Page 6 of His Arranged Wife
"Your mother is here to see you," he said, his voice flat.
"I'll be right there."
He nodded and turned to leave, then paused. "Bruno. Here."
The dog looked at Nimisha, and she could have sworn she saw apology in those ancient eyes. Then Bruno rose and trotted to his master's side, obedient as always.
Samarth walked away without another word, Bruno at his heels.
Nimisha stood alone in the garden, her hand still warm from where she'd touched the dog's fur.
Even Bruno had to choose him.
She returned to her study, washed her hands, and composed herself. By the time Radha returned with tea—no biscuits—Nimisha was seated at her desk, her expression serene.
"Madam, Saroj ma'am is waiting in the main sitting room."
"Thank you, Radha."
Nimisha took a sip of tea, set it down, and prepared herself for another round of passive-aggressive commentary disguised as motherly concern.
Saroj Ranawat sat in the main sitting room like a queen on her throne, her silk saree perfectly draped, her jewelry understated but expensive. At fifty-eight, she was still beautiful, her skin well-maintained, her posture impeccable.
Kritika sat beside her, looking fresh and lovely in a simple cotton kurta, her long hair in a braid. She smiled at Nimisha as she entered.
"Nimisha! We were just talking about you," Kritika said warmly.
"Nothing bad, I hope," Nimisha replied with a polite smile, taking a seat across from them.
"Of course not." Saroj's tone suggested otherwise. "I was just telling Kritika how quiet the house has been. I barely see you anymore."
"I've been working on my book. The deadline is approaching."
"Your book." Saroj said it like it was a hobby rather than Nimisha's actual published work. "Still writing those romance stories?"
"Yes."
"Must be quite the imagination you have, beta," Kritika said, her voice sweet. "Creating all that passion and love out of thin air."
The barb was subtle but there. Nimisha's fingers tightened on her teacup.
"Imagination is part of the craft," she replied evenly.
"I suppose." Saroj waved a dismissive hand. "Although, a wife should focus on her household duties. Kritika here was just showing me how to reorganize the prayer room. She has such a good eye for these things."
"That's wonderful."
"She knows this house inside and out," Saroj continued. "After all, she's been part of this family since childhood. Knows exactly what we need, when we need it."
Unlike you. The words hung unspoken but clear.
"Maa, you're embarrassing me." Kritika's laugh was light, musical. "I'm sure Nimisha has her own way of doing things."
"Of course," Saroj said, though her expression suggested Nimisha's ways were inadequate. "But there's the right way and the Ranawat way. Tradition matters in this family."
Nimisha nodded, sipping her tea, letting the words wash over her. She'd learned early that arguing with Saroj was pointless. The woman had already decided Nimisha was a disappointment. Nothing would change that.
The door opened, and Shaurya entered, his face lighting up when he saw Nimisha.
