Outside, Zurich's elegant morning traffic slipped by in discreet murmurs, ignorant of the revolution unfolding above.
"Tell me if I'm overstepping," Romy said softly, fingers still poised against Monty's flushed skin. "But you do look ill. We can call the concierge, get a doctor."
Monty's hand shot up impulsively, covering Romy's where it lay. Electricity flared. They were suddenly palm to palm, lifeline to lifeline, the archaic romance of a fortune told in flesh and heat.
"I'm not sick," Monty insisted, though his own voice betrayed him by trembling. "I…" His gaze flickered to the croissant crumb by Romy's thumb. He brushed it away with his free hand, an excuse to linger. "I just didn't sleep much."
A gentle scoff. "You slept on my chest for an hour, at least."
Color leapt to Monty's ears. "I moved in my sleep, ldidn't realize."
"It was…" Romy swallowed. "It was nice."
Their eyes locked like duelists prevented from drawing swords. Something unspoken fluttered in the narrowed space, something bright and mercurial as hummingbird wings.
A cough from the corridor shattered it. A housekeeping cart rattled past the door, a reminder that the world persisted beyond their fragile bubble.
Monty dropped Romy's hand as though waking from a trance. "We should eat," he muttered. "And then start hunting for leads."
Romy cleared his throat, sat back, but the phantom of Monty's touch pulsed through him. "Right. Leads. Evidence. All that dignity."
He managed a crooked grin, but his heart drummed like ceremonial drums at a royal funeral, grand, tragic, unstoppable.
They ate in a hush. Knives clicked against porcelain, coffee cooled un-sipped, and every so often their gazes collided, sparking tiny fires neither dared acknowledge aloud.
Finally Monty reached for his phone. The screen lit up with a single word in bold white letters: dad. The call icon blinked insistently.
Monty blanched, shoulders stiffening. Romy watched him inhale sharply. "Prem Chaudhary," Monty said under his breath, "never calls this early unless the sky is literally falling."
"Answer," Romy said, though the urge to keep Monty here, undistracted, undeniably his, was almost debilitating. "Go outside if you need privacy."
Monty nodded, pushing back the velvet-lined chair. "I'll be quick."
As he crossed to the door he hesitated, half-turning. The window behind Romy threw soft gold across his features, haloing his hair. For a fleeting second Monty's expression softened, affection melted with apology. Then he vanished into the corridor, the click of the latch sealing Romy inside with nothing but coffee steam and a furiously pounding heart.
Corridor
Monty slipped out of the suite, phone vibrating insistently in his hand. The hotel's hallway was all muted gold sconces and expensive silence, as if the very walls conspired to muffle family secrets. He answered on the third ring.
"dad?"
Prem Chaudhary's voice came low and urgent.
"my son, listen carefully, there's a new complication. Your sister Preety has run off again, this time with that girl, Tina. We don't know where they are. Until we find them, Romy must stay in Switzerland."
Monty's pulse jumped. "What? Dad, we're on the verge of clearing my name. Romy has meetings scheduled."
"I am not asking, Monty, I am instructing," Prem cut in. "Romy returns home, he asks for his bride. If he discovers Preety is missing, this entire charade collapses. Keep him occupied, say you need more evidence, new witnesses, anything."
Monty pressed a hand to his forehead, torn between loyalty and the sudden ache in his chest.
"dad, Romy isn't a fool. He'll notice if I keep inventing delays."
"Then be convincing," Prem snapped. "You took on a disguise to save this family once, use that same ingenuity now. We need a few more days. Find reasons to tour police stations, re-examine CCTV, chase phantom leads, I don't care. Do whatever it takes to keep him there."
Monty's voice dropped to a whisper. "And if Romy realizes I'm stalling?"
"He won't, if you play your part. Remember what's at stake: his family's empire, our reputation, and your sister's safety. Until Preety is back under this roof, Romy must not set foot in India."
Silence stretched, thick as smoke. Monty's thoughts raced, Romy's steady faith in him, the fragile tenderness of that morning, the hope blooming between them like a stubborn alpine flower. Now he was being asked to feed that hope with lies.
"Monty," Prem said, a hint of softness creeping in, "I know it's difficult. But family comes first. You understand that better than anyone."
Monty swallowed hard. "How long do I have to keep this up?"
"A week at most," Prem replied. "We've dispatched men to Rajasthan. The moment Preety is found, you can finish your evidence hunt, return as the triumphant son-in-law, and everything proceeds as planned."
As planned. The words rang hollow. Nothing about Monty's life felt planned anymore.
"I heard you, dad," he said quietly.
"Good. Remember, one slip, and Romy starts asking questions we can't answer."
The call ended. Monty stared at the darkened screen, a mirror for his turmoil. For a long moment he remained in the hallway, spine pressed to the cool marble, breathing through the storm in his chest.
When he finally turned back toward the suite, his steps were slow, deliberate. He rehearsed a smile, something easy, untroubled, the kind of smile that would keep a brilliant, suspicious husband chasing ghosts across snow-dusted streets.
He hoped Romy wouldn't see the crack beneath the mask, hoped, and feared, and loved, all at once.
"Just a few more days," Monty murmured, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reached for the door handle.
"God help me lie to the one man I never wanted to deceive."