“If it were anyone else talking rubbish about my wife,” I interrupt calmly, “they’d be in much worse trouble than this.”
Her lips part. For a moment, she looks… stunned. Then something flickers in her eyes—uncertainty, followed by reluctant amusement.
“You’re serious,” she says slowly.
Very.
She sighs, rolling her eyes, but there’s no real resistance in her body. “Fine. Three good things.”
She thinks for a second, eyes flicking away from mine, then back.
“My eyes look pretty in sunlight,” she says cautiously.
“They look pretty all the time,” I reply immediately, without thinking. Then, catching myself, I add, “But fine. Go on.”
A corner of her mouth lifts despite herself. “I like how my cheeks are naturally rosy,” she continues. “I don’t need blush.”
I nod once. Encouraging. She hesitates at the third one. I can see it—the way her shoulders tense, the way her gaze drops to the floor like she’s searching for something that keeps slipping away.
“I like my…” She trails off, frustrated. “I don’t know.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t say anything. I just wait. Because this hurts so much, seeing her struggle to come up with even three things to like about herself when I could mention millions so easily.
Finally, she huffs. “My nose. I like my nose. It’s… cute.”
“Good,” I say softly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her cheeks turn pink—deeper this time. I release her shoulders, stepping back just enough to give her space, then narrow my eyes at her. “Anytime you say things like that about yourself again, you do this.”
She looks up. “Do what?”
“Say three good things about yourself.” I step closer again, invading her space just slightly. I lean down so we’re eye level. “Every time.”
Her breath hitches. “Do you get it?” I ask quietly.
She nods, eyes wide.
I tilt my head, deliberately. “Do you get it, princess?”
She inhales sharply, like the word has pulled something loose inside her. “Yes,” she whispers. “I get it.”
Satisfied, I straighten and step away. “Good girl.” Her eyes widen and a soft gasp escapes her lips. I smirk at the reaction. She’s so easy to mess with.
I turn toward the door, already reaching for my watch. “I’ll get ready and meet you for breakfast.” Although we sleep together, I do want to give her privacy, so I still use my room. Until, of course, she allows me to stay.
As I reach the door, I pause. “Sitara.”
She turns around instantly. “You look beautiful,” I add casually, like it’s an afterthought.
Her face blooms pink so fast it’s almost impressive.
That does something deeply satisfying to me. I walk out with a smirk, already planning which flower I’ll give her today, and silently promising myself that I will unteach every cruel thing the world ever told her about herself—one stubborn, steady moment at a time.
Things that hurt
SITARA
Evenings in this palace are deceptively gentle.
