“An old friend?” she repeats, and even from the corner of my eye, I catch the subtle roll of her eyes.
I set the menu down and finally meet her gaze. “Where’s all this jealousy coming from?”
“Maybe I just don’t like other women checking out my husband,” she says, opening her menu and pointedly avoiding my eyes.
“Is that so?” I smirk, sliding my hands over the menu she’s holding and tugging it out of her grip. I set it aside and wrap my hands around hers, pulling her attention back to me, exactly where I want it. Her eyes lift to mine, and I continue. “Well, you don’t need to worry about anyone else,” I murmur, my thumbs brushing slow circles over her fingers. “No one else gets a look… or even a second thought when you’re with me.” I lean in a little, and my voice drops to a whisper, “I am forever yours… only yours, Mrs. Rathore.” I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers, her eyes fluttering as she trembles at the touch.
“I know,” she murmurs, her voice softer than before. “I trust you. I am just—” She swallows, her gaze dipping for a moment. “I am sorry for letting my jealousy speak. I was just… being a possessive, jealous wife.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Especially not for showing me how you feel. And,” My lips tilt into a smirk, “that jealousy looked damn sexy on you.”
She snatches a napkin and flicks it at my chest. “You are so full of yourself.”
I chuckle, setting the napkin back on the table. “You wanted honesty. That was honesty. And I am not the least bit ashamed to admit I was two seconds away from burying Rahul six feet under for the way he looked at you.”
Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she tries hard to look annoyed, to hold on to that glare. But the warm flush creeping up her cheeks betrays her completely.
Holding her gaze, my voice shifts to something serious. “I want to be completely honest with you, Meera,” I begin. “Yes, I have a past. A history with women I am not proud of. But none of them ever mattered. Not even a bit. Because the moment you walked into my life… everything before you became irrelevant. You changed the entire damn equation. You are the only woman who affects me. The only one who can make me jealous, sane,insane, furious, gentle… everything I never thought I could be.” I tighten my hold on her hand. “You’re it, sweetheart. The beginning and the end. All of it.”
“You really do know how to make my heart forget how to function.” She gives me a wobbly smile and a few silent tears slide down her cheeks.
“And you know exactly how to make mine beat,” I murmur back, lifting her hand and brushing my lips over her fingers again, watching her with an intensity I don’t bother hiding.
Now all that’s left is getting her to say those three damn words.I love you.Words I am dying to hear from her. Words I want carved into my soul.
???
“I hate being sick,” Meera grumbles as she tries to sit up, only to sink back against the headboard with a frustrated sigh.
Since we came home from dinner last night, she’s been complaining of a headache. I spent the whole night taking care of her, rubbing balm over her forehead, making her coffee just the way she likes it, and massaging her temples, until her breathing softened and she finally drifted off. And somewhere between watching her relax and making sure she stayed comfortable, sleep caught me by surprise. I woke up this morning to realise I’d spent the entire night sitting on the floor, her hand locked in mine while she slept on the bed. And damn, I don’t know how to explain it, but that simple thing made me feel so peaceful.
“I am calling the doctor,” I sit at the edge of the bed and hold out her morning tea.
“It’s just migraine. I am used to this. It’ll pass. You don’t need to call a doctor for it,” she mutters stubbornly, her fingers brushing mine as she takes the cup.
I level her with a look. “Sweetheart, I am calling the doctor.”
“Dev… I said I am fine.”
“And I said I am not taking any chances,” I counter, shifting closer as my hand automatically rises to her forehead, brushing her hair back. “You barely slept, and you look like you might pass out any second. That’s notfine.”
She sighs, trying to look irritated, but her eyes soften. “You worry too much. You just… overreact.”
“If taking care of you counts as overreacting, then you’ll just have to get used to it.”
She exhales, fighting a smile. Even with sleep-rumpled hair, tired eyes, and drowning in my sweatshirt, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I would fuss over every little thing a thousand times over just to make sure she’s okay.
“We should make a bet,” she says with a tiny smile as she sips her tea. “If the doctor says there’s nothing to worry about and you’re just being paranoid, then you have to cook breakfast for me. And you’re not allowed to take help from anyone in the house.”
I arch a brow. “What do I get if I win?”
She taps her cup lightly. “If you win… I’ll do whatever you say for the entire day. No complaints, no arguments.”
“You’re making a dangerous bet, wifey. I could ask for anything.”
She freezes for a heartbeat, her eyes widening slightly. Then a blush spreads across her cheeks. I gently cup her face, letting my thumb glide along her cheek. My gaze drops to her lips for a second, then lifts back to her eyes.
“Tell me, if I win… you’ll follow through. And you won’t deny me what I want.” I say, and the blush on her cheeks deepens as she swallows hard. But before she can reply, there’s a knock on the door.
