& Then They Loved (Ampersand Love #3)

39. Vows

39

Vows

Vihaan

V ihaan hadn’t realised that he’d be adding voyeurism to his list of kinks when Vera returned to his life.

Arms crossed, he leaned one shoulder against the doorway that led into her bedroom in the hotel he’d booked out for their wedding, drinking in the sight of her sweet little ass pitching up and down as she leaned over the side of her bed, searching for something he was responsible for hiding. She huffed, hands on her hips and stomped a foot, the action causing the fluffy towel she’d wrapped around herself to slip. To his regret, her reflexes were great, and she tucked the edges in firmly before he could see anything at all.

He hadn’t been a voyeur, but he’d also never felt for anyone else what he did for her. Simply put, he was feral for Vera Talwar.

With a towel. Without a towel. Holding a knife to his neck. He really wasn’t too particular about the specifics .

He cleared his throat, valiantly holding in the urge to throw his head back and chortle when she spun towards him with a shriek, her balled up fists poised to attack.

“What are you doing here?” she scowled. Her pretty face was still flushed from her shower, damp curls sticking to her forehead and nape. Vihaan’s eyes caressed the pink of her cheek, down the side of her neck where an errant bead of water escaped her thick hair and trickled down into her cleavage. Lucky fucking water droplet , he cursed mentally, wishing she would allow him to lick that drop off her skin and follow the trail it had disappeared into. His eager cock jumped to life at the idea, something that Vera noticed because she snapped immediately, “Vihaan!”

“Right. Sorry,” he mumbled, sheepishly ruffling his hair before approaching her. He held out a box for her. “A gift for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s your grandmother’s bangle,” he said patiently, having expected her refusal. Surely enough, that piqued her interest.

“How do you have that?” she asked, her brows knitting when he opened the box and set it on the bed beside them. “Two? Nani’s and yours?”

“Hmm.”

Her shoulders lowered in surprise. Taking advantage, Vihaan reached for her hand and gripped it, relieved that her unyielding stance had relaxed, if only for a short time. He picked up one bangle and drew it over her fingers, pinching her knuckles in to slide it onto her wrist. His gaze flashed to hers when she made a small sound of discomfort, his hold gentling immediately. He blew cool air against the slightly reddened skin, running a soothing thumb over it. Wordlessly, he repeated the gesture with the other hand, taking his time, speaking softly.

“The year after you left Nagpur, I was back in town for a bit. I saw your bangle at the jewellers. At that time, I thought it was the one I gave you, and bought it. I felt compelled to, and didn’t know why. Now I do.” He pressed a kiss on her wrist, locking eyes with her as he raised his head. “It was always yours, Princess. Just took some time for it to find its way back to you. Like me.”

The flash of emotion that flickered across her expressive face would have been well hidden had Vihaan not been desperately searching for any indication that she felt something other than hate for him. The moment ended just as quickly when she protested, drawing her hand away.

“I’ll take Nani’s, but I don’t want—”

“Mine?” With a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he questioned, “Can you tell them apart?”

She peered at her adorned wrists, trying her best to discern the difference between the two bracelets. “These almost look—”

“New,” he finished nodding in agreement. “I got them polished. I can’t tell them apart either. So, if you decide you’re going to do something silly like throw one of them away just because it came from me, I thought you should know that the chance of you trashing your grandmother’s bangle instead of mine is sitting at fifty.”

Her features contorted in irritation. “You did this intentionally, didn’t you?”

“Do you hate me more now?” he asked with a sly smile that did nothing to calm Vera’s temper.

“Infinitely!”

He only grinned harder at that. “Hmm. Good. Then I feel less guilty for what’s coming.”

“What did you do?” she asked, watching him suspiciously when he backtracked to a stack of items outside the threshold of the bedroom, picking up a large box to bring to her. He saw Vera’s gaze land upon the bridal couture label on the box that he carefully placed at the edge of the bed.

“Why did you bring this? I told you already, I’ll wear my own clothes. ”

Vihaan looked to the left, then right, confusing her when he threw the closet open, pretending to search. He turned around, a blatantly false concern lacing his voice when he asked, “What clothes?”

Vera’s skin grew alarmingly red, finally recognising why she’d been unable to find any of her bags. She stomped right up to him, backing him angrily against the closet door.

“Damn, Princess, it’s hot when you take control. Should I pick a safe word?”

“You won’t need it when I kill you!” she snarled. “Where did you take them? Give them back!”

Throwing his hands up in surrender, he shot her a helpless smile.

“I can’t, sweetheart. Everything’s been sent to our new home already,” he admitted. “Besides, the only items you’ll need until I put sindoor on your forehead and declare you my wife, are in that box.”

“I’m not going to wear it,” she pouted, crossing her arms across her chest.

Unable to resist, he reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear, savouring the smoothness of her skin before she could pull away.

“That’s your decision. I’ll marry you in your towel. The guests might wonder about your unconventional choice of attire, but I would have no complaints. I don’t want to be that kind of husband who dictates what his wife can and cannot do.”

“You’re a menace.” Vera spun on her heels, stalking back towards the bed, her hands waving agitatedly in the air. “You took everything. I have nothing here!”

“That’s not true. I meticulously picked matching underwear for you. I was assured that it was the right kind to wear under a bridal lehenga. Bonus: I can imagine exactly what you’ll look like in all that lace.”

