Chapter 41 Diamonds and kisses
Diamonds and kisses
DHRUV
She’s ready. I notice the second I look up from adjusting my cufflinks. There’s a shift in the room. A subtle one, like the air itself pauses. Sitara stands near the mirror, her back to me.
The gown fits her better than she thinks it does.
It always does. She has a way of filling space that makes fabric look like it was waiting for her, not the other way around.
The color is soft, not loud, but the green catches light when she moves, and right now she’s standing very still, fingers nervously twisting together at her waist.
I don’t say anything. I just watch because I am too speechless to say anything at all.
She lifts her chin slightly, studying herself with an expression that’s halfway between doubt and determination. There’s a small crease between her brows that appears when she’s thinking too hard, and I have the irrational urge to smooth it away with my thumb.
“You’re staring,” she says, looking at me through the mirror.
I smile despite myself. “I’m allowed to. You’re my wife.”
She huffs. “That’s not a license.”
“Feels like one,” I reply lightly, stepping closer.
She turns then, slowly, and the look on her face—soft, guarded, a little unsure—lands somewhere deep in my chest. I’ve seen her brave. I’ve seen her broken. This version of her, dressed for the world while still feeling like she’s learning how to exist in it, might be the most dangerous one yet.
“You look…” I begin, then stop.
She tenses immediately. “What?”
I shake my head, reaching for the small velvet box resting on the table behind me. “Come here.”
Her eyes flick to the box, curiosity overpowering caution. “Dhruv—”
“Just come here,” I say, gentler this time.
She obeys. I open the box slowly, watching her reaction more than the jewelry itself. The diamonds catch the light—not loud, not excessive. Something meant to sit against skin, not scream for attention.
Her breath catches. Just once. “This is too much,” she says quietly.
I step closer, lifting the necklace. “It’s not.”
She starts to argue, then stops when I move behind her. My fingers brush her shoulder as I sweep her hair aside, and I feel the way her body reacts before her mind catches up—a small inhale, a slight stillness.
I fasten the necklace carefully, deliberately. My knuckles graze the nape of her neck, warm, exposed. I lean in without thinking, not to provoke or tease—just because it feels natural. My lips press there softly.
She stiffens.
Then she turns suddenly, pushing at my chest, not hard enough to mean stop—just enough to create space. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide.
“Dhruv,” she scolds, flustered. “You can’t just—”
I raise a brow. “Just what?”
She glares at me. “Do that.”
“Put a necklace on you?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “You’re shy.”
“I am not!” she snaps.
The denial is so quick, so indignant, it almost makes me laugh.
“Oh?” I challenge, folding my arms. “Then why are you blushing?”
She opens her mouth to retort—and instead, she steps closer, her eyes narrowing. I see the boldness flare in her eyes. Before I can register what’s happening, she rises onto her toes and kisses me.
And this time it’s not just a brush of lips. It’s a kiss.
Her lips are warm, uncertain but determined, and the shock of it sends a jolt straight through me. I freeze for half a second—just long enough for her to pull back, as if suddenly aware of what she’s done.
My hand comes up instinctively, cupping her jaw, stopping her retreat.
“You don