Codename lotus, p.8
Codename Lotus, page 8
A compromise.
NAOMI
This was the new normal. No more grand entrances, no stepping through front doors. Instead, it was the back alley, the side door, or the service elevator. Heads down, Saanya’s dark glasses on, we moved swiftly, flanked by my two bodyguards. Thankfully, Ulrich, my chauffeur, knew Geneva like the back of his hand. Holt rode in front, and Marcus tailed us in a second car.
As we glided through the cobblestone streets, Saanya stared out the window, holding the envelope with the ultrasound scan.
“Well, that was…informative?” I said, breaking the silence.
She was still visibly moved, but managed a small laugh. “Yeah, and I didn’t know you had a hidden talent for cross-examination.”
“Let’s just say I’m thorough, and I take my duties seriously.”
“Your duties?” Saanya let out a chortle. “Is that what I am to you?”
I shrugged. “Logical conclusion, don’t you think?”
She sighed, her gaze returning to the passing scenery.
I picked up my cell phone and started going back and forth with Allison about this new-phone task.
After a moment, Saanya spoke again. “I was relieved to hear I can still eat spicy food. I’ve missed it.”
I glanced at her. “Why have you? You can ask Lea to bring you anything you want from the supermarket. And you’ve established you’re no stranger to the kitchen.”
“It’s not just about the food, Naomi. It’s about respecting your space,” she said softly, eyes on her hands.
She was wearing a ring I hadn’t noticed before. Then again, I hadn’t exactly taken the time to look. It was a striking gold band encasing a large dark ruby that caught the light as it moved, casting deep, wine-colored reflections. Her tanned hand, now resting against her chest, pulled me back to our conversation.
“Even I, by merely existing, must be stirring these memories for you. And you know, Naomi…” Her gaze found mine, honest. Light. “I’d truly hate to be a cause of pain for you.”
“What do you mean?”
Saanya’s lips curved faintly as her gaze dropped back to her hands. “I…remember your mum used to wear traditional clothes, just as I do. A single precious stone ring…” She folded her fingers, hiding it. “And with everything else, I…”
“You aren’t the only woman out here wearing a saree or a kurta. That’s absurd. Saanya, I am not a child. You don’t have to pad the world around me.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“By the way,” she said, reaching into her coat pocket.
“My watch.”
She handed it over. “Yes.”
Thankfully, it was intact—not a nick on it. “Thank you.”
She just nodded and smiled at me.
“Now, I believe it’s only fair, since I’ve subjected you to my usual variety of insipid food choices, that I somehow rectify that oversight.”
Her eyes widened at the admission. I felt my mouth tilt.
“I…”
“You don’t have to pretend. I know my food reads bland to you. I find it bland, so there’s no doubt in my mind you must be having a hell of a time.”
Saanya drew back, brows furrowing. “You find your food bland?”
“I do have taste buds.”
“Then why—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I adore my British classics too, but—”
“It suits who I am today. It was a choice I made long ago. It’s less complicated for me and everyone involved in procuring my meals. There’s less room for error, and some might argue that it’s healthier.”
I’d grown up on my mother’s cooking—dal makhani, aloo paratha, warm, homemade roti drenched in ghee, beans on toast, fish and chips, roast dinners. Chole bhature. It was difficult to eat what I loved and feel nothing. So, one day, I decided to fully neutralize my menu.
Saanya said she understood my logic, even if somewhat skeptically.
She grinned. “How exactly do you plan to atone for that sin? Because it is a culinary sin.”
I let my smirk stand.
You want flavor? I’ll give you flavor.
“Ulrich,” I said to my chauffeur. “Take a detour. To the Thai Orchid Kitchen.”
8
MRS. SMITH-CHOPRA
SAANYA
As we settled into the cozy hum of the Thai Orchid Kitchen, the fragrance of lemongrass and basil swirled around our table.
I still couldn’t believe she was doing this.
It was so out of character. Naomi and I…out?
It had been days since the jalebi argument. We hadn’t talked about it. The tension just hovered.
Naomi had buried herself in work, and I… well, I wasn’t sure what I felt.
Only that it wasn’t simple.
Our chat in the car—surprisingly thoughtful for her—was the most we’d said since then, leaving us with this awkward we’re-talking-again-but-not-really vibe.
Though I had to admit, the food was glorious. My eyes actually rolled back as I swallowed.
Naomi grinned. “Judging by your expression, I’ve paid for my culinary crimes in full, no?”
I patted my lips with a napkin. “I believe you have,” I said. “How’s yours?”
“Hm.” She gave me that sealed poker face, only a glint in her eyes. “Chef Lek is still impeccable.”
“Is that all? Naomi, this dish is gorgeous.”
“Well, I’m glad you approve.”
After an awkward silence, she raked me with that intense gaze and changed the subject. “That purse is striking,” she said, and took another careful bite.
I looked down, smoothing the tablecloth as I stole a glance at her.
She was being... strange. Naomi was always measured, always intentional, but this? This felt like something else.
