on the nape of her neck. She had a sudden mad urge to turn around and press her lips to his, and she almost shuddered with the effort of keeping still.
Finally the priest beamed around at everyone, pronouncing all the ceremonies done, and the magistrate’s assistant came forward with the marriage register. Tara felt her heart thumping in her chest as she signed it. This was it. She was tied to Vikram for the rest of her life now. She caught her father wiping his eyes furtively and was almost unbearably touched. Her mother, in contrast, for once looked completely in control.
‘So far, so good,’ Vikram murmured out of the corner of his mouth as they posed for photographs with the nth set of beaming relatives. ‘Are you feeling better now? For a minute I thought you’d bolt—you looked petrified.’
‘I didn’t!’ Tara said indignantly. Talk about a mood-killer. ‘It was all that smoke and noise.’
‘Smoke and noise?’ he repeatedly thoughtfully. ‘Hmm …’
His arm slipped round her waist, and he bent and lightly brushed his lips against hers. It was a teasingly casual embrace, but her already heightened senses went haywire at his touch. She instinctively leaned into the kiss, blushing when he drew away and surveyed her with amused eyes.
‘I’m looking forward to tonight,’ he said huskily, almost to himself.
Someone called out to him, but he held her gaze for a few seconds, his jet-black eyes burning into hers before he turned away. Tara could feel her pulse racing. Thankfully no one was near enough to notice her agitation, and she took a couple of deep breaths before she went to stand by Vikram’s side for the next round of photographs.
TARA scowled into the mirror. ‘This blouse was a mistake,’ she said, looking at the fussy red and silver long-sleeved brocade blouse she was supposed to wear for the wedding reception that Vikram’s father was hosting at his swanky club. ‘I shouldn’t have let my mother and the tailors bulldoze me into getting it stitched this way. I look ridiculous.’
‘Tara, it’s too late to do anything. The guests have begun to arrive,’ Ritu protested. ‘Put it on, and we’ll drape the sari in a way so it doesn’t look too bad.’
‘I am not about to step out in front of a thousand people dressed like Santa Claus in drag,’ Tara said through her teeth. ‘Can you get me a pair of scissors from somewhere?’
‘Tara …’ Ritu said despairingly.
Tara turned around. ‘I need to look like I belong with Vikram,’ she said. ‘Not like some schoolroom miss dressed up by her mum.’
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