Chapter 23
Reeva
Shaurya has always possessed the infuriating ability to send every butterfly in my stomach into chaos, but witnessing his tender, emotional reaction during the scan affected me on an entirely different level.
Watching his composure crumble at the sight of our baby reached beyond desire and touched the fragile part of me that still longed to trust him with my heart.
As though his reaction during the scan hasn’t already caused enough havoc inside me, he seems determined to anticipate my every need.
On the drive home from the clinic, I casually mentioned that my clothes were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.
He immediately changed course and drove straight to the mall, refusing to entertain a single argument.
Smiling, I hang another dress beside the growing collection in the changing room.
As I reach for the next one, I pause and study my reflection in the full-length mirror.
My stomach is beginning to thicken around the middle.
Not round enough to resemble a proper bump yet, but undeniably different.
I run a tender hand over the subtle curve, letting my fingertips linger.
My smile brightens. My body is changing, and for the first time, I find myself loving every unfamiliar inch of it.
After selecting several loose dresses and comfortable kurtas, I change back into my kurta and jeans, gather the outfits over my arm, and leave the fitting room. A sales assistant takes them from me with a smile and carries them towards the billing counter.
I stop halfway across the store.
Shaurya is standing beside a trolley overflowing with baby clothes, blankets, toys, and enough tiny socks to clothe an entire nursery. He holds up a miniature white onesie, studying it with grave concentration.
My heart gives a painful little lurch.
How had I ever convinced myself that I could keep him away from our baby? Seeing him now, already hopelessly devoted to a child he has only glimpsed on a grainy screen, I understand just how much I would have stolen from both of them.
I bite down on my lower lip, fighting the sudden sting of tears. Damn these pregnancy hormones, and damn Shaurya for making it harder with every passing day to remember why I’m supposed to guard my heart against him.
I draw in several steadying breaths, and once I’m certain the tears won’t betray me, I walk towards him.
“Shaurya?”
He turns at the sound of my voice. “Finished?”
“Yes.” My gaze travels pointedly over the mountain of items overflowing from the trolley. “What is all this?”
“I thought the baby might need a few things,” he says with an almost sheepish shrug.
“A few?” I arch an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t certain what we would need.”
“So you decided we needed the entire infant section?”
A smile breaks across my face, and he answers it with one of his own.
Shaking my head, I make my way towards the billing counter, with Shaurya falling into step beside me. The sales assistant begins scanning the items while another employee carefully folds and packs everything into bags.
When she announces the total, I reach into my handbag for my card. Before I can retrieve it, Shaurya hands over his own.
I stare at him, making my annoyance perfectly clear, but he deliberately ignores my glare. Refusing to create a scene in front of the staff, I swallow my protest, for now.
A few minutes later, we leave the store with Shaurya carrying nearly every shopping bag, despite the sales assistant’s repeated offer to help.
“You’re paying for my clothes now?” I demand as we make our way through the mall.
“I paid for the clothes you need because you’re carrying my baby,” he replies, as though that should settle the matter.
“Our baby,” I correct sharply. “I’m carrying our baby, Shaurya. Not yours alone.”
“Our baby,” he concedes immediately. His gaze drops briefly to the bags in his hands.
“But you’re the one whose body is changing.
You’re enduring the nausea, the cramps, and every other discomfort while all I can do is stand beside you and watch.
” His steps slow as he meets my gaze. “Buying something you need makes me feel a little less useless.”
The admission steals some of the force from my anger.
“You aren’t useless, Shaurya,” I say, my voice softening.
“You make my favourite ginger tea before I even ask, keep the kitchen stocked with everything I crave, rearrange your schedule for my appointments, and you came running the moment I called last night. Today, you stood beside me while we saw our baby for the first time.” I hold his gaze.
“You’re already taking care of us. You don’t have to buy half the mall to prove that you’re involved. ”
His gaze lingers on mine, something tender flickering across his face at my use of the word us.
“It still doesn’t feel like enough,” he admits as we enter the coffee shop. “You’re the one carrying our child and enduring every difficult part of this pregnancy. I can’t take the pain or exhaustion from you, so please, Reeva, let me do the things I can.”
I nod thoughtfully as we choose a quiet table in the corner and arrange the shopping bags on the empty chairs beside us. Shaurya settles into the seat opposite mine.
“You know, we haven’t discussed names yet,” I suggest. “That’s something you could help with.”
His entire face lights up. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
I grin at the sudden enthusiasm in his voice. “Uh-oh. Why do I feel as though I’ve just made a very dangerous suggestion?”
He immediately pulls out his phone and unlocks it. “We should create separate lists for boys and girls. Then we can compare meanings, initials, possible nicknames…”
“Shaurya, the baby isn’t arriving tomorrow.”
“No, but we only have barely six months to make the right decision,” he replies with complete seriousness, his fingers hovering over the screen.
“Speaking of planning, do you think we’ll need a nanny?
I should begin interviewing candidates early.
We’ll need background checks, references, medical records—”
“Stop.” I raise a hand before he can continue. “I don’t want a nanny caring for our baby. I want to do it myself.” My voice softens as an unexpected vulnerability slips through. “I want to be a wonderful mother.”
Shaurya’s expression immediately gentles. He sets his phone on the table before reaching across it and enclosing both of my hands in his.
