Codename lotus, p.19
Codename Lotus, page 19
Having her like this, right in front of me, with her cheeks tinged pink, her eyes bright from the wine and laughter—two voices nagged: Do it. What are you waiting for? And the other: You could never. You shouldn’t. Not if you love her.
Love her.
Oh my God. I love her.
I didn’t believe in angels or devils, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Was I breaking my own moral code here? But how could this be wrong—loving someone?
I’d always known I cared for Naomi, so very deeply. But being in love with her…
I was in love with my brother’s best friend.
My brother’s engaged best friend.
Oh, this is so bad, Saanya.
All night, I dreamt of someone whispering in my ear, soft murmurs like butterfly wings against my cheek. I scrunched my face into the pillow as bright sunlight pushed at the window. God, I hadn’t slept this well in years.
Half-dreaming, the whisper thickened into a voice, close and intimate. “Mmm, stay…” she breathed, warm against my skin.
I opened my eyes enough to see the burnt wicks of the diyas on the nightstand. Warmth pressed along my back, her hand resting on my belly. Mine lay over hers.
I wiggled further into her and the heat of the blanket.
“Mmm…okay,” I mumbled.
Wait.
My eyes flew open.
I jolted fully awake.
We fell asleep together. Tangled up together.
My son announced himself with a decisive stretch, and Naomi stirred.
“Mmm. What’s wrong?” she asked, lifting herself on one elbow. Her hair was getting longer. Even groggy and half-squinting at the light, she looked impossibly beautiful.
My face heated at the realization of our closeness. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, heat rising.
She blinked at me, adorably confused. “Huh? Why are you apologizing?”
I shifted, looking at our hands—mine over hers, her palm still warm on my belly. I hadn’t moved it, and it pained me to. My fingers twitched.
I started to pull away, but Naomi caught me.
“Shh. Don’t,” she murmured, still hovering over me. “Wait—don’t move.” Her brows knit, curious. “What was that?”
I stilled. A soft thud pressed into her palm. “Oh—he just kicked,” I whispered.
Her eyes lit up.
She opened her palm on my belly again, gentle…waiting, her breath still faintly wine-sweet.
“There’s no need to apologize,” she said. “We’re friends, aren’t we? And your son just kicked my hand!” She laughed, light and delighted, and something bloomed in me.
“He’s been doing that for the past week,” I said.
“A little footballer.” She smirked. “No cricket, eh? His uncle will be shattered.”
18
THE WIDOW CLUB
SAANYA
Our “movie nights” had become a recurring refuge, a slice of normalcy amid all the dangers we’d been dodging for months. I’d make popcorn studded with those Swiss orange truffles, while Naomi would fetch herself a glass of wine, moving with that unhurried precision that made even crossing the room look like choreography.
A silent dance I’d come to watch.
Somewhere between the opening credits and the third act of some random film, my attraction stopped being a soft candle and became a bloody wildfire. Even the way she tore apart a plot delighted me. These were the hours I could pretend she was mine—only here, in this cocoon we’d built where threats and others couldn’t reach.
If I were honest, it had started to feel dangerously like a marriage. Not real, of course. Our magical domesticity had a timer on it. But in the hush between us, it felt truer than anything.
Naomi was fiercely private, so if she did find a moment to call or text him, it had to be negligible. Both our “husbands” might as well have been dead and forgotten. That’s how completely our dynamic had shifted.
I caught myself studying her profile; the blue wash of the telly over her cheekbones, the screen’s flicker in her eyes, the curve that tugged at her mouth when she was amused.
The need to touch her was almost unbearable.
But this wasn’t just about me. It was her life too. So I held onto the little restraint I had left and breathed.
As the credits rolled on the screen, my gaze drifted to her. She was stretched along the bespoke sofa, eyes closed, the edges of her mouth relaxed. In the dim light, even the faint lines around her eyes seemed to ease.
Everything else faded into insignificance, and I ached for a world where our pretense could be our truth.
I couldn’t resist. My hand lifted before I could stop it, fingers hovering a breath above her cheek.
I hesitated.
My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might stop.
Gently, I let the back of my fingers graze her cheek.
Her skin was warm. Soft.
My breath hitched.
Could I plead temporary insanity?
I leaned closer. Her exhale brushed my chin, empty air sparking like contact. The world narrowed to her mouth and mine.
And just as I swayed nearer, an image rose to the forefront of my mind: the face of that girl sitting under that weeping willow, lost because she was now alone in the world. Naomi had needed presence then.
The jolt back to my senses nearly knocked me over. She had opened her home to keep me safe, not to be taken from in her sleep.
I pulled back so fast it made me dizzy. My fingertips still burned with the feel of her skin.
I made it to my room and shut the door, leaning my back against it.
“God.” I pressed my palms to my eyes, shame fizzing hot in my stomach.
Why would I do that? Why cling to a fantasy I’d been feeding for more than half my life, knowing I would never have her? And who was I kidding?
No matter how much I wanted it, I’d never have the courage to come out to my parents. Because the thought of being the daughter who shamed them still caged me.
