Chapter 23
Vikram moved through the now-brightening corridors of Khanna Sadan.
Three weeks to make Divya believe she deserved to be loved. And it started now. With small things. Consistent things.
He caught Lakshmi in the hallway, her arms full of fresh towels.
"Don't disturb us for breakfast," he said quietly. "Tell Mom I arrived late. That Divya also slept late."
Lakshmi nodded, her expression carefully neutral. Twenty years managing the Khanna household had taught her when to ask questions and when to simply comply.
Vikram paused outside his bedroom door, hand resting on the handle. Behind this door was Divya, asleep, unaware that everything had changed.
He pushed it open silently.
She was exactly as he'd left her, curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Something warm expanded in his chest.
He moved to the bathroom, changed quickly into a t-shirt and track pants. Returning, he stood beside the bed for a moment, knowing he should take the couch, maintain their careful boundaries.
He was done with boundaries.
He slid into bed beside her.
The mattress dipped with his weight. He settled onto his back, hyperaware of the space separating them.
The sheets smelled like her, something clean and warm with a hint of jasmine.
His body hummed with exhaustion and energy in equal measure.
Three hours of sleep in twenty-four hours, but his mind was wide awake, already anticipating her reaction when she woke.
She shifted in her sleep.
Just a small movement, her body turning toward the new warmth in the bed. Her hand slid across the mattress, fingers brushing his arm. Then, still deep in sleep, she moved closer.
Vikram held perfectly still.
Divya nestled against his side, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder as if it belonged there. Her hand came to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. Her leg curved over his, ankle hooking behind his calf.
Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arm around her, palm settling between her shoulder blades. She made a small sound, half sigh, half hum, and burrowed closer, her face pressing into his neck.
Her breath warmed his skin. Soft. Even. Trusting.
This. This was what he'd been denying himself for weeks. This closeness. This rightness. This perfect sense of her body recognizing his even in sleep.
When she woke wrapped around him, she'd be mortified. Would stammer and flush and try to retreat behind professionalism.
And he'd have his story ready.
A story technically true, if creatively edited.
His lips curved at the thought of her reaction. How she'd deny his words. How she'd try to logic her way out of what her sleeping self had done.
But for now, in the quiet intimacy of this moment, he simply held her.
She muttered something unintelligible and her grip on his t-shirt tightened, fingers clutching the fabric as if afraid he might disappear.
"I've got you," he whispered, too quiet to wake her. A promise she couldn't hear but he needed to make. "I'm not letting go."
Outside, the sky shifted from black to navy. Vikram's eyes grew heavy. The adrenaline from his conversation with Raghav finally ebbing.
His last conscious thought was simple, certain: She's staying right here.
Then sleep claimed him, arms wrapped securely around his wife for the first time in their marriage.
◆◆◆
Warmth. That registered first. A solid, radiating heat along her entire right side that felt nothing like her usual solitary sprawl.
Divya's consciousness surfaced slowly. Something felt different. Not wrong, but unfamiliar.
The second thing she noticed was the scent. Sandalwood and something warmer, more intimate.
The third thing was the steady rhythm beneath her cheek. A heartbeat. Not hers.
Her eyes snapped open.
The world came into focus gradually without her glasses. But she didn't need clear vision to understand what she was pressed against.
Vikram's chest. She was face-first against Vikram's chest, her cheek resting directly over his heart. Her hand was splayed across his ribs, fingers curled into his t-shirt. Her leg was tangled with his, knee hitched over his thigh.
She was wrapped around him like a vine.
Horror flooded through her.
She sat up. Fast. Too fast.
The sudden movement threw off her balance. She was tilting backward, arms windmilling, a small sound of alarm escaping her throat.
A hand shot out, fingers closing around her wrist. Another caught her waist. The world stabilized as Vikram pulled her back, his reflexes sharp despite having just woken.
"Careful," he said, voice rough with sleep.
She looked at him and found him watching her with eyes far too alert for someone who'd just been startled awake. His mouth curved with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Morning," he said, the single word loaded with meaning.
"I... you... what are you..." The words tangled on her tongue.
He stretched languidly, the movement drawing her attention to the way his t-shirt pulled across his shoulders. Then he settled back against the pillows, hands behind his head.
"Interesting wake-up call," he said, eyes glinting.
"Why are you in the bed?" The question came out higher than intended.
"Because you pulled me here." He said it so matter-of-factly, so absolutely certain, that for a moment she believed him. "When I came back at five."
Her mouth opened. Closed. "I what?"
"I found you asleep at your desk. Carried you to bed." He gestured lazily at the desk behind them, still covered in her scattered notes. "You grabbed my arm as I was leaving. Wouldn't let go."
"I didn't..."
"You did. Very insistent about it too." His expression turned even more satisfied. "Said you couldn't live without me."
The blood drained from her face, then rushed back twice as hot. "That's not... I wouldn't..."
"You were half asleep. Very sweet about it." He examined his fingernails with exaggerated casualness. "Who am I to argue with my wife?"
"I was sleeping! I don't remember..."
"Obviously. You were unconscious." He tilted his head, studying her. "Must have been quite the dream."
She squinted at him, the world still blurred. Something in his expression, the barely suppressed satisfaction, the way his eyes danced with mischief, made her suspicious.
"I don't believe you."
"That's hurtful, Mrs. Khanna." He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Are you calling me a liar?"
Mrs. Khanna.
The name hit differently than it had before. More intimate when it rolled out of his tongue. Claiming. Like he was reminding her, and himself, exactly what she was to him.
Her breath caught.
"I'm saying I don't remember doing that," she managed.
"Well, you were asleep." He paused, then added with perfect innocence: "So what were you dreaming about? Must have been good if you didn't want me to leave."
Her face burned. "I wasn't... it wasn't..."
"Were you dreaming about me?"
"I need my glasses." She gestured frantically toward the nightstand.
"They're right there." He nodded toward them but made no move to help.
She leaned across him to reach them, realized too late how close that brought her, and froze. He was watching her, not moving, just letting her hover there in the awkward space between them.
"Need help?" he offered.
"No." She snatched the glasses and shoved them onto her face.
The world snapped into sharp focus. Vikram's face came clear, the slight shadow of morning stubble, the warmth in his dark eyes, the curve of his mouth that held both mischief and something softer.
"Better?" he said softly.
She nodded mutely.
"So." He shifted slightly. "About what you said. Want to elaborate?"
"I wasn't dreaming," she managed, voice strangled.
"Pity. I was hoping for details."
The embarrassment was too much. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it at his face, then fled.
The bathroom door closed behind her with more force than necessary. She leaned against it, eyes squeezed shut, willing her heart rate to return to normal.
She'd woken up wrapped around Vikram Khanna. Face pressed into his neck. Hand clutching his shirt. Leg tangled with his. And apparently she'd pulled him into bed. Told him she couldn't live without him.
And he'd called her Mrs. Khanna. Like it meant something.
She groaned, pressing her palms against her cheeks.
On the other side of that door, Vikram lay back against the pillows. The pillow she'd thrown lay beside him, still carrying her warmth.
Four weeks of rigid boundaries. Four weeks of careful distance. Four weeks of sleeping separately despite sharing a room.
Done. All of it, completely done.
She'd felt right against him. Better than he'd imagined during those long nights on the couch.
His mouth curved. The couch could collect dust from now on. He wasn't spending another night on it. His wife, even if she didn't fully accept the title yet, was going to sleep exactly where she'd woken up this morning.
In his arms.