“You can’t do this to me,” she hissed, her jaw clenched so tightly, Vihaan was afraid she’d crack her tooth.

“You already hate me,” he wearily sighed. “Now, you can add forcing you to wear a proper bridal gown on the list of grievances you have against me. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs,” he informed her, the catch in his throat audible. “There are a few ladies outside who will help you with hair and make-up, if you care to let them.”

Vera pretended as though she hadn’t heard him, until he slipped a finger into her bracelet, tugging her wrist to compel her to look at him. A world of fear, anger, and resistance lay simmering in her black eyes, and anything else Vihaan may have said died in the remorse he still felt.

He exited the room without another word, nodding at the team of stylists whom he’d hired waiting right outside. A few short breaths later, Vera cracked the door open, clearly having decided to allow the team to assist her that morning. Their eyes met as the last team member slipped in, their link cut off when the door swung to a close.

Barely reeling in his disappointment, Vihaan sighed. Six weeks of him trying to reduce the distance between them, six weeks of Vera refusing to give him any quarter. They’d maintained the image of a happily engaged couple in front of the media, his family, friends, and Nanaji to such perfection that no one suspected anything. Unlike his willful fiancée however, he wasn’t playing a role. She kept acting like this was a charade that would end in a blink, an attitude that made him anxious.

He knew it was futile to hope that Vera would’ve warmed up to him by their wedding day. This was simply the beginning of a long game of push and pull. He’d have to fight with her for her, stand against her in private but stand together in front of the world.

She may not believe any attempts at reconciliation coming from him today, but he wouldn’t accept defeat. With renewed determination, he strode towards the groom’s room where his friends were waiting for him .

This may not be the wedding either of them had once dreamed of when they’d been in the throes of their first love, but Vihaan would be damned if he wasn’t going to find a way to make some memories anyway.

As he donned his sherwani, allowing his proud father to fix his turban and his mom to press a tilak on his forehead, he tried to smile. He posed for the photographers, danced with his friends for the baraat ceremony that took him from his guest quarters to the main wedding hall, and waited at the dais pretending for all the world that he wasn’t terrified that she wouldn’t show up.

For all his assuredness, he knew that Vera would never marry him if she wasn’t convinced of the need for it. So, when the doors opened to announce her arrival, he finally felt like his oxygen supply had resumed. But when he saw her walking in? That’s when he knew that he truly wasn’t a good man.

Because for all the guilt regarding his actions at their SSI interview, he couldn’t regret anything that led to Vera walking down the aisle towards him, dressed as the most beautiful bride in the world. The deep red lehenga complimented the creamy tone of her skin, the stone studded skirt adding length to her already willowy form. She didn’t even look at him as they got closer, but he couldn’t look away. She was exquisite, a dream he’d never dared to dream, and he would sign away every last breath to ensure this dream remained unbroken.

It was only when Nanaji finally leaned in to give her away that her eyes met his. For a moment, they were in their own world, hidden away in a fog of longing for all that they could have in this lifetime. Vera by his side as they grew older, a sassy daughter who bossed everyone around, embarrassed sons who complained about their father shamelessly loving on their mother, a family they’d call their own. Vera looked as moonstruck as he felt, the yearning for these possibilities weaving a gossamer web around them in a way that ensured that neither could exist independent of the other .

In a trance, Vihaan raised his hand to lovingly cup her jaw, his thumb brushing away an errant tear that had escaped her eye. Her lids fluttered shut, her own hand anchoring his to fit the curvature of her face as she sighed, her cheek pressing firmly into his large palm. When she finally opened her eyes to see him again, Vihaan could swear it was love that had caused that heady glaze in her irises. In that miniscule passage of time, she reminded him so much of the young girl who’d loved him fiercely that he leaned in, longing for her to remain with him.

Because he wanted her. He wanted her with every fibre of his selfish being, with a ferociousness that scared even him when he tried to quantify it.

The whoops and catcalls of their friends at this unexpected display of affection broke the hypnotic hold that had befallen them. With a puzzled shake of her head, Vera glanced away, allowing herself to be distracted by the mantras that the priests intoned.

Through the vows and the rituals, Vihaan and Vera stole glances at each other. And as they finished their final circumambulation around the holy fire, their bond forged for seven lifetimes, Vihaan felt a new sense of responsibility towards the woman he loved. He placed a large pinch of vermillion on the parting in her forehead as his final declaration, claiming her in front of the world as his wife. When some of the crimson powder fell onto her sharp nose, his mother squealed and swooned, announcing loudly that this was an indication of being obsessively loved by one’s spouse. Vera’s blush warmed his heart and never had Vihaan loved an old wives’ tale as much as in that moment.

Tale or not, loving her to distraction was his truth. He observed and memorised every smile and sniff that escaped her all through the evening. When he died, he was certain he would remember moments from today, and every memory would be full of her. His wife .

He could only hope that by then, he had more than just a memory to hold on to. That he’d have her hand in his as he breathed his last. That he’d feel her touch, her lips against his as he finally let go.

Before that however, he told himself, determination racing through him as he observed her surrounded by those who cared for them, he had a singular lifetime goal.

To spend the next sixty years making Vera Talwar-Oberoi incandescently happy.

Easy, right?