Stupid, stupid, Saanya!
I drew air into my lungs and faced myself in the mirror. “Pull yourself together.”
I saw a woman about to come apart, eyes reddened with tears, fear staring back.
I was shaking, fingertips at my lips.
What if she had woken up?
The thought sobered me instantly. “God, what if she had woken up?!”
How could I have dared? She’d been defenseless.
I darted to the bed and sat on the edge, still shaking.
She is his, Saanya—no matter how much you loved her first. No matter how long you’ve loved her.
Loved.
The word filled my chest until it hurt. I sifted through faces of past lovers—sweet memories gone paper-thin against the living fact of her.
“I never stopped loving you, Naomi,” I whispered to the lull of my room. “It’s always been you.”
The realization was both life and a knife.
I didn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling and listened to the house breathe, praying I hadn’t gone and ruined everything.
19
AFTERMATH
SAANYA
It had been an uneventful evening. I’d decided I needed to apologize to Naomi. I only had to find the moment and my nerve, even if honesty risked killing our friendship. I couldn’t keep this from her.
I walked past the zen garden between her office and the sitting room, soaking in the sound of running water and the hanging vines. Outside, one of the bodyguards patrolled near the gates, his silhouette towering and dark. Holt. Which meant Marcus was inside.
Naomi sat on the sofa, legs crossed, a book in hand. Her head snapped up when she heard me. As soon as our eyes met, she closed the book and set it aside. The smile she gave me was an awkward twitch of her lips.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just some light reading.”
Her voice was steady, but a small shadow crossed her face, then it was gone.
We fell into small talk, but her softness was gone. I’d noticed it this morning over chai. And Naomi Smith-Chopra never said yeah. It was always a proper yes.
I stole a glance at the book. Mastering the Chessboard of Global Business. Not the baby book from the other night.
Something in me deflated—not because of the title, but because something was definitely off.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked again.
When she took a heartbeat too long to reply, I took the plunge I’d already chosen.
“Naomi, last night—”
A metallic latch clicked at the front door, and we both froze.
My heart lurched as Naomi sprang up, her arm instinctively extended to keep me behind her. Marcus materialized from the hallway in seconds, posture alert, palm hovering near his holster.
“It can’t be Sidharth,” Naomi murmured. “I just spoke with him. Besides, he doesn’t have a key.”
“Who else does?” I whispered. “Lea always comes through the garden.”
Marcus moved to the foyer. “Ma’am, stand back,” he warned, squaring his shoulders and raising his gun.
The front door swung open, and a red-haired woman about Naomi’s height rushed in, breathless and frazzled.
Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God.” Both her hands flew up, palms out. “No, no. It’s me, Marcus. Don’t shoot.”
Marcus didn’t lower it. His stance held.
Naomi walked past him and waved a hand at him.
His posture loosened.
“Allison,” Naomi said, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m so sorry, Naomi,” the woman breathed, the words tumbling out of her. “I tried calling. I’ve been texting you for hours—nothing was going through.”
A sudden flare of raised voices drifted from the gate, a thin thread of sound that carried on the cold draft and into the warmth of the foyer. It was Holt arguing with another man.
Naomi’s face hardened.
“What do you mean I can’t come in?” the man insisted, his tone thick with a jagged, impatient energy that didn’t care who was listening. “You know exactly who I am. You see me daily, man. You let her through but not me?!”
The back-and-forth went on until Holt finally relented.
I should’ve gathered as much from Naomi’s delayed shock, though.
The man stepped in a moment later, tall in an impeccable suit with no tie, perfectly tousled blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a frown like a slammed door.
“Ethan,” Naomi said.
Ethan?
This bloody Calvin Klein advert model was Naomi’s Ethan?
“Naomi. Vienna? Really?” His eyes shot to me. “And your friend? At least introduce us.”
He tried for polite, but it came out strained.
“This is Saanya,” Naomi said, her voice steady despite the mess. “She is Sidharth’s sister.”
There was a beat before she continued, a different weight in her voice when she said, “And my friend.”
His brows ticked up. Something shuttered in his face.
“How do you do?”
I nodded awkwardly, feeling like an outsider. This confrontation was a problem Naomi didn’t need, yet here I was, caught in the middle of it.
“Why are you here, Ethan?” Naomi asked.
She glared at Allison. “And more importantly, how did you find out I was here?”
“I should be asking you that, Naomi,” he said and pointed a finger at Allison. “And Allison here—”
“Oh, hell no.” Allison squinted at him. “I never disclosed anything. Ethan, you know the lengths we go to for privacy.”
Her resolute gaze found Naomi. She pressed a pointing finger to her own chest. “It wasn’t through me.”
Ethan set his small suitcase down. Cornered. Naomi’s eyebrow was doing that exquisite, lethal thing.
“A chance encounter led to a conversation with a colleague at Mom’s charity function. Someone mentioned Geneva, and my curiosity won. Your security may be top-notch, Naomi, but it isn’t impervious to coincidence and deduction. You aren’t a celebrity, but many people know who you are. Someone saw you.”
