Chapter 14 Veera

Chapter 14 Veera

Text messages from two years ago:

DEEPAK: Hey, I have a weird question for you.

VEERA: The last time you told me that, I ended up eating the best bagels ever.

VEERA: What's up?

DEEPAK: I have this fundraiser I have to go to this weekend for Illyria. My parents are threatening to set me up with someone.

VEERA: Is that the Gordon Foundation?

DEEPAK: Yes! Are you going?

VEERA: I was going to say no since my father decided not to sponsor this year. He slashed our Corporate Social Responsibility and

charity donation budget in half.

VEERA: And yes, I am still furious about it.

DEEPAK: Well, you can always come with me and help me spend Illyria money. These things are so boring and I could really use a friend.

VEERA: Ahh, a friend date?

DEEPAK: Yes, exactly! If you're my buffer for unwanted parental matchmaking, I'll buy you the best New York cheesecake of your life

afterward.

VEERA: Consider me your friendly buffer. I will happily dress up for cheesecake.

Veera was overwhelmed, and when she was overwhelmed, she usually reacted in one of two ways: she cried, which was a perfectly

healthy response according to her therapist. Or she'd walk out of whatever situation she was currently standing in.

Unfortunately, that was no longer an option for her.

"Are you about to make a run for it?" Deepak asked under his breath. His thigh pressed against hers, sensitizing her entire

leg as his fingers brushed over her wrist, tangling with the bangles that Deepak's mother had given her. They sat side by

side on the leather couch that was angled toward the kitchen.

"That's what you're supposed to do in horror movies, right?" she whispered back. "Make a run for it? Hopefully there isn't

a barn filled with swinging chainsaws and murder items behind the house."

"I feel like I should be offended. My parents aren't that bad."

"No, they're freaking adorable, Deepak. That's the problem. What they're putting us through is pretty horrific though, don't you think?" she replied. Then pulled away from his touch. The way he was playing with the bangles on her wrist was . . . distracting.

"They're showing us how supportive they are," Deepak replied. He poked her leg now, and she batted at his hand.

"Which only makes this so much more terrible." She looked over at Deepak's parents who were putting away dishes now, and even

though Veera couldn't hear them, she knew from the tone of their voices that her presence in Deepak's life brought them so

much happiness.

Veera pointed to the bangles then at her fake husband. "The minute we get back to your house, you are taking these and packing

them away. I refuse to be responsible for a family heirloom."

Deepak shook his head. "You have to wear them. You're my wife, and my mother is going to expect to see them on your wrists

every time you meet."

"Fake wife," she hissed.

Their conversation was interrupted with the sound of Deepak's mother's laugh, and Deepak's father humming a Bollywood tune.

They were acting like typical South Asian parents.

Parents that just happened to be billionaires. No big deal.

Throughout the course of dinner, Veera had almost forgotten their money, too. They spoke of Deepak's childhood, of Veera's

travels, of the business and the exciting parties that Deepak's mother wanted to take her to.

Veera called out across the room, "Are you sure we can't help you with that, Auntie?"

"Oh please," Deepak's mother said. "Call me Muma." She switched to a mix of Hindi and Punjabi, the same Delhi Punjabi that

Veera's mother often spoke at home. "And not at all! We haven't done this in so long. It's nice to feed my family."

"Right," Veera said and swallowed hard. She glared at Deepak.

Her fake husband picked up a grape from the dessert fruit platter and winked at her as he popped it in his mouth. He was enjoying her discomfort way too much.

"We should show you two to your room," Deepak's father said in the same language. He folded the kitchen towel he'd been using

and dropped it on the counter. "That way you can get some rest. It's late."

It was so strange to Veera to see a man of his age help with housework. Not that they didn't exist, but her father wouldn't

be caught dead in his kitchen, unless it was to throw something away.

Deepak got to his feet. He responded to his parents in English. "Am I using the blue room? I can put Veera in the guest room

next door."

His parents looked at each other, then burst out laughing. They responded as if Deepak had said the most hilarious thing in

the world.

"Why would you stay in separate rooms, beta?" Deepak's mother asked.

"Because we're sleeping under your roof and it's the first time that you're meeting Veera," he said. He tugged at his suit

collar and glanced down at Veera. "When Olivia came to visit, you put her in a hotel room across town."

"Olivia was just visiting as a potential partner," Deepak's mother said. She stepped closer to them, hands on her hips. "You're

married to Veera."

Deepak looked down at her, panicked. They had a brief conversation about the bed setup before they came to visit for the weekend.

