Redemption of Royals (Royal #1: Book 3) | ✔

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Ramadan Kareem! 🌙 ✨ sorry I missed it yesterday

-• inside Rawal Haveli •-

Taranya

I tie the knot of the white skirt. It's long, heavy, flowy and embroidered with gold all over. I'm sure my waist is going to give up before my feet tonight.

I still can't believe the bizarre turn of events. How did I go from where to eat to getting ready in my husband's maternal house while his family prepares a whole damn feast for me?

The thought unsettles me, but more than that, the prospect of having to eat anything they prepare is giving me a panic attack. How am I going to explain I can't eat anything they make unless it's soupy or has the texture of a slime? I can't make an excuse like I did back at the Rajawat Palace. I'm a guest here. Saying I've a particular diet that I follow will make me seem like a Prima donna. I don't want to upset the Rawals, not if there's a chance they'll accept Rudra as their own, which I feel like they already have. No, I cannot ruin this for him. Even if I have to swallow the discomfort and pretend that I'm enjoying the food, I'm going to eat it. The disorder could be damned. I'm not allowing his family to question his choices by thinking he married a young snob.

Picking up the dupatta from the chair, I unfold it and release a tired sigh. I hate clothes that are too flashy or heavy, or maybe I just hate the grandiose facade people put on back home. And everything about this outfit is just that. Usually, I've an entourage helping me get ready for special occasions, and while this cannot be counted as one because the women here seem to regularly follow this attire as their normal style, but if you put a jeans girl into a lehenga, she's going to fucking complaint.

I flip the dupatta, it looks same from both sides. Setting it down, I grab my phone and pull up Pinterest, searching how to style a dupatta as a veil. Hundreds of results flood my feed. I set the phone against the dressing table mirror and start my war with the dupatta. Harder as I try, I cannot do the pleats, they keep slipping through my fingers. I've a half mind to tear the dupatta in two and scream into it. But I resist.

My frustration hits the roof after the thirteenth attempt. I throw the shimmery fabric to the floor and plop down on the ottoman with a thump. It's so hot in here. They don't have air conditioning. Maybe because they have wide open windows and balconies. I've switched the fan to the highest speed, but it barely helped.

A knock on the door catches my attention. "Bhabhi sa, are you done?"

Getting up from the ottoman, I go to the door and open it to let Devyani inside. She sees the dupatta on the floor, the jwellery untouched on the dressing table and looks at me in amusement.

"I'm so done. How do you wear this everyday?" I ask in annoyance.

She chuckles. "After sometime, you get used to it." Picking up the dupatta, she sets it on the couch and takes my hand, stirring me in front of the dressing table. "Now you sit and let me do the work. I'll get you ready."

Relief spreads through me. "You've no idea how grateful I'm to have you here. I can't imagine going through all of this alone."

She smiles. "I understand. Us Rawals can be too much sometimes."

I sit patiently while she gets me ready. Unlike me, she focuses on my hair first. I had instantly jumped on the dupatta. Her hands do a quick, skilled work on my thick locks and she fishbraids them loosely, causing the young strands to frame my face. Then she picks up the maang tika, positions it in my centre hairline and hooks it with a pin. Next we move on to the earrings, nose rings, choker and rivières. For bangles, she drops to her knees in front of me, applies lotion on my hands and wrists and slowly slides over the bangles, adding two thick gold bracelets at the end to complete the sets. Then she proceeds to fasten the anklets around my ankles. I lift the hem of my skirt, tapping my feet on the floor, and a mellow, chiming sound floats in the air. She snatches the dupatta from the couch, which as it turns out is the last step of getting ready. "There you go," she murmurs, straightening the embroidered border of the dupatta and slicking it in my hand as I hold it on top of my head like a veil. "You look gorgeous, Bhabhi Sa,"