& Then They Wed (Ampersand Love #2)

7. Dreams

7

Dreams

Aditi

L isten to me, she heard his deep voice murmur. Roughened fingers glided over her skin, brushing up and down her body. Aditi turned towards him, searching for his warmth. She gasped when his weight held her down, keeping her still.

His touch turned teasing, soft then hard, never quite long enough to give her relief. Warm lips followed where his fingers left a trail, scorching a path lower and lower. Her body twisted, need blazing through her as her legs splayed open.

Please, she begged, her back arching when his lips found their destination. Pleasure crashed over her, immediate and intense.

Rian! she screamed.

Aditi awakened, her eyelids fluttering as consciousness rushed in like an uninvited guest.

Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling fan that was circling above, failing to cool her down from the searing heat of her dream .

She raised a shaking hand to her chest, feeling her heart beat like a bass drum. Her thighs rubbed together when she recollected the reason for her increased heart rate, the dampness between her legs and the pulsing ache—a clear reminder of unfulfilled desires and incomplete cravings.

Good girl. His warm baritone washed over her once more and she almost moaned when her pussy clenched automatically. She touched one hand to her cheek, certain that she was red.

Aditi had sat at the kitchen counter for a good ten minutes after Rian had left that morning, trying to coax circulation back into her shaky legs. His touch, his words, and his authoritative behaviour had sent her mind into overdrive.

Well, crap. Clearly, the attraction she’d previously felt for him had turned into a full-blown crush, which was awful because that was all it could be.

A crush.

That first night after he’d returned, she’d heard Rian’s vehement insistence on remaining unwed. Despite liking him far more than any of the other men she’d met so far, she wasn’t foolish enough to assume she could change his mind.

She had been fine with the slowly budding friendship between them, but the more she got to know him, the harder it was to ignore his allure.

“It's just a crush. A stupid, silly crush,” she muttered to herself, trying to forget the heat of his hand when he held hers, the scent of his cologne invading her senses. “It’ll go away, Adi. Just focus on finding a man to marry instead of letting Rian distract you.”

Mind made, she rolled into a burrito within her soft sheets and valiantly attempted to fall asleep once more, praying that this time she would not be interrupted by frisky dreams of hunky men who had no business making her want things she couldn’t have.

Aditi slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a yawn as she walked beside Rian, the noise of the evening market surrounding them.

“Did you not listen to me and go to sleep?” Rian frowned at her.

“I tried,” she grumbled, silently blaming him for her predicament. “Had some dreams.”

“Bad ones?” he asked sympathetically, directing her down a crowded path.

Her lips twisted in the semblance of a rueful grin. “Worse. Unattainable ones.”

At his curious look, she shrugged, not wanting to delve further into the topic. She turned in a slow spin, her eyes skimming over the crowds, noticing vendors calling for passing customers and people perusing the many items out on display. It was loud, colourful, and chaotic, and Aditi loved it. She adored the buzzing energy of outdoor shopping markets in India. For a curious woman like her, a bazaar such as this one was a veritable treasure pool of new discoveries.

A tap on her shoulder had her looking at Rian, who pointed at a stall. “Should we try here?”

Nodding, she followed him. True to his word, Rian had taken the time to bring her to a massive fabric market in one of the busiest parts of Mumbai, and was exhibiting incredible patience when one after the other, her aunt rejected the saree pictures she sent, extending their search well past dinner time.

She sifted through a few more options at this new shop as Rian called for the vendor to bring more inventory out for her. With permission, she snapped a few photos and sent them off to her aunt, waiting for a reply .

“Mohan Chacha was asking me if you liked his gift,” she heard Rian say at one point, speaking of the night watchman at his building.

“Yes. I need to go thank him. It was so sweet of him to remember that I was looking for those pickles. I hope he doesn’t send more though. That one jar can feed my entire family for a year.”

“I can’t believe he brought you homemade pickles. He’s known me for years and he’s only ever scolded me for parking in the wrong spot.”

Aditi snickered, running her hand over the beaded designs on a mannequin.

“He’s a sweet old man. I like the folks around where we live. It's a nice community.”

He believed her. And it was clear that they returned the sentiment. The parcels she’d been receiving, as he had recently found out, were gifts of gratitude.

Aditi had been helping people with medical queries in his locality. As word of mouth about her spread, so had the number of people who’d approached her.

“It feels like you operate a free clinic everywhere you go,” he said, handing her a sample piece that the vendor pulled down. “Aren’t you a gynaecologist, not a family doctor?”

“OB/GYN,” she corrected. “But, it doesn't matter to them. They hear that I am a doctor, and they want a solution. Why would I hurt their feelings by turning them away when a sympathetic ear is really all they require? It costs me nothing to help them address a cold or fever,” she explained, sending him a soft smile before walking past him to inspect the saree.

Rian stood behind her and watched her interact with the vendor, charming him into holding the saree up so she could take a photo. The more time he spent with her, the more things he saw to admire. Still, he struggled between appreciating her kindness and disapproving her inability to stop people from imposing on her .

She spun towards him suddenly, her face bright. She held up the phone, showing him the screen with a toothy grin. “Success! She liked this one,” she said, pointing to the saree that the vendor was holding.

“How much for this?”

“This is a special piece, sister. Only one of its kind,” the seller began, causing Rian to stifle a snort. He wondered if all the shopkeepers in India read the same manual. This particular dialogue was used before every purchase, no matter the product.

“For you, I will even add a discount. Only Rs. 12,849.” He smiled widely, unaware that his betel-nut-stained teeth made him look like a vampire about to attack an unsuspecting victim.

“That’s with the discount?” Aditi asked, gulping at the price tag.

“Okay, for you, sister, just because I want you to be happy,” the vendor added, as if he hadn’t deliberately named a high price at first, “give me only Rs. 12,800. It is a nice round number.”

Rian almost burst out laughing when Aditi’s polite smile twisted into a look of bewilderment, unsure if she was being pranked. He watched her attempt to lower the price, only to have the man regale her with a well-practised sob story of how he would make no profit on this, how his children would not have any new clothes for the upcoming festivals if he let his customers steal from him, how this saree was made by blind nuns in the midst of the Sahara with only water to fill their bellies.

Okay, that last one was his own frustration talking, but Rian couldn’t hold himself back from interrupting when he saw Aditi reach for her purse.

“8,000 rupees. Not a single paisa more.”

Aditi’s eyes grew comically wide at the number he threw out, her head whipping around to see if he was serious. He blinked once, reassuringly, telling her without words to not interfere.

The vendor blustered, emphatically refusing to accept a price that was less than five figures .

Aditi watched in awe as Rian steadily wore the man down, going as far as asking her to move on to the next shop to look for a similar saree before the seller finally caved.

A short while later, sitting at the outdoor stall of a nearby restaurant with the saree safely tucked into her bag, Aditi couldn’t help but stare at the broad back of the man who was picking up their orders, as at ease in this hot and dusty roadside eatery as in his posh apartment. Rian seemed to surprise her at every turn.

“I can’t believe he agreed to your final offer,” she said yet again, accepting the plate he passed to her. “Why wouldn’t he listen to me?”

“He probably figured that you were not from here and attempted to stick you with an expensive tag. Your Hindi is far more polite than Mumbai’s street language.” He ripped open a packet of ketchup and squirted some onto her plate for her.

“Thank you for stepping in.”

“I had to. It’s obvious that you can’t say no to people easily. First the sick folks, now the vendor. How do you get through life without being taken advantage of?”

Aditi puffed out her cheeks in irritation, looking like a chipmunk. “I’m not being taken advantage of. And I don’t like to disappoint people when I can help them. My Amma always says that good deeds earn good karma.”

Rian snorted softly, wishing he could be as idealistic as her. He picked up his food and took a bite, enjoying the flavours that the famous Vada Pav packed in each morsel. A delicious layered concoction of golden bun, spicy cilantro chutney, dry garlic spread, and a hot ball of potato fritter stuffed within, there was no doubt that this was one of the most popular snacks amongst Mumbaiites on the go. He glanced at Aditi momentarily, glad to see that she was enjoying her food as well.

“You’re close to your parents?” he asked, munching quietly.

“Yes. You? ”

“My father. Towards the end of his life.”

Aditi watched him for a half a second before she inquired, “And your mother?”

“Not so much.”

Maybe she saw something in his face because she didn’t push for more answers.

“How did you learn to haggle like that?” She sipped on the cool drink he’d paired with their meal, no indication given that she'd diverted the conversation for his sake.

“Had to save money when I was starting the restaurant so I'd go haggle at the docks for cheap veggies.” His lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile, memories of those early mornings still fresh in his mind. “Money was tight. Taught me things.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she said. “I thought you came from old money.”

“All that belonged to my father. And it's passed to my mother. But I’ll admit, I was able to get loans because of my name. And I had a trust fund to lean on in case something went awry. Thankfully, I haven’t had to touch it.”

“So, you are self-made.”

He tipped his chin, saying nothing else. He popped the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth, licking the sauce of his thumb. He knew that most people assumed he had generational wealth to fall back on if his business failed, or worse still, that his success had been purchased because he had connections.

Rian had worked independently—and very hard—to earn every bit of the life he enjoyed today. Somehow, letting Aditi think otherwise felt unacceptable to him, which was odd because he had long since stopped wanting people to acknowledge his efforts.

Aditi pushed her plate away, done with her meal. She wiped her hands on her napkin as Rian placed a few fresh bills out as a tip for the server .

“You know,” she said as they began the trek back towards their parked car, “I was pleasantly surprised by your apartment when I first came to this city.”

He raised a brow, saying nothing.

“It is beautiful. You must be very successful if you managed to purchase that without family money.”

“I still have debts to pay off, but yes,” Rian admitted, “I've done well.”

“I fully thought I'd be coming to one of those crazy rich mansions facing the sea,” she said, settling into the passenger seat. They pulled onto the road, the traffic ever-present.

“Disappointed?”

Aditi chuckled, shaking her head. “No. Your home feels comfortable. Like a pair of pyjamas that I've worn many times but still reach for instead of something new.”

Of all the compliments he had received, he couldn’t place a finger on why this felt so right.

“What’s next for Iron Chef Shetty, then?” she prodded.

“I’m not an Iron Chef.”

“Is that what you want to be?”

“I want to start a culinary school.” Rian surprised himself by admitting this. He hadn’t told anyone. Not Nanamma, not Kaya, not Arjun, nor Vihaan, whom he’d grown to have good friendships with.

But for some reason, he wanted to tell Aditi. It was easy to tell her things.

“A school?”

“Yeah. Maybe fund some of the underprivileged. Give them a path for a career, a stable future.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” she commented, her eyes tracing Rian’s side profile.

“I’m not afraid of hard work,” he said. The look of approval on her face warmed him.

“Well, if you need help. . .”

He couldn’t hold back a soft laugh. This woman had a problem, he decided. She was too nice.

“Are you really offering me help when you already have the entire population of your extended family waiting for you to do things for them?”

“As long as I’m in Mumbai, I’ll always make time for you,” she said nonchalantly, turning to look outside the window as they drove across the sea link bridge, a gentle smile upon her lips.

When they reached home, Rian observed her rush towards Nanamma, sharing the treats she’d insisted on purchasing for his grandmother. Despite the chatter, her words echoed in the recesses of his mind.

I’ll always make time for you.

For a man who had learnt not to rely on others, to have someone he barely knew say this to him shouldn’t have mattered so much.

Then why did it?

More importantly, he asked himself, why did he want to believe her?