Page 56 of These Godly Lies
His tongue curls against her collarbone, shoulders straining beneath her fingers, as he tells her of an island of lizards so large, people call them dragons. Of rolling green mountains that reach up like fingers to touch wisps of cloud. Turquoise oceans dotted with islands so alive and green they look more like paradise than a place. The words hitch in his throat as she sinks down on him, pulling him close and taking him in.
His touch shifts from gentle to desperate, his hands dragging over her back as she decorates the smooth skin of his shoulders with crescent moons in the shape of her fingers. He breathes her name into her skin, a rasping prayer, and Anna whimpers—buckling under the adoration in his voice. She is rising and falling like the tide, water lapping at the sides of the tub as diligently as the fingers slipping between their bodies and stroking her.
A mewling whine rises from her throat, sweet and warm as honey. Khiran’s hand travels from her hip to tangle in her hair, tilting her head, so he can taste the sounds falling from her lips. Underwater, her toes curl as her body tightens around him. A coil wound so tightly she can feel it humming under her skin, ready to spring loose andsing. Her thighs tremble, weak with need, but Khiran’s hips move beneath her, his fingers still stroking.
He speaks against her mouth, lips brushing over hers with every syllable. “I would give you the world, Anna.”
Maybe it’s the shape of her name, or the whispered touch of the promise. Or, maybe, it’s justhim.Anna only knows that the tension coiling in her lower stomach has snapped—her spine arching and her hands grasping. Later she’ll feel guilty for scratch marks along his back and shoulders, but right now all she knows is pleasure and the sense that, if she doesn’t latch on to him she may float away.
She curls into him, gasping as he continues to move beneath her.Insideher. His hands glide over her skin, gripping the undersides of thighs and lifting her from the sunken tub. The tile is shockingly coldon her back and shoulders against the flush warming her skin. He hovers over her, droplets of water dripping off his body onto her own as he curls a hand around her hip, coaxing her back into motion. The desperation in his movements is gone, replaced with a deep and gentle rhythm, but the heat in his eyes burns bright.
“We aren’t done,” he murmurs, stare hooded and drunk off the feel of her. He reaches up, lacing their fingers above her head, the tile cold against the back of her hand. “Not yet.”
Anna knows the promise extends far beyond the ways he’s touching her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s been too long since he’s seen her. Too long since he let himself be soothed by the sounds of her oceans and comforted by the soft curve of her crescent smile. The memory of flames, of cornflower eyes burning with forgiveness, is crushing. He knows, before he even says the words, that the news will break her heart.
MUMBAI, INDIA
MARCH1964
It’s a month-long journey from Delhi to Mumbai on foot. It would be faster to travel by train, but the rupees they have remaining feel ominously light in their pockets. Better to brave a longer journey than to risk being stranded.
In an effort to conserve their funds and spare their feet, they slip some rupees into the hands of merchants in exchange forallowing them to ride in their boats and carts. They travel south down the Yamuna River, the current in their favor.
Raj, the merchant guiding them down the river, has agreed to take them as far as Etawah, where he will unload his wares. She’s grateful that Khiran’s weak stomach seems to be behaving itself on the calm waters. He sits beside her amongst the crates of silks, their shoulders brushing as they look out over the water. People bathe along its banks, purifying themselves in the holy waters—freeing themselves from the fears of death.
They pass an older man paddling a coracle, the circular basket frame weighed down with sacks of rice and grains. His beard shines white against his sun drenched skin. A monument rises in the distance, pale stone gleaming in the afternoon light. Anna recognizes it almost immediately from pictures she’s seen and the articles she’s read.
“Are the stories true?” she asks, nodding toward the Taj Mahal. “That he built it for his late wife?”
“Favorite,” Khiran corrects, his gaze sliding to hers. “She was his favorite wife, but one of many.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He hesitates, weighing his words as he follows her gaze. “It is hard for me to see beauty in many of man’s wonders,” he admits, voice haunted by memories. “I was there when it was built. I saw the lives its foundation was built on. It only stands because a great many suffered. The same with so many of man’s marvels—the pyramids in Egypt, the Great Wall in China, the Colosseum in Rome.”
He shakes his head. “You see a marvel, but I still see the blood those stones were baptized in.”
Anna’s gaze lingers on the pale towers, tracing the curve of its arabesque domes. She slips her hand into his, lacing their fingers. “Maybe it’s both,” she murmurs. He looks at her, his dark brows furrowed. The smile she offers is somber, heavy with the weight of all the ghosts that haunt his eyes. “A marvel and a grave.”
Anna’s not sure what kind of surprise she expected when they reached Mumbai, but it’s certainly not this.
They don’t linger in the city, don’t find lodgings. Khiran leads them straight to the ocean. When the sand begins to sink beneath their steps, they remove their shoes, carrying them at their sides. They walk for hours, Khiran’s eyes flitting over the landscape and lingering on every stranger they see. It’s only when the sand turns rocky and they find themselves entirely alone that he pauses.
He issues one final surveying look, assuring himself that they don’t have an audience, before Khiran hands her his shoes. “Hold these for me?”
She nods, still baffled, as he turns his back to her and walks into the ocean. Anna watches the waves lap at his ankles, his knees, his hips. Deeper and deeper he goes until the tide rises to his chest. His hands rest, open and floating on the surface as if feeling for something spiritual.
Anna feels the trembling beginnings of concern. “Khiran?”
He turns his face toward her, grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry. It will only take a moment.”
“As comforting as that is, what are youdoing?”
“Calling on an old favor.” It’s the only answer he gives before the rest of him slips below the surface, disappearing from her sight.
