Arranged marriage was an age-old story that Khushi, the youngest of the infamous Gupta family, who revolutionized and dominated the trading market for generations, knew well.
For it was the only thing she heard growing up.
But that neither prepared...
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**Scroll down for the Raizada Family Tree if you need a refresher**
Arnav impatiently tapped his foot against the marble floors, checking his watch for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. Finally, after weeks of preparation and endless hours of anxiety, it was the night of his restaurant opening. He couldn't even find words to explain the feelings running rampant through him.
Rationality, of course, said there was nothing to worry about. The restaurant was looking beautiful with the final decorating touches added just that morning, the chefs were extra confident about the dishes on the menu tonight and his manager, Saket, had the evening planned down to ten-minute blocks, with back-up plans for every possible thing that could go wrong. It was amazing, honestly. Arnav had never felt more prepared in his life, not even for his board exams that had spent a solid two months studying for.
And yet, despite all that surety, there was still a nagging feeling clutching him somewhere deep within. Perhaps it was because he saw failure up too close for way too long. He knew too well what it would feel like if tonight didn't go according to the plan, what the whispers tomorrow morning would sound like if even one of his dishes didn't live up to the mark, how unsettling the forced smile on his parents' face would look like if the restaurant was mediocre... he had seen it all before and he would give almost anything not to go through it once again.
Tonight had to be perfect. Tonight had to be successful. Tonight had to be everything everyone told him he could not have.
But for all of those things to happen, he first needed to actually be at the restaurant.
With only thirty minutes left to seven o'clock –the time he had invited guests to arrive by– Arnav was found pacing his living room in the penthouse, dressed in a midnight black Armani suit, waiting for Khushi to finish getting ready. If she wasn't ready in the next five minutes, serious hell would break loose at the restaurant.
"KHUSHII!" Arnav called, his panicked voice echoing through the still penthouse.
"I'm almost done," came her muffled voice in reply.
Almost?!
"You said that half an hour ago!" he called back, unable to keep the annoyance at bay.
She had kicked him out of the bedroom almost two hours ago now, telling him very strictly that he was only allowed see her once she finished doing her hair and makeup. He had agreed out of amusement more than anything else. He had never seen Khushi so tussled about how she looked, let alone talking about makeup. For some reason, he had always assumed she was beyond the pettiness of looks. Someone as smart as her would most definitely know that beauty lay in the eye of the beholder, not a bag full of cosmetics.
"But this time, I mean it!" Khushi replied. It sounded like she was laughing.
Arnav groaned.
"Khushi," he said seriously, briskly walking closer to their bedroom. "We can't be late to our own restaurant–"