I put my fork down. “All right. Why are you acting weird?”
There was a tiny pause as she lifted her wine. “Weird?”
“Yes, weird.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You’ve barely looked my way since our argument in the kitchen. And now, suddenly, you’re taking me out to eat?”
Naomi didn’t flinch, but her grip tightened around her glass.
“You’re overanalyzing.”
“No. I’m not.”
She lowered her hand. “I just...figured we should start over.”
I blinked.
That was unexpected.
Ever since our fight—her gaze lingering one second too long, my sleeve slipping one second too far—I’d been waiting for her to bring it up. Or pretend she hadn’t seen it at all.
But Naomi wasn’t the type to pretend.
I met her eyes, steady. “Is this because of what you saw?”
There.
That was the first real reaction. The smallest shift in posture. She dragged her gaze to the window, not confirming, not denying. “Well.” She took another sip.
“Is that why you’re doing all this? The doctor’s visit, this dinner?”
She anchored her forearms on the table.
“I don’t need your pity,” I said.
“You think I pity you?”
Didn’t she?
“I don’t want to be your charity case, Naomi.”
She studied me, eyes sharp, assessing. Then, after a long pause:
“Oh, I don’t pity you.”
A small, barely-there smirk curved her lips, dry and knowing.
“But?”
She exhaled, fingers grazing the base of her glass. “Pity is useless. However, I do...respect people who don’t let the world break them.”
I drew a steady breath as she finally met my eyes. She wasn’t soft about it. She just stated it. A fact. Somehow it landed harder.
I swallowed, lowering my gaze, my thumb grazing the rim of my glass.
I could have let the silence settle, left it alone. But Naomi had given me something, whether she realized it or not.
“Naomi…” I said. “About everything I’ve been doing since I got here—the sounds, the smells, the food...I should have been more mindful. I never meant to bring back painful memories for you.”
She didn’t react right away, but I noticed the slight curl of her fingers on the table.
Finally, she inhaled, chin lifting with that signature arrogance. “Is that why you chose to wear that today? A change from your usual style. For my sake?”
I looked up from the napkin I’d just set on my lap. I was still feeling the heat of having her look at me like that, so...intently. I had to clear my throat. “Partly. I also enjoy indulging in my western side of the closet from time to time. And I figured if these men were looking for me here, they’d expect me to look a certain way. Though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I...I was also trying not to stir things for you.”
Naomi blinked once, then smiled. “Those shoes. They’re beautiful, too.” She brought her spoon to her lips, pausing before taking a bite. “Surely, they aren’t a department store find?”
It wasn’t difficult to work out that she didn’t want to talk about her mum, even though I was simply trying to apologize. It was clearly a boundary, and I would respect that.
I smiled. “Oh no, they’re not. They’re Sabyasachi. I bought them for myself on my last birthday.”
I glanced down at my hand on the table as I curled it into a fist. Naomi was just so quick. So keen on picking up what went on around her, while I wasn’t the best at hiding my emotions. She, of course, noticed my shift.
Her gaze flicked to my hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And that?”
I followed her line of sight to my ring.
“It was a gift. From Manish.”
“Why do you still wear it?”
I twisted the band absently. The large ruby was smooth. “Do you know where the term gaslighting comes from?”
Naomi tilted her head. “Not really.”
“There was a play called Gas Light,” I said. “A husband manipulates his wife into thinking she’s losing her mind. Every night, he dims the gaslights in their home, but when she notices, he insists she’s imagining it. Little lies, distortions…just enough to make her doubt herself. Her own memory. Her reality.”
Naomi stilled and her gaze dropped briefly.
“He never outright denied things—that would have been too obvious. Instead, he made me question myself. ‘Are you sure I said that, Saanya? I think you’re overreacting. You always get so emotional about everything.’” I laughed drily. Almost inwardly. “He was the rational one. I was the problem.”
“So the ring—”
“It was my anchor. To him, it probably meant nothing. But to me...every time he tried to twist reality, this ring reminded me how real my hate for him was and why I hated him so much. It kept me grounded when everything else felt like a fog.”
Naomi was quiet for a long moment, studying me with that unreadable expression of hers. Then she reached for her wine again. “And now?”
“It reminds me that he’s dead.”
I expected her to say something sharp or dismissive, but when I looked up, I saw only understanding in her eyes. It truly wasn’t pity.
“Well, at least he had excellent taste,” she said, and took another sip.
That startled a laugh out of me. “His secretary must have bought it for me at his request—well, our secretary. He shared mine. So she knows my taste well.”
“You have a secretary?”
I nodded. “In London. She handles all my GlobalLink-related affairs.”
I looked down. “You know, I’d give up everything I own—everything I’ve ever had for a chance to go back and not marry him.”
“It’s pointless to dwell on what could have been. What’s done is done,” she said, a shadow passing over her face. A flash of anger?
She set her glass down again. “But you have every right to want to erase that.”
I studied her, trying to read what she didn’t say. I had so many regrets. What regrets did she carry?