“Coincidence and deduction,” Naomi echoed. “Or perhaps, Ethan, it’s your incessant need to keep tabs on me that’s the problem.”
The veneer slipped in his eyes.
“Is it so wrong for a man to want to know where his girlfriend—wait, not girlfriend—his fiancée is, especially when she lies about her location in order to do what? Meet with her ‘best friend’? Yeah. Right. Where is he?”
Ethan walked deeper into the foyer, scanning the room.
Something sparked in Naomi. A pink flush climbed up her neck.
“He who? What are you talking about?”
Allison stepped back discreetly.
“You said she’s his sister,” he said, jerking his chin at me.
Naomi smirked without humor.
“Ah…and it all falls into place. This isn’t about concern, Ethan. This is jealousy. Control. Particularly where Sidharth is involved.”
He smiled, sharp and cynical.
“So, you’re the sister of Naomi’s dearest friend. I’ve always wondered just how close they really are—Saanya, is it?”
I threw a quick glance at Naomi. She looked utterly peeved.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you happen to have any insight?” he pressed. “Or are you covering for them?”
“That’s enough,” Naomi said, voice cold as steel. “We’ll discuss this privately.”
Heat bloomed around my face. So quickly he went from polite to this. What a brat.
Was this Naomi’s life? A dance between love and resentment?
Taken aback by Naomi’s rebuke, Ethan momentarily lost his composure. “I say we discuss it now.”
“I already told you,” Naomi said, each word a cut. “Not. Here.”
Watching her shut him down did something to me. It made me want her even more, and hate myself for it.
You aren’t helping. Control yourself. I swallowed hard.
Ethan’s fists tightened at his sides. “Fine,” he ground out, and left.
Allison stood with her jaw halfway to the floor, then snapped it shut. She knew better than to say what we were both thinking.
Naomi was barely holding back the dam. Her gaze stuck on the still open front door before turning to me.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, a hint of embarrassment threading her poise. “It was uncalled for. Please accept my apology, Saanya.”
Allison’s head snapped up.
“It’s all right,” I said, though my pulse was hammering. “I just…wasn’t expecting that.”
“None of us were,” she said.
“If there’s anything I can do—” Allison spoke up.
Reality, no longer theoretical, had walked straight into our refuge. I’d told myself Naomi’s relationship was the thing that would save me from myself, but seeing him here made me wish it had never existed.
Ethan was suddenly so…real.
“I think I need a moment,” I said, hearing the strain in my own voice.
“Of course,” Naomi said, red streaks claiming her chest. “I need to have a chat with my fiancé.”
Mornings were my time of solitary reflection, watching the sunrise, cradling a cup of chai—a routine that Naomi had seamlessly become part of. Sometimes we laughed and talked; other times, a content silence was just as satisfying.
Why did I have the nagging feeling that this would be the first morning in months we wouldn’t indulge in our early chai ritual?
I thought of how Naomi’s perfectly tousled hair often caught the first light of dawn, how her usually powerful presence would soften into something more human. With this image etched in my mind, I went to the kitchen anyway.
But the kitchen held no comfort today.
I stopped dead.
He had Naomi backed against the counter, one hand braced on the marble, one brushing hair away from her face.
“I love you,” he said softly.
Naomi didn’t move. She held his gaze for a long second.
Then she grabbed his collar and pulled him in, kissing him like she needed it to mean something.
It wasn’t passionate. It was familiar. Automatic.
And it hit me. Hard.
Two coffee cups steamed beside her—coffee, not chai. My stomach dropped, and nausea rose. The smell alone jarred me, like our mornings had been quietly replaced.
But nothing here was mine, was it?
The sight of Ethan’s hand on Naomi’s body felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Gravity seemed to double, dragging my heart down.
Maybe they’d settled things last night. Maybe this was what she needed. If it made her happy, then fine.
I couldn’t swallow.
Ethan took his cup.
“Good morning,” he said as he passed me, polite and impersonal, then left.
Naomi turned only when he greeted me.
Our eyes locked.
And in that instant, I knew—or convinced myself—that she’d been awake when I’d tried to kiss her.
“I…I’m sorry,” I said.
Was it for intruding? For these feelings that had surged, unbidden? For the small, private life that had briefly been only ours?
She didn’t answer.
I turned and walked, somewhere, anywhere, until I found myself near a patch of winter jasmine and purple pansies. I tried to breathe but the air felt thick.
The early morning mist fogged the greenery in a soft, ethereal veil that made the familiar surroundings seem distant and dreamlike.
A hand waved in front of my face.
Lea.
I blinked.
“Miss Saanya?” she asked, worry etched deeply on her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…yes, why do you ask?”
Lea’s hand reached forward but hesitated, her instinct to comfort battling with respect for my personal space. I could tell.
“Miss Saanya.” Her voice was gentle. “You’re crying.”
“Oh.” I touched my cheek. Wet. “I didn’t even realize…”
