The Prince's Indentured Bride

business

“Are the spring collection of Kittens ready?” I enquired as Rosa set the angle of the Sony projector on the projection screen, sometimes the wall looks a better screen than this piece of money–but unfortunately the wall is orange.

“Yes, did you send your old stock out for donation?” Husna did the honours to my question instead of Rosa.

“Yes, I did, But I liked those black jeans so I kept them. Can someone change the address of delivery for my clothes?”

I knew it was possible to do that, but Rashmi was too busy connecting my loose ends so that I can leave in peace, and I credibly can handle this little issue without bothering her too much. I wanted to send all of the new batch of season clothes directly to the royal palace, or wherever I would be staying in Nicoman state.

It was a disastrous situation when I tried to explain Rashmi about the situation, I was in. She seemed to be either too disappointed in me or rather proud of my boldness for a vacation choice that she hasn’t spoken a word to me after I announced my endearing decision of healing, running away.

It’s just a matter of three months and with the season change I will be back in control here, positively, with the Spider stuffed in its web to eternity of untangling, and followed by suicide.

“There will be more new black jeans so don’t be a miser and simply supply out the old stuff, will you? And, you can call Dara at the dispatch station of Kittens and she will immediately change it.”

I couldn’t ask for Dara’s number–hopefully Rashmi had it saved in my office phone–because Rosa had played the video of the model whom I failed to meet at the Ice Rink the other day; a sprain in her ankle, is what her side of manager had claimed when Yash so enthusiastically had gone to pick them from the lost track they were on. Thanks to that I got a nice chance to spend some quality time with Kriag.

Ah! I sighed just thinking about him. We were not in a definite relationship, and I didn’t know how to break the news to him.

I mean it will be so bad if I state I am marrying his brother. He will feel betrayed than I felt with Jules’s inconsideration towards me. But I didn’t want to hide anything from him, and I want to go on smoothly with him, know him even more.

I really want to go with the long-distance relationship plan, because even without my decision of leaving he still was going to go to Paris fashion week, and some other month duration commitments and all of that would anyhow keep us away from each other.

I just hope I can make him understand my reasons.

A girl with a slim waist, deer eyes and, pointed fingers and toes was in the film; dressed in a violet full body suit with silver pastel lines on the borders, with her black hair tied up made her look a bit old for her age–eighteen rather than sixteen–making her jaw and cheeks complement the make-up.

She was looking pretty in the ice with her skates on, standing in a star pose, although she didn’t jump into a split when Rockabye baby started playing: in lieu she did a continuous spiral of three and continued to a warrior pose.

Her movements looked graceful, elegant and precise, making the performance look classy and top notch; being a figure skater wasn’t a catch match, hopefully she isn’t sleeping in corsets to have waist control.

“She looks beautiful, isn’t her name Aishwarya . . . something?” Husna asked while carefully monitoring the video as if she were her mentor and making notes to point out mistakes, which were none by far, at least to an audience’s eye.

“Yes. She is Aishwarya Raikar. Sixteen years old, we are representing her at the state championships, although we are not sure of how far she aims to go.” Rosa explained, and then it clicked like a clasp of a watch in my head, Raikar, the surname–she must be related to Taira Raikar somehow.

How didn’t I know about this?

“She belongs to the Raikar family?” Husna asked in amazement of something I grasped to be gossip.

“Yes, the only child of Taira and Kamesh Raikar of TMZ media limited.” Rosa provided more information which cleared my direct confusion of relationships. “Bloody hell not! Mrs Raikar looks too young to be a mother of a teenager!” I condemned.

“You know our client’s mother but you don’t know our client?” Rosa asked in amusing disbelief, which I didn’t liked to appreciate right now.

“What does the media team have to say about her?” I asked trying to read through the scribbles of observation on my notepad.

“Profitable and doable. She will go very far . .” I stared at her, “their words, not mine.”

“I don’t see the talent in her. Although I am not a figure skater, I can assure you that her powerful connections will threaten her profession.” I was talking this with self-experience, my poor tennis love self.

“Yash was matching your thoughts too. But I see potential.” Rosa countered me, which I didn’t disagree for.

“She has potential but not the gifted talent. Have you seen Sarah Hughes’s videos of her Olympic win? Even in a bad camera she looks graceful and not practiced, that is the difference I am talking about.” I explained for avoidance of confusion and contusion.

Sometimes in business we look for an easy alternative for everything, but there are times when quality determines progress of the quantity, and those are the times when talent beats hard work, likely, fate dethrones dreams.