“If we keep getting shy like this, how's anything supposed to work, sweetheart?” I say casually, leaning into her personal space.
Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn’t look away this time. And damn, she smiles too. That smile? It’s already my favorite thing in the entire world.
“I’m heading home,” she says softly. Her smile falters slowly. Her shoulders go rigid as if she has just hit reality. She tries to hide her disdain with a fake smile, but I see right through her. Right through her mask.
“You can stay here,” I say without thinking. “You’ll get ready here tomorrow anyway, right?”
What’s the point of going back just to sleep? If she wants, her family can come here too.
“Nah, just a little packing left,” she says, her voice barely convincing. She doesn’t want to go. I can see that in her eyes. But I don’t push her.
If I’m wrong about everything—about her family, her father—I don’t want to cross any lines. Not yet.
“Okay,” I say, then hold out my hand. “Before you go, come with me.”
She places her hand in mine, and I swear, it fits like it was made to be there. So small, delicate. Her fingers tremble slightly as I link them with mine.
We both glance down at our hands—like even they’re surprised by how right this feels.
I lead her into our bedroom and walk her straight to the closet. She looks confused. Her eyes look at me and then at the room.
I slide open the wardrobe door.
“I emptied half the space for you,” I tell her, gesturing to the section I cleared. “Check if it’s enough. I’ll make more room if you need it.”
Her eyes shine bright, and she looks at me like I just hung the moon. Her eyes widen, filling with something I can’t quite name.
Gratitude? Hope?
Before she can say something, I put a finger on her lip. “Don’t thank me,” I say firmly, stepping closer. “And don’t ever hesitate to ask for anything.”
Then I lean in, brushing my lips along her earlobe.
“I’m your husband now,” I whisper, “and I’ll do everything I can to keep you happy. In every way possible.”
Her breath hitches. I pull back, just to see her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls a little faster—all of these drive me crazy.
And then her eyes open—and damn. The way she looks at me—it sets something off in me. Fire. Hunger.
“You’re mine now,” I whisper, my voice rough. My free hand instantly curls around her jaw as I hold her face in a firm but gentle grip. “And I’ll take care of you. Always.”
She nods and gulps down a lump. She says nothing. And she doesn't have to say anything; her eyes are enough to hold any conversation. Those emotions in her eyes make me feel something.
We’re still standing there, caught in some weird time loop, when her mother’s voice echoes through the house. She pulls away, gently slipping her hand out of mine.
And just like that, she’s gone. Leaving me standing alone in our closet like an idiot. Her presence still lingers in the air as I whiff the last trail of her smell that she leaves behind.
Damn.
That smile of hers is going to haunt me all night. I might need a cold shower just to survive it.
12
SHIVANI
The Malhotra mansion is glowing like a dream. Strings of fairy lights blink softly above, vibrant marigolds hang from every corner, and there's this soft hum of music that makes everything feel surreal.
If someone told me a year ago that this day would come—that I would be standing here, getting ready for my wedding, and that I would be happy about it—I'd have laughed. Or cried. Maybe both.
