Page 31 of Claimed By the Maharaja
Pooja grinned. “But think about it. It solves everything. Your inheritance. Your social position. Your family drama. Both of you get the required heirs.”
“I am not marrying again,” Yamini said firmly. “And definitely not him. Tina Mehta is welcome to have that cold marble statue.”
Silence ensued, and Pooja’s expression softened again.
“You should marry again, Yamini,” she said. “You love children. You always have. You used to talk about wanting a big family back in university.”
Yamini’s chest tightened. “That was a long time ago.”
“It’s still you,” Pooja said gently. “You didn’t have kids with Rahul because you didn’t trust him. And you were right not to. He would have been a terrible father.”
Yamini nodded slowly. That part, at least, she had not been wrong about.
Pooja sighed, then brightened suddenly. “Still, I can imagine the kind of stunning babies you and Bharat Jogra would have had.”
Yamini grabbed a piece of fried noodle and threw it at her. “Shut up.”
Pooja laughed. “I am serious. Royal genes. Sharp cheekbones. Political power. It is practically a brand.”
“Get out,” Yamini said, but she was smiling now despite herself at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought.
Pooja stood, stretching. “Fine, I have to go anyway. I’m catching the flight to Jaipur tomorrow. But first, I need to speak to one bride who thinks ‘minimal décor’ means hiring only two elephants instead of four.”
Yamini laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all evening.
Pooja picked up her bag. “Keep me updated. Especially if Tina Mehta and the great Maharaja decide to create more drama.”
Yamini rolled her eyes. “Fine, I will.”
Pooja waved goodbye and left.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the apartment fell quiet again.
Maybe you should ask Bharat Jogra to marry you.
The words lingered in her mind, absurd and intrusive.
Yamini leaned back in her chair, staring at the half-empty plate in front of her.
It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
And yet, for a brief, reckless second, she imagined his reaction if she walked up to him and blurted the words.
Marry me.
He would finally react.
Not that composed, distant indifference. His handsome face would harden into a frown, real irritation breaking through. His golden-brown eyes would flash with anger as he ordered her out and fired her on the spot.
Yamini’s lips curved faintly.
Although it was just her fantasy, it gave her immense pleasure imagining the cold maharaja furious.
CHAPTER 6
The next morning, Yamini arrived at the steel plant just after nine.
She had overslept the previous night, dreaming about cold, furious golden-brown eyes. In the morning, she had to skip coffee and rush to get ready and hop onto the train.
