SidNaaz: Worst Betrayal Ever?

Best Christmas Ever (Epilogue)

The city of Shimla, was blanketed with a fresh carpet of snow. With Christmas decorations hanging at all the town's intersections, this city had some quaintness about it that reminded Sidharth rather poignantly of shehnaaz's initial primness about sex.

Aided by the directions an old man had given him a few minutes before, Sidharth had no trouble finding the quiet little street where Shehnaaz had grown up. He pulled to a stop in front of a modest white frame house with a swing on the porch and an enormous oak tree in the front yard, and turned off the ignition of the car he'd rented at the airport four long hours ago.

The slow, treacherous drive across snow-covered roads had been the easy part; facing Shehnaaz was going to be the difficult part.

His knock was answered immediately by a wiry young man in his mid-twenties. Sid's heart sank. Never in his worst imaginings during the drive down here had he considered the possibility that Shehnaaz might have another man with her. "My name is Sidharth Khan," he said, and watched the young man's curious smile change to open animosity. "I would like to see Shehnaaz."

"I'm shehnaaz's brother," the young man retorted, "and she doesn't want to see you."

Her brother! Sid's momentary relief was followed by an absurd impulse to smash the younger man's face for stealing shehnaaz's allowances when she was a little girl. "I've come to see her," Sidharth stated implacably

"and if I have to walk over you to get to her, I will."

"I believe he means it, Haider"

Shehnaaz's father said, stepping into the hallway, his finger in a closed book he had been reading.

For a long moment, her Abba studied the tall, indomitable man in the doorway, his penetrating glare observing the lines of strain and tension etched deeply into his visitor's features. A faint, unwilling smile softened the stern line of father's mouth. "Haider," he said quietly

"Why don't we give Mr. Khan five minutes with Shehnaaz to see if he can change her mind. She's in the living room," he added, inclining his head over his shoulder in the direction of the Christmas carols playing on the stereo.

"Five minutes, and that's all," Haider grumbled, following right on Sid's heels

Sidharth turned to him. "Alone," he said determinedly.

Haider opened his mouth to argue, but his father intervened. "Alone, Haider."

Sidharth silently closed the door to the cheerful little living room, took two steps forward and stopped, his heart hammering uncontrollably in his chest.

Shehnaaz was standing on a stepladder, hanging tinsel on the upper branches of a Christmas tree. She looked heartbreakingly young in her trim jeans and bright green sweater and poignantly, vulnerably beautiful with her long hair tumbling over her shoulders and back.

He ached to pull her off the ladder and into his arms, to carry her over to the sofa and lose himself in her, to kiss and hold and caress her, to heal her pain with his body and hands and mouth.

Stepping down off the ladder, she knelt to pull more tinsel from the box lying beside the gaily wrapped packages beneath the tree. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a pair of gleaming brown men's shoes. "Bhaijaan, your timing is terrific," Shehnaaz teased softly.

"I've already finished. Does the star look all right on the top, or should I go to the attic and bring down the angel?

"Leave the star on top," said an achingly gentle, deep voice. "There's already one angel in the room."

Her head jerked around, her gaze riveted on the tall, solemn man standing a few feet away from her. The color drained from her face as her mind registered the determination carved into every masculine feature, from his straight dark brows to the tough jut of his chin and jaw. Every line of his well-remembered body was emanating wealth, power and the same forceful magnetism that she ran from in her dreams at night.