He was so sure that they would want to approve of Veera first. He rambled for almost ten minutes about how conservative Indian

values could be.

Veera didn't think now was the appropriate moment to tell him I told you so but she had every intention of rubbing it in his face later.

"I really think we should give Veera the option to be comfortable—"

"It's fine," Veera said, and she patted Deepak on the arm. She knew that it would've been the right thing to end the farce

now. To tell Deepak's parents that they were fake married, and they were so sorry for everything. To give the jewelry back

and beg forgiveness.

But at the same time, she didn't want to hurt their feelings. Not until Deepak also agreed to end things so he could manage

their disappointment. These were his parents. If she made the choice for herself and Deepak right now and called it quits,

then it wouldn't be fair to him since he'd be responsible for handling the fallout on his own.

Her sister's words about defending Deepak came back like a haunted message.

I should've known you'd be like this. It's only been a few days since Deepak is back in your life. Are you seriously defending

him again?

"You're both in the blue room," his mother said, ignorant of their feelings. "Your bags should already be up there."

"I'd really like to change," she said pointing to the sari that she still wore. "I think getting comfortable is a great idea.

It's late, and if you don't mind..."

"Go on," Deepak's father said. "You're a part of the family now, so don't feel obligated to stay here if you would like to

rest. We're about to go to sleep, too."

"Uh, thanks."

"Okay," Deepak said. He hesitated again. "If you're sure..."

"You aren't a teenager with a girlfriend, Deepak," his mother called back as she shut the dishwasher door with a quick hip check. "You're married now."

"That doesn't make this better," he muttered.

"I really appreciate all the decor and the dinner tonight," Veera said over his voice. "If you're sure you don't need anything,

then I'll head upstairs?"

"Good night," his parents said in unison. They stood side by side, arms looped around each other, grinning as if their son

just won the National Spelling Bee.

Veera stood, aware that every eye in the room was on her as she walked toward the front stairwell. Her bare feet were cushioned

by the soft, wilted buds of the flowers that lined the tiled floor even as thoughts of sharing a bed with Deepak flooded her

mind.

It was fine. They were consenting adults. They had slept in the same bed together in Goa. Granted, they didn't know exactly

what was happening at the time since they were both so drunk, but they could pretend intoxication again if they had to.

Deepak followed her out of the great room, and they climbed the stairs in silence. When they reached the top of the landing,

Deepak took the lead toward the left hallway. He walked all the way to the end where there were more flowers creating an intricate

design on the floor in front of the door.

"Did your mother do all this herself?" Veera asked.

"No way," Deepak said with a scoff. "Today was an anomaly that you'll never see again. Usually, she has a staff of people

who are buzzing around, always working on the house or redesigning some room that she wants to upgrade."

"Well, I'm flattered that she wanted to do it by herself for me," Veera said. She adjusted the bangles on her wrist, feeling the cool metal slide over her skin. "Deepak, this is going to hurt them, too."

"I know," he said, gruffly. "Unless you want to back out, we should just keep following the plan. Then I'll tell them." He

gripped the doorknob and pushed. "Let's focus on getting through tonight."

Veera's mouth fell open when she saw the room. If there were a lot of flowers in the foyer and the great room, the bedroom

was a botanical garden. A riot of tropical fragrant blossoms in a rainbow of color, all out of season and completely impractical

for the Hudson Valley, were situated in clusters in every corner. Pots and urns of different shapes and sizes cluttered tabletops

and floor space, creating pathways and focal points. There were gardenias and jasmine, lilies with traditional roses and sweat

peas, tulips, daisies, and so many more that she couldn't identify.

"You know," Deepak said casually as he ushered her inside. "They tell you that you're supposed to focus on education. To not

get serious with anyone romantically until after you get the degree and the job and the house. Then at the age of twenty-five,

they completely change their tune and all of a sudden, you have to get married. You're behind before you get started."

"And the minute you get married, it's this," Veera said motioning to the room.

The king-size bed had a position of prominence on a slightly elevated platform. Recessed lighting circled the bed and was

set to a soft glow. From the center of the ceiling, long garlands of flowers created a canopy that surrounded the bed in a

halo of yellow, orange, and red buds. A path of flowers stretched from the door to the bed. A wall of windows was closed off

by soft beige-and-cream drapes, and in the far corner was a small table with bottled water, and an ice bucket with champagne

and flutes.

"It's like a fucking seduction scene," Deepak said, as he stepped into the room.

Veera followed. "All that's missing is the music."

"Nope, we have that, too," Deepak said. He walked over to the dresser. Nestled between two bouquets was a small speaker. He

peeled the note off the screen on top of the device. "It says to just press the power button."

