The Indian Tycoon's Marriage Deal by Adite Banerjie Page B

pursed her lips tightly, refusing to take the bait. His eyes danced with mischief. ‘Tell me something…Is there a history to your reluctance? Like a boyfriend who ditched you? Something that put you off being intimate with a man?’
    Smiling sweetly at him, she bit out, ‘I’m happy you find me so entertaining. As for my personal history, it can be summed up in four words. None. Of. Your. Business.’
    â€˜Touché!’ He laughed as he steered the car expertly to avoid grazing against a motorcyclist that suddenly shot into their lane out of nowhere.
    â€˜Seriously, I think we should stick to business. After all, that’s what our relationship is based on, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Sure, so how would you describe us…do you have a term for this relationship that we are in?’
    â€˜I think you have had enough fun at my expense. If you don’t mind, I would like to read my book.’ She waved the paperback at him.
    â€˜Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport! Really, I didn’t notice how many interesting words begin with S. Sexy. Sassy. Spoilsport…’
    â€˜Ha ha…’ she responded and pointedly thrust her book into her face.
    â€˜No, I’m serious…Do you realise we could be the pioneers of a new kind of relationship? Married but sex is off-limits. Business partners but not quite. How about friends with benefits, do you prefer that?’
    â€˜Clearly, originality is not one of your strong points. Besides, I don’t think friendship even comes into the picture,’ she said waspishly.
    â€˜Hmm…maybe you’re right.
Dosti
is one word that doesn’t describe us.’
    â€˜I’m glad we at least agree on something! Maybe we can extend that a wee bit and listen to some music,’ she said with a measure of finality.
    â€˜So there’s hope for us, yet, huh? Okay, so let’s do
Sangeet
! Golden oldies
chalega
?’
    â€˜You actually need my permission?’ she shot back.
    â€˜I’m trying my best not to offend you!’ he protested.
    She faked a sweet smile. ‘How kind of you!’
    Krish pressed a few keys on the console and the lovely strains of the evergreen Hindi song,
Jaane kahan gaye woh din
, warbled out, filling her heart with an old ache.
    Krish didn’t miss the faraway look in her eyes. ‘Don’t like the song?’
    She looked away, trying to hide the emotion that she felt. ‘No, it’s fine. It used to be Papa’s favourite song.’ She laughed as she remembered. ‘It was the only Hindi song that he liked and he would sing it all the time, which would make Ma see red. She would be like, “Why don’t you learn a new song, please?” And he would go, “This is the best song ever!”’
    Krish smiled. ‘Must be tough not having them around.’
    â€˜I lost my mother when I was eleven years old,’ she said softly, recalling her bewilderment when she had come back from school to find her mother gone and Ma’s cousin, Meena Mashi, waiting for her. She had already packed all her clothes in a suitcase. ‘It was a Wednesday evening—the day that farmers would bring their produce to the local
haat.
She always wanted the freshest veggies. And no one, or nothing, could stop her from going to the weekly
haat.
Nobody knows what exactly happened. She had been weak after a bout of flu and probably had a dizzy spell just when a speeding van—’
    Her voice wobbled with emotion. ‘She was rushed to the hospital and for a while we hoped and prayed that she would be fine…but the next day…it was all over.’
    Maya stared out of the window, trying to keep her tears in check. Krish glanced at her, his eyes brimming with compassion. ‘Your father wasn’t with you when it happened?’
    â€˜I could not be with her when she needed me most. I’ll never forgive myself for that.’
The words in