The Full Moon Bride by Shobhan Bantwal

Author:Shobhan Bantwal [Bantwal, Shobhan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780758258847
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-02-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

After retrieving our coats, shoes, and my umbrella, we stepped outside the temple. It was still raining. But it had turned to a fine drizzle, looking more like a dense fog.

Wet and droopy, the potted yellow and white chrysanthemums on the temple steps exuded their distinctive bitter-sweet scent. I buttoned up my coat and unfurled my umbrella.

Roger turned to me as we descended the steps. “Did you enjoy the evening, Soorya?”

“Yes, very much.” I hadn’t been here in nearly a year, so I needed to come and earn my blessings. Noticing he hadn’t pulled his hood over his head, I moved closer to him so I could share my umbrella with him. “Thanks for inviting me.”

He took the umbrella from me and held it up to protect us both. “Don’t thank me; thank the Varadans and Satish. In fact, Satish was adamant that I invite you.” Roger gave me a lingering look. “Like I said, Satish is drooling.”

“But you’re the one who asked me,” I reminded Roger, and yet I was definitely tickled to have Satish’s continued interest in me confirmed. Roger didn’t look too happy about it, either. I indulged in a mental grin.

“Since you’re being so utterly sweet and charitable tonight, Mizz Giri,” he purred, throwing his arm around my shoulders, “may I invite you to a cup of coffee before we go back to the station?” He hesitated for a moment. “Or would that be too presumptuous on my part?”

“I’d love a cup of coffee,” I said. “I know a little café right around the corner that serves good Indian coffee. Want to try it?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said as we started in the direction of the café. A minute later, he let go of my shoulder, dug into his jeans pocket, then pulled out a red rose and presented it to me. “A pretty flower for a pretty lady.”

I looked up at him and realized he meant it. “Why, thank you, Roger. I haven’t received flowers in heaven knows how long.” In fact, the last time I’d received flowers as a personal gift was when Dad and Mom had given me a bouquet of pink roses at my graduation from law school.

“That’s not true,” Roger said. “What about the extravagant arrangement you got from your client?”

“That’s business. This is . . . personal, even if the flower came from the temple.” I noticed the outer petals were a little bruised from sitting in his pocket, but I loved the sentiment, anyway. On an impulse I tucked it over my ear, Hawaiian style.

“It was the prettiest rose sitting on the puja tray,” he said. “Since the service was over, I took it.”

“Swiped it off the tray, you mean?”

“It had your name on it.” He stopped for a moment to study my face. “It’s very becoming, too.”

“You stole a flower just for me? That’s so darn thoughtful.”

Roger’s arm looped around me once again, giving me disturbingly pleasant goose bumps. But I tried not to dwell on it. I

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