He tapped the screen and the in-ceiling speakers began to play an old Bollywood song, "Raat Akeli Hai."

"Deepak, your parents made us a Bollywood seduction playlist. This is the Desi version of Boys to Men."

They gaped at each other for a moment, then began to giggle. Veera didn't know what else she was supposed to do, even as her

awareness of him, of his presence was starting to consume her senses.

She watched as her fake husband walked around the side of the bed and picked up another note that was resting on the bedside

table.

"‘There are herbal vitamins in the top drawer. Tell Veera to take one of each for optimal ferti—'" He dropped the note, as

if scalded by the paper itself.

Yup, that was the last straw, she thought. Now it was time to run away.

Veera marched over to her carry-on bag that was sitting near the foot of the bed. She picked it up, and without another word

strode into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door. Deepak could either use another bathroom, or he could wait for her to

be finished.

As she began to strip, first her clothes, then her makeup and jewelry, she tried to remind herself that this was Deepak. This was her best friend, and even though she'd had feelings for him forever, there was absolutely no reason for her to get hot and bothered over sexy Bollywood seduction music and fertility vitamins. There was no reason for her to dwell on the fact that he'd carried her to the bathroom, or that he'd winked at her when she was trying to get out of the postdinner conversation.

Even as she listed all the facts about their circumstances in her head, her skin felt hot and flushed, the pulse point at

her neck throbbed in a thick, steady beat. Her stomach clenched with every desire that threatened to consume her thoughts.

When she finished her skin and hair care in the marble and glass bathroom, complete with pretty gold lotus-shaped sconces

and touches of Indian art decor, she straightened her shoulders and realized that she'd just have to deal with her unrequited

desire.

"You are thirty-two," Veera said to the mirror. "You are accomplished, and smart, and sexy, and this is absolutely no big

deal because you're a mature, experienced woman."

With one last nod at her reflection, she straightened her sleeveless tan top, adjusted her sleep shorts, and strode out of

the room.

She came to a halt when she saw Deepak in boxers. His wide shoulders and tapered waist were muscled and honed.

And naked.

Veera slapped a hand over her face. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were still getting dressed."

"I am dressed," he said with a chuckle. He stood back, arms spread, motioning to his naked, firm, and muscled chest. "Veera,

you've seen me shirtless before. I slept next to you in Goa shirtless."

Damn it, why did he have to remember that moment?

She dropped her hand and focused her gaze on the ceiling. She refused to acknowledge the fact that she was the one who had been supercasual about their sleeping arrangements when they'd spoken with Deepak's parents downstairs. "Everyone will know if I use the couch, right?"

Deepak nodded.

"Should I sleep on the floor?"

He shook his head.

There was no way out of this, and it was too late to pretend that she wasn't feeling well and to return to the city. Veera

looked over at the bed, the warm glow romanticizing the canopy of flower garlands even more. The soft strains of Bollywood

music continued to play.

Maybe if she just got into bed, she could close her eyes, fall asleep, and this would all be over in no time.

She should've had more sex in her life. Maybe if she had prioritized dating, this wouldn't feel as awkward as it did. Instead,

she was like so many other South Asians her age: anxious socially and romantically.

Hello, generational and parental trauma.

"Hey, so I have something for you that may help you feel less intimidated by sleeping next to my gorgeous bod," Deepak said,

as he slapped a hand against his rock-hard abs.

"Oh, no present needed. That sentence did it for me."

"You get to have one anyway," he said. Then he pushed the garland canopy aside and reached under his bed. Veera stepped closer

as she heard rummaging and the sound of a lid popping off a box.

"Aha! Here it is," he said. He stood up with a leatherbound photo album in hand. "I present to you some baby pictures of Deepak

Kaushal Datta, born thirty-five years ago in New York City."

He faced the foot of the bed and after wrestling with the flower canopy, he lay down on his stomach with the album in front of him. Then he patted the soft sheets and blankets at his side. "Come on. I'll let you heckle me for free."

Knowing that this was an opportunity that she couldn't pass up, Veera carefully climbed on the bed and lay in the same position

as Deepak, an inch between them as he opened the album. His lean body, gleaming under the low light, a thick curl of black

hair flopped over his brow. Veera looked at the fading mehndi on her hands, the rings they both wore as they touched the edges

of the leather album and opened to the first page.

There were tiny black footprints, and a birth card, along with a baby picture of a wrinkly, crying newborn wrapped like a

tiny little sausage.

