[sakurasan]

Chapter 17 Joint Account — Part 3

He drove home to pack. Upstairs she went to her room and took almost every piece out of the cupboard. She changed at last into a black top and blue jeans.

What to pack was harder. She had never stayed at a hotel like that. She put in most of the western clothes from the shoots. Her inners went with them. The bag would not close. She sat on it.




When she came down she was in the black top and blue jeans, the big bag banging her knee. Rohan was back, a small duffel on the seat beside him. He looked at her bag.

“One night,” he said.

“A girl has her needs.”

“If we check out in one night, bellboys will be disappointed.”

“I could not decide. So I brought the fight with me. Who cares what bellboys think. Now drive.”

She put the bag in the back. The car dipped. He looked at the mirror. She hit his arm. He drove toward the hill.

She looked the hotel up on her phone. “Long pool. A spa.”

“We can use both.”

“Tomorrow, Bhushi dam. Tiger’s Leap if we get time.”

“Early, then we come back.”

She put the phone down.

They came onto the highway. She set two fingers on the arm she had hit.

“When do we contact the builder.”

“Tomorrow. Once we are back. First thing I do.”

She drew her fingers up the inside of his arm. He held the lane.

“The floor plan is the one I approved. Right.”

“If the engineer suggests changes, you have to approve.”

“Better be.”

She traced his arm again, wrist to elbow, and his breath changed. He left the arm on the wheel.

The hills started. The sun was low. She set her hand on his neck and traced the skin above his collar. Lights showed between the hills.

“Can we have a pool.”

“I am not maintaining it.”

She turned in the seat and drew one finger along his jaw, from his ear to his chin. He leaned into her hand. The car shifted. He straightened it.

“I will. That is a yes I believe.”

She drew the line again. Her thighs pressed together.

“That is not a yes.”

He pulled into the hotel. A valet took the car. They walked toward the reception.

The receptionist smiled as they reached the desk.

“Good evening, sir. Madam. Welcome. The valley lights are just coming on.”

“One night. A deluxe room, please,” Rohan said.

She looked at the two of them, then at her screen. “I am sorry, sir. The deluxe rooms are taken. It is the holiday season. I can give you the honeymoon suite. May I book it?”

Rohan glanced at Isha.

“We will take it,” he said.

He signed. She placed the key in his hand.

“We are hosting a grand gala ball tonight. Our finest dining tables surround a beautiful, recessed center dance floor, allowing you to dine at your own pace and step directly down to dance whenever you wish.”

She turned a card to show them the grand ballroom. On it, dining tables completely encircled a lower central arena, where a couple held a classic dance pose, his hand at her waist, hers on his shoulder.




“We still have a few ringside tables available. For attire, we kindly request a tuxedo and gloves for gentlemen, and an evening gown with gloves for ladies.”

She looked at the lady on the card. “I have a dress like that. No gloves.”

He shook his head. “No tux. No gloves.”

“We keep those for guests. I can send them up. Shall I hold a table?”

“Your birthday,” Isha said. “Your choice.”

“Hold it. Send the clothes.”

“They will be up shortly.”

“One more thing,” she said. “In the morning we take a guided walk. A group of guests. Seven o’clock, from the garden gate, into the jungle. Shall I add your names?”

Isha looked at Rohan. “Let us do it.”

“Put us down,” he said.

The bellhop opened the door, put their bags in the cupboard, and was gone before they had thanked him.

They walked in and stopped. The room ran so far that Isha turned and still found more of it. A king-size bed stood in the middle, with cupids hanging from the ceiling above it. On the sheet, rose petals made two hearts, with an arrow cutting through both.




Rohan went out to the balcony. The hill dropped away under him, valley and trees, and no other building in sight. The evening wind off the hills pushed his hair.

Isha went into the bathroom. It was bigger than her room in Pune. The tub was a heart, wide enough for two, with water in it. She put both hands on the rim.

She came back and dropped onto the bed. It was a water bed. It sank under her and rolled back, and the water ran away from her palm.

Rohan came in and lay down beside her. The same wave lifted her.

“Did you speak to the receptionist before,” she asked, her eyes on him to detect a lie.

She turned toward him. The bed rolled, and her breasts shook under the top.

“Why would I,” he asked.

He shifted onto his side. The water pushed up under her hip.

“Morning I pranked a wedding. Are you pranking a first night now.”

“I swear. I had no hand in this.”

He held still. The bed settled, and she kept her eyes on his face.

The clothes came. A tux, shoes, and two pairs of white cotton gloves. He changed in the bathroom and came out with the tie done wrong. She fixed it, close enough that he could still see down her top, and laughed once.



“Go down,” she told him, patting his lapel. “I need the room to get ready.”

“How long,” he asked.

“At least an hour. Go check the pool, or the lawn. Do not wait outside.”

“One hour?”

“A girl needs time. Now go.”

He took one pair of gloves and went.