“Anyway.” Naomi sobered.
I traced a bead of condensation down my glass. “That is a more pragmatic view—not dwelling on things. Life can be so incredibly messy that one can’t help but feel a bit melancholy over the road not taken, don’t you think?”
“You were born with every advantage, being the daughter of one of London’s richest men—as was I. Would you truly choose a life of scarcity?”
I sought my innermost sincerity. “The only thing I’ve always longed for is to be free to be myself and find happiness in that. No amount of money can buy what I seek. Believe me.” I swallowed a thick lump and forced a faint smile.
Naomi was unexpectedly considerate. She didn’t pry into my confession, just let a silence fall between us. I loved that about her. It wasn’t a disinterested silence; it was a proper, dignified concession.
For me, however, things now went beyond any wish. That ring could have easily been his greatest gift to me, a silver lining. But he’d left me with something more permanent.
“What about you, Naomi? Do you ever want children?”
She considered it for all but a microsecond. “Not really my thing. Children are a lifetime commitment, and I am fully committed to my career,” she said flatly. “And you never quite know what you’re getting into.”
“What do you mean?”
She angled her head toward a nearby table: a young couple with a toddler. The boy started to fuss, then wail, his little face turning vermilion.
She watched the scene with her signature raised eyebrow. “No. Children are like a game of Russian roulette. You never know what temperament you’re going to get. It’s a gamble.”
The young couple might as well have been under a spotlight. The mother, already flustered, gently bounced the little boy on her knee. The father waggled a toy in his face. Everything unfolded under the watchful eyes of the half-full restaurant. We weren’t the only ones.
The boy’s flopping tantrum escalated to bellowing cries, growing louder as his sour little face turned tomato red.
“And that is precisely why I prefer to focus on my career.”
“You know, children often reflect the environment around them. The parents’ consistency and calmness can be key, but they are both obviously stressed.” I nodded toward the couple.
As Naomi was about to take another bite, the boy wailed louder. She set her fork back on the plate. “Why bring a child to a setting like this?”
“Maybe they’re new parents and couldn’t find a nanny?”
When the cries continued, she turned her attention back to me. “Would you like to order dessert?”
Was she sweating?
I had watched Naomi shark her way around countless meetings in the past few weeks where I was sure at least once, she had reduced a grown man to stutters, and it was a tiny toddler who’d made her perspire.
“For heaven’s sake, it’s sweltering in here.”
“Let’s call it a night,” I said. “I’m ready if you are.”
When the check arrived, I intercepted it, and my fingers brushed against hers. It sent a fleeting thrill through me, leaving me momentarily surprised at my own reaction. I couldn’t help but notice Naomi’s hands—long, elegant, unhurried. A rush climbed up my neck.
“Let me,” I said. “As a thank you for the invitation.”
“Are you sure?”
Was I the one sweating now?
“I am,” I said.
Definitely sweating.
What is wrong with me?
When the waiter returned with my card, Naomi made to stand.
“Please, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Back at the house, I collapsed on the sofa. “Is it too early to blame my exhaustion on the baby?”
She let out a short huff. “I believe you have a free pass to blame anything on your pregnancy for the next several months.”
I didn’t know if this was finally that breakthrough.
A truce.
Her presence comforted me, somehow. I loved having her around, difficult as she was—there was so much more to her. Part of me knew that.
She was standing near the sitting room.
“Hey, why don’t we watch a film together? Something light, maybe?” I said.
Naomi hesitated, perhaps considering the offer. No business meetings to tend to. She looked as done with the day as I felt. Relaxing would be the perfect way to unwind. To seal this new amicable middle we had found.
She opened her mouth, but just as she was about to respond, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen, her expression closing slightly before she answered. “Ethan, hello.”
Ethan Vanderbilt.
I suddenly remembered his name from that article I’d read on Naomi’s engagement.
Covering the phone with one hand, she mouthed, “Rain check?” signaling she needed to take the call in private.
I nodded, trying to mask the disappointment spreading through me like a terminal disease. But why was I feeling this way?
As Naomi disappeared upstairs, I let out a sigh and reached for the remote. The familiar Netflix logo filled the screen.
My thoughts wandered to Naomi and Ethan, inevitably, of course, wondering what they might be talking about. I couldn’t picture Naomi invested in love-talk no matter how beautiful that diamond ring on her finger was. I knew better.
It’s just not who she is. Someone who liberally dropped love-bombs and pet names. But if she had agreed to marry Ethan, there had to be something.
I traveled back to that moment earlier at the restaurant when our fingers had brushed. I had fantasized about those fingers many times while in university. While it had been my ex-girlfriend’s hands on me, it was Naomi I would imagine.
The little voice in the back of my mind mocked in a sing-song that reminded me of my place: Ethan.
Wait.
Am I jealous? No, surely not. That would be completely absurd.
I shut the telly off and headed upstairs, but my thoughts stayed with her. The new awareness of these feelings resurfacing again left me disoriented.
