The Restless Billionaire. Эбби ГринЧитать онлайн книгу.
a virgin on her wedding night had inexplicably filled Aneesa with fear; perhaps even then she’d been aware that what she and Jamal shared wasn’t normal and had wanted to provoke him in some way. She’d never understood his reticence in the physical side of their relationship.
But instead of finding him quietly reading his new script, which is what he’d told her he’d be doing, she’d found him in bed. With his assistant. His male assistant.
Aneesa knew she still hadn’t fully assimilated the shock of that moment. She’d stumbled to the bathroom and had been violently ill. By then Jamal’s lover had disappeared and Jamal had calmed down enough to go into damage limitation mode.
She could remember his smoothly handsome face, a mask of condescending pity, as he’d asked her how she hadn’t already known about this when all their friends knew. And Aneesa had almost been sick again when she’d recalled the snide looks she’d often dismissed as petty jealousy from their circle of friends. She’d also had to acknowledge uncomfortably that of her so-called friends who even now thronged the courtyard of this exclusive hotel, there hadn’t been one she’d felt she could confide in.
It had been a harsh pill to swallow to acknowledge how shallow her life had become, and how easily she’d left good friends behind once she’d become more and more famous.
In the space of that one evening, her whole life had undergone a subtle but seismic shift. And in the couple of days since, Aneesa had changed from being a relatively spoilt young woman, who’d pretty much taken everything around her for granted, into someone more mature and less naïve. The urge to find comfort in blame had been futile, for she knew she was as much to blame for the situation she now found herself in, as painful as it was to acknowledge that.
Jamal’s curt warning from that evening still rang in her ears and it had fatally inhibited her impulse to ask for help or advice: ‘If you think for a second that you can walk away from this marriage you can kiss your career goodbye for ever. Who would want to marry you after such a scandal? Because you can be sure of one thing, if you walk away and try to save face by telling people the truth, I will deny it and fight you every step of the way. This marriage is my ticket to respectability for ever. Our children will make everyone believe that we have the perfect marriage. And who would even believe you over me? Their beloved Jamal Kapoor Khan?’
Aneesa had known he was right. If she even attempted to reveal the truth she’d be crucified by his millions of devoted fans. As famous as she was, he was a far bigger star. She’d be a pariah and would never make another movie in India. Apart from all of that, she was the first in her family to get married. Her beloved paternal grandmother was nearing ninety and maintaining that she was clinging onto dear life just long enough to see Aneesa wed.
Aneesa also knew that while the public perception of her family was that they had untold wealth, in fact, her father had been struggling to keep the family silk business afloat for some time now. Only she and her mother knew the reality, which was that this wedding was all but crippling her father financially.
And yet, Aneesa also knew that her father would prefer to face financial ruin than the ignomy of not being able to pay for his first daughter’s marriage. He was so proud that he hadn’t even let Aneesa help financially. While her pay packet was nothing like her Hollywood counterparts, by Indian standards she was a wealthy woman in her own right.
And how could she have told her parents about Jamal’s secret? They were conservative and solidly middle class. Respectability was their middle name; they would be devastated. The pressure in her head and behind her eyes suddenly increased now in an intense physical pain.
She could feel the weight of Jamal’s gaze from her left and could barely bring herself to turn to him, anticipating all too well the false adoration that would be written all over his handsome features. It was a look that he’d perfected over many years in films. A look that she’d fallen for herself when they’d met on her first film, and a look that she’d fooled herself into believing was sincere.
No wonder he’d wooed her so easily, she recognised now with acrid bitterness. He’d seen her coming from a mile away: sheltered, spoilt, immature and unbelievably naïve. And she’d fallen for his act, hook, line and sinker—seduced by his smooth good looks and even smoother talking. Not to mention his intense attention and adulation of her. He’d appealed to all the worst parts of her and she’d live with the shame of that for the rest of her life.
Her train of thought and self-disgust was cut short abruptly when the priest officiating indicated for them to stand. They were approaching the most sacred part of the ceremony, after which Aneesa knew her chances of escape would be all but gone for ever.
The ends of her sari and Jamal’s long jacket were tied together and they were about to walk around the sacred fire seven times, while seven blessings were said, each one for different aspects of their marriage. As they started to walk slowly around the fire, Aneesa felt again the rising tide of panic. The numbness was leaving her now and in its place she began to shake and tremble in reaction to what she was doing.
Any girlish dreams she’d had of falling in love and marrying had long since been turned to dust. Her eyes were wide open now and with each step she took with Jamal around this fire, she was hurtling further into a future with no escape and certain pain and suffering. How could she possibly bring children into a marriage like that? When their father would be sleeping with their mother purely to procreate and maintain a façade?
In that second Aneesa recalled the piercing blue eyes of the man she’d seen in the shadows and suddenly an impulse stronger than anything she’d ever felt rushed through her. In the midst of the shock and panic she acted with an economy and sureness of movement that surprised her. She stopped and bent and swiftly undid the knot that tied her sari to Jamal’s coat. She barely heard his indrawn breath and his hissed, ‘Aneesa … what do you think you are doing?’
Then she stepped off the dais. Heart thumping she went straight to her open-mouthed father and took his hand in hers. She was aware that everyone was frozen in shock and surprise and knew dimly that she had to take advantage of that. She brought her father’s hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss against it and said with a hoarse voice, her eyes filling with tears, ‘I’m so sorry, Papa, I can’t do this. I’ll pay you back. Please forgive me.’
And she fled.
Aneesa was barely aware of where she’d run, she knew only that she wouldn’t have long to capitalise on the shock of the wedding crowd before her father sent people to find her. She couldn’t bear to think of her parents’ confusion and dismay either, or else she’d falter altogether. And she couldn’t turn back now.
She stopped for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. She’d come up several flights of service stairs and now saw what looked like a staff elevator. All Aneesa hoped for was that it would take her somewhere far away from that courtyard and somewhere quiet, where she could assess the situation she now found herself in. She longed for fresh air, and her clothes felt more constrictive than ever.
The elevator slid silently upwards, and then came to a smooth halt. The doors opened with a muted whoosh and she found herself in what looked like a utility room. Albeit a very plush utility room.
She approached the one door and opened it with her heart in her mouth. Peering out she could see that she was in a suite of rooms that went on and on. All was quiet and still. No one was here. She automatically assumed that she’d found one of the empty suites in this massive hotel. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she emerged more fully and walked into a darkened kitchen. She could see a huge formal dining room and, through that, wall-to-wall sliding glass doors which led to an open terrace and balcony outside. She could see the skyline of Mumbai laid out like a glittering carpet. This was no ordinary suite, this was the penthouse!
When she thought of her own honeymoon suite with its king-size bed covered in rose petals she felt clammy and sweaty all over again. Almost tripping in her long sari she made for the glass doors, struggling to open them and get out to the fresh air.
Finally they slid back and Aneesa stumbled out, gasping now. She ripped the heavy garland of flowers