“You won’t merely be a wonderful mother, Reeva,” he says, his voice firm with absolute conviction. “You’re going to be extraordinary.”
The certainty in his eyes steals my breath. He says it as though there is no possibility of me failing, as though he already believes in the mother I have yet to become.
A tender smile touches my lips, but it slowly fades as a familiar ache settles inside my chest.
“I wish my mother were here,” I admit quietly.
“I remember so little about her, but now there are a thousand things I want to ask. Was she frightened when she was carrying me? Did she ever worry that she wouldn’t know how to be a mother?
What did she feel the first time she held me?
” My throat tightens. “Becoming a mother myself has made me miss her in an entirely different way. Not only as the little girl who lost her, but as a woman who desperately needs her mother.”
“I’m sorry she isn’t here, sweetheart.” He lifts our joined hands to his lips and presses a tender kiss against my knuckles.
“I wish she could have been here when you discovered you were pregnant. I wish you could have seen the joy on her face when you told her she was going to be a grandmother.” His voice grows rough with emotion.
“But if a mother’s love leaves pieces of itself behind, then hers is still alive in you…
in your kindness, your strength, and the fierce way you already protect our baby.
If she could see you now, she wouldn’t wonder whether you’ll be a good mother.
She would already know.” His thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles as his gaze holds mine.
“I can’t bring her back or fill the space she left behind.
But whenever you miss her, whenever you’re frightened, or whenever you doubt yourself, I’ll be beside you.
” His fingers tighten around mine. “I promise you will never carry any of this alone.”
His precious words settle somewhere painfully deep inside me, and for several moments, I can only stare at our joined hands.
“What about you?” I ask softly, lifting my gaze to his.
His brows draw together. “What about me?”
“What was it like when you lost your father?”
His fingers go still around mine.
Before he can answer, a server approaches with our drinks, interrupting the fragile moment.
Shaurya releases my hands and leans back as she places my decaffeinated coffee and his black espresso on the table.
He acknowledges her with a quiet nod, but after she walks away, he makes no move to touch his cup.
“You’ve never spoken about it,” I continue carefully. “Not truly. You’ve told me about his dying wish and the promise you made, but you’ve never told me about the man you lost.” I hold his guarded gaze. “You’ve never told me what his death did to you.”
His gaze drops to the dark surface of his espresso. For a moment, I think he will refuse to answer.
“Before Rajmahal, my father laughed easily,” he begins at last. “He was ambitious, but ambition never consumed him. He believed that if he treated people honourably, they would offer him the same respect in return.” His eyes lift to mine, his jaw tightening.
“He trusted your father. When that trust was broken and he lost Rajmahal, it wasn’t only a palace that was taken from him.
He lost a friend, a piece of his family’s history, and his faith in his own judgement.
I watched him become quieter with every passing year.
” His voice turns rough as he continues.
“On his deathbed, his last coherent words were about Rajmahal. He said he had failed his father by losing it.” Shaurya holds my gaze, refusing to hide from the memory.
“So I promised him I would bring it home.”
“And that promise became everything,” I murmur.
He nods tersely. “It was easier to devote my life to fulfilling a promise than to accept that he was gone. Anger gave me something grief couldn’t—a target.” Shame darkens his expression. “I convinced myself that revenge was loyalty. In the end, I used his pain to justify causing yours.”
Understanding moves through me. It does not excuse what he did to me. Nothing ever will. But for the first time, I see the wound beneath his obsession. Not merely the ruthless man who weaponised a dying promise, but the grieving son who mistook vengeance for devotion.
My hand drifts towards my coffee, and I curl my fingers around the cup despite no longer wanting it.
“Shaurya…” I draw in an unsteady breath. “I wish you had told me all of this before.”
“Would it have changed anything?” he asks quietly.
“If you had told me the truth instead of manipulating me into marriage, I might have understood what Rajmahal meant to you,” I say, refusing to let compassion blur the truth.
“I might even have tried to help you. But you never trusted me with your pain. You chose to deceive me and made me suffer for a wound I never caused.”
His eyes close briefly, as though the truth has struck him with physical force. “You’re right.”
“I’m sorry you lost him,” I whisper. Reaching across the table, I place my hand over his. “You didn’t deserve that pain.”
His hand turns beneath mine, and his fingers close around it.
“And I am sorry I allowed losing him to become an excuse to hurt you. You trusted me, Reeva, and I used that trust to get what I wanted. Then, when you confronted me, I blamed your father instead of owning what I’d done.
” His voice falters. “You should never have had to defend your right to be loved honestly. I am sorry I made you question every moment we shared.”
The conversation has stirred too many emotions—grief, compassion, anger, and a dangerous flicker of hope. Despite every warning my mind gives me, my heart takes one fragile step closer to him.
No. I need distance. I need time alone to untangle sympathy from trust and understanding from forgiveness before I allow either to become something more.
“I am a little tired,” I say quietly. “I think I’d like to go back.”
Shaurya studies me for a moment, clearly recognising my need to retreat. Thankfully, he doesn’t press.
“All right.” He rises and gathers the shopping bags. “Come. Let me take you home.”
“Yes,” I murmur as I stand. “Let’s go home.”
As I settle into the car, my hand drifts to my stomach. Our baby may have brought Shaurya back into my life, but the terrifying truth is that my heart is beginning to ask him to stay.