Tempting Mr Rajvansh

Chapter 2

"Beauty is not in the face,Beauty is a light in the heart" 

- Kahlil Gibran

CHAPTER 2

Mishti Singhania sighed satisfied as she paused reading and placed the book on the table. She leaned back against the high sofa and breathed deeply, imagining herself to be the protagonist of the book, someone who was loved beyond all measure, someone who would be cherished and treasured by her husband. She wished to be a wife to someone who would want to return home each night to her.

What would it be like to be such a woman? What would it be like to welcome such a man into one's heart? Into one's life?

She chuckled. If only others knew that Mishti Singhania, sister to Elite number 12 Naksh Singhania, who was considered too proper and well-behaved to think of anything impractical. How would they feel when they learned that she entertained deep-seated and certainly unladylike thoughts about fictional heroes. She sighed again with self-deprecation. She was well aware of how silly she was, dreaming of the heroes in her books. It was a terrible habit, and one she had harboured for far too long.

It had begun when she had first read Romeo and Juliet at age twelve and followed her through heroes great and small—from Odysseus and Hamlet and Tristan to the dark, brooding heroes of gothic novels. It didn't matter the quality of the writing— Mishti's fantasies about her fictional heroes were entirely democratic.

She looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. She conjured her hero into the vision, she, seated at a loom, he, standing strong and intense in the doorway to the room. His physical appearance came easily—it was one that had been used again and again in her fantasies for the last eight years.

Tall, towering, and broad, with thick dark hair and green eyes that seemed to hold your gaze captive. A strong jaw, softening when he smiled—that smile—a smile that held the equal promise of wickedness and pleasure.

Yes...they were all modeled on the only man about whom she'd ever dreamed—Abir Rajvansh, Elite Number 6. One would think that after so many years of pining, she would have given up her fantasy...but it appeared that she had fallen for the man quite squarely and most regretfully, and she was doomed to spend the rest of her life imagining him the Antony to her Cleopatra.

She laughed outright at the comparison. For one thing, Mishti had never laid a man low with her beauty—something Cleopatra was reported to have been extraordinarily skilled at doing. Cleopatra did not share Mishti's ordinary brownish black hair and ordinary brown eyes. Nor could the Queen of Egypt have ever been ignored or been called too smart and boring.

The same could never be told of Mishti.

But for now, As she sat in her solitude and cozy place, She imagined herself to be the fierce and beautiful Egyptian queen and Mr Rajvansh to be the dashing and clever Mark Antony. Him approaching her with appreciation, love and desire evident in his eyes... His lips just about to touch when...

Voice : MISHTI!

Mishti sat up straight with a start, nearly toppling her book from the table. The door to the library flew open, and her sister Kuhu bounded in, all energy and excitement.

Kuhu : There you are, Mishti! I've been looking for you.

Mishti took one look at her sister's bright, eager face and couldn't help but smile. Kuhu had always been a charming, ebullient force—immediately adored by all who met her. At twenty, Kuhu was the belle of the Rajkot Elite—and the nickname The Perfect Elite 12.

Today, she was bathed in the diffused sunlight of the library, swathed in chiffon the color of tulips, her sweet, loving smile perfectly framed by her wavy black hair. Mishti could easily understand why the Elite adored her sister. It was hard not to love Kuhu.