"Wow, you were—"

"An ugly baby, I know," he said. "Everyone tells me that, too."

"Not ugly," she replied. She touched his newborn frown, so serious and ready for the world. "Just... sad?"

"I'll take it," he said with a chuckle. His arm brushed against hers, and she had to bite back a shiver. Deepak flipped the

page to reveal a collage of family members holding him as a baby. Some of the individuals were familiar. There were Deepak's

parents, and a few of the family members who were a part of the Illyria Media Group board.

On the next page, there was only a single centered photo of an older man who held Deepak's sleeping form. He wore a white

kurta pajama and a pagadi in crimson red, and he had a shaped beard that did nothing to hide his toothy grin.

"Was that your grandfather?" Veera asked.

Deepak chuckled and she could feel his laugh next to him. "Yes, that's the man I'm named after. Deepak Datta. Everyone said

we were exactly alike. He died about ten years ago."

"I'm sorry," she said, softly. "Were you close?"

"Very," he replied. His large hands touched the photo with a tenderness she hadn't seen from him before. "He loved the company

he started. He felt like he was some big Bollywood producer. Then when Dad took the company and increased the size twelve

times over, he started a scrapbook. He'd clip every mention of the family. We wanted to bring him over to live with us, but

he was so happy with the farmhouse in Punjab. He liked listening to the rooster in the morning and drinking chai on his rooftop

overlooking the sugarcane fields."

"That sounds magical," Veera said softly. She was leaning closer to him, their bare arms brushing with every breath.

"He's the reason I'm so proud to be a part of our family legacy," Deepak said. "But you have a legacy, too. You get it."

Veera laughed. "No, Deeps. I don't."

He nudged her in the arm, then stayed connected to her, elbow to shoulder. His voice lowered. "What do you mean? You were

a senior leader at Mathur Financial Group."

"I was an employee at my father's company," she said slowly. "He even said that he didn't think I had the skills to ever lead

his business right before he fired me. We never had a close relationship, no matter how hard I tried to meet him halfway.

He always wanted sons, so I was a disappointment from birth." It had taken her a long time to come to that realization, but

she was finally okay with it. She knew that going no-contact with the man she'd once idolized was such a strange concept for

so many South Asians who thrived on family connections and community relationships. But after years of believing she wasn't

good enough, she'd finally understood that she was never the problem. He was.

"He got something special with you, Vee," Deepak said. "He's a fool if he can't see that."

"I know." She flipped the page of his album to reveal another collage of baby pictures. This time, Deepak was a toddler. Right in the center of the left page, there he was, with the same eyes, the same smile, sitting in a bucket.

Veera gasped. "I knew it!" she squealed. She shoved him in the arm. "You have a sitting-in-a-bucket picture in India!"

Deepak laughed and slapped a hand over the picture. "Stop, there is only so much embarrassment I can take."

"What are you talking about? You're so cute!" she said, then pulled the album closer to her so she could inspect the picture.

What would it be like? she wondered. What would it be like to have a family with the man she had fallen in love with? To have

babies with bright, carefree smiles and thick curling hair? What would it be like if their relationship was real?

"Come on, Vee," Deepak said and pulled the album away from her. "I think I have some pictures from my high school tennis days

in here, too. I was on the varsity team."

Veera grinned, and some of the uncomfortable unnerving feelings from staying with his family slipped away. "Did you have a

letter jacket?"

"I did," he said. "But I never gave it to anyone."

"Really? There wasn't a single girlfriend who wore Deepak Datta's tennis varsity leather jacket?"

"No," he said. Then he propped his head on his fist and rolled to his side to look at her. "But you know what? I would've

given you my jacket to wear."

Veera arched an eyebrow. "Those jackets are for girlfriends, not for best friends who attend charity events with you to stop

your matchmaking mother from interfering."

"I know," he said softly. "I would've still given you my jacket."

Veera felt her heart clench and wished that she could believe him, but she'd known him for over two years, and in that time, he'd never seen her as anyone but a friend.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," he said, as he brushed a curl off her cheek. She swatted at his hand.

"Do you have any pictures of Prem and Bunty? I want to know the juicy stuff that I can use as blackmail material if either

of them hurt my friends."

Deepak gaped at her. "Veera Mathur Datta! That's just devious. And everyone thinks you're so sweet."

"I am," she said primly. "But I am also smart. So come on. Cough up those college pictures."

Deepak laughed again, then slid off the bed, moving on all fours with his muscles flexing. "I have them saved on an external

hard drive.I think they're still in the box under my bed."

"It's a good thing you have your laptop with you," she said.