she pronounced. ‘It looks a bit like window-cleaning fluid, but it tastes nice.’ She plucked the umbrella off the drink and tried opening and shutting it a few times, before looking up. ‘You can ask questions now,’ she prompted politely.
Vikram gave her a puzzled look. ‘What questions?’
‘Marriage interview questions,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to quiz me on my hobbies, whether I can cook, how many children I’d like to have—that kind of thing?’
He laughed, and Tara found herself laughing with him.
‘OK, here goes,’ he said, entering into the spirit of the thing. ‘We’ll begin with a rapidfire round. What’s your favourite book?’
‘To Kill a Mockingbird. Yours?’
Vikram shook his head, his eyes dancing. ‘No, I get to ask the questions. Movie?’
‘Three Idiots. Except the bit where the guitarist guy hangs himself.’
‘Music?’
‘Classical Karnatic.’ He looked surprised, and she laughed. ‘My parents spent a bomb on lessons. It’s kind of expected. Though, to be honest, it’s grown on me.’
‘Right. Food?’
‘Rasam and rice.’
‘Hmm, very traditional. Hobbies?’
‘Science, trekking and crochet.’
‘Crochet?’
He sounded incredulous, and Tara’s ears went a little pink. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to sound as firm as she could.
‘Like Miss Marple? Fluffy wool and a little hooked needle?’
‘Yes,’ Tara said, her ears going pinker. But she stuck to her guns. ‘It’s creative and it’s easy to carry around. Don’t laugh.’
‘I’m not,’ Vikram said, looking so serious that Tara almost burst into giggles herself. ‘I have immense respect for crochet. And trekking. But—if I may ask—crocheting what? And trekking where?’
‘Crocheting purses for my mum and aunts, mainly.’ Tara said. ‘And trekking in the hills around the city—we had a group in college.’
‘OK,’ he said, consideringly. ‘Now, what else. Pet hates?’
‘Frogs. The city’s overrun with them in the monsoons. I hate the way they look at me, as if they’re expecting me to kiss them.’ She gazed solemnly at Vikram, and his mouth twitched.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I hope I don’t remind you of one?’
She put her head to one side. ‘No. Though you’re still a few kisses short of turning into Prince Charming.’
He raised his eyebrows, and Tara wondered if she’d gone too far. Talking of kisses had automatically drawn her eyes to his firm, uncompromising and perfectly shaped mouth, making her wonder what kissing him would be like. Quickly she looked away and continued, ‘I mean, you’re good-looking, but you’re all dark and brooding—like something in a Gothic romance. Except when you laugh.’
‘Thank you,’ Vikram said politely. ‘I don’t think anyone’s referred to me as Gothic before, but if that’s the impression I’ve given I’ll live with it.’
Tara flushed. She’d allowed her tongue to run away with her again, but what she’d said was true. When Vikram wasn’t actively making an effort to be pleasant there was something remote and rather forbidding about him. And his height and undeniably impressive looks contributed to the effect.
She began to fiddle with the cocktail umbrella that was still lying on the table and he reached out, his fingers briefly twining with hers as he rescued it.
‘Stop mangling the poor thing,’ he said, putting the umbrella aside.
Tara stayed silent. The feel of his strong, lean fingers on hers had set up a little chorus of longing inside her, and she didn’t know how to react.
‘So, I’m done with my questions,’ he said. ‘Anything I’ve missed out?’
‘You haven’t asked me if I can cook,’ she pointed out. ‘My mother would be heartbroken. She’s spent hours teaching me.’
‘Ah, how could I have forgotten? So, have the lessons worked?’
‘I think so,’ she said cautiously. ‘At least my father doesn’t complain about my cooking any longer, and he’s the fussiest eater on the planet.’
‘I’m not fussy at all,’ Vikram assured her. ‘Besides, I employ a cook, so culinary skills aren’t high on my list of suitable wifely qualities. Is there anything you’d like to ask?’
‘Yes,’ Tara said. ‘There’s something I really want to know. What made you agree to an arranged marriage in the first place? You don’t seem the type.’
Vikram shrugged, his light-hearted mood dissipating a little. She was right—five years ago, if someone had told him he’d be marrying a woman his parents had chosen for him, he’d have laughed them out of the room. Things had changed a lot since then.
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ he said lightly. ‘I got tired of living alone, my parents would have found it difficult to adjust to a daughter-in-law from a different community—an arranged marriage just made more sense.’
It was a simplified version of the truth, and it would have to do till he got to know Tara better. He was still in two minds about marrying her. She was very attractive, but she was also very young—he felt positively ancient compared to her. A ‘desi’ Humbert Humbert with a legal-age Lolita. The thing that tilted the balance in her favour was the fact that she seemed absolutely transparent and straightforward. His last girlfriend had been a complex mass of half-truths and evasions, and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
‘Were you seeing someone?’ Tara asked, her curiosity piqued by his reference to a daughter-in-law from another community.
Vikram, unused to answering questions about his personal life, was tempted to retort that it was none of her business. Then, as he met Tara’s clear gaze, he realised that it was her business. She had just as much right to ask questions as he had—probably more, given that hers was a more vulnerable situation.
‘I was dating a girl called Anjali for a while,’ he said curtly. ‘It didn’t ever reach the marriage stage—she wasn’t what I’d expect my wife to be.’
‘What do you expect from your wife, then?’ Tara asked in a low voice. The dismissive tone in which he’d spoken of Anjali jarred on her—he’d sounded uncaring, and just a little hard.
Vikram shrugged. ‘I have a fairly busy social calendar because of my work. My wife would need to accompany me to parties and events, host people at our home. The house needs some work as well—I have a housekeeper and a cook, and they’re both fairly efficient, but there’s a lot that can be improved.’ He smiled briefly, before continuing, ‘Nothing much
