Page 116 of The Ruin I Chose

His voice joked, but his eyes had softened into something resolute—steady and certain. Like he already knew some risks were worth taking, and he wasn’t afraid of what might follow. His hand slid down between my legs, fingers teasing again.

“Ready for another round?”

I looked at him—really looked. His hair was messy, lips swollen, chest rising fast.

“Are we doing this all night?” I asked.

“I’ve missed too many months with you,” he murmured, kissing my shoulder. “I’m going to take my time getting them back—and I plan to feel every one of them.”

I realised… I’d missed more than his body. I’d missed the way he looked at me like I was his whole damn world. I just pulled him back down with me. Let him bury the months we’d lost. Let him remind me—again and again—that I was still his.

And he was mine.

CHAPTER 43

ROXANNE

Marcello and I walked in for breakfast, hand in hand.

He squeezed my ass, and I giggled—his breath brushing my ear, filthy and sweet.

Vihaan looked up from his coffee and gave a subtle nod. The kind that said, Finally. Kyra sat sipping her chocolate milk.

People gave us judgy glances. I let them look. Marcello wasn’t my secret anymore. I’d bled for this. Earned this.

We took a seat opposite my mother and Kyra. My mother, however, didn’t hold back.

“So,” she said, eyes twinkling, “I take it you both slept well?”

I nearly choked on my tea and shot Marcello a look. Heat rushed to my face.

“Were we loud?” I whispered.

She shrugged, sipping her chai. “Just a little.”

Her smirk was criminal. She was enjoying this too much. My face heated with embarrassment. I wanted to crawl under the table.

But Marcello remained smug as sin. Like he’d earned every sound. He leaned in, hand sliding under the table to squeeze my thigh.

“Next time,” he whispered, lips grazing my ear, “I’m gagging that pretty mouth of yours. Only I get to hear you come undone.”

I smacked him in the chest. “Behave.”

His grip on my thigh tightened as they clenched. Heat bloomed low and fast. And the way he looked at me, like he knew exactly what he’d done—made it worse.

He always knew. That was the problem.

Back in our rooms, we dressed separately for the wedding. I’d left my scrunchie in Marcello’s room. When I stepped in, I was taken aback. My breath caught. Marcello stood there in a mint green sherwani, complementing his emerald green eyes.

“You’re matching with me,” I said, stunned.

The embroidery shimmered against his chest. Regal. Ravishing. If flavour had a name, it would be him.

I hadn’t thought he’d actually take Sahil seriously and wear something Indian. Sure, he looked good in anything he wore—hell, even with nothing on, he looked beautiful. But Indian wear? He looked like a snack. No, scratch that. He looked like a whole meal.

A damn maharaja thali meal. And I wanted to devour him. With my hands. My mouth. My everything.

“It only made sense that he should match the family,” my mother said, adjusting Kyra’s frock—mint green with red flowers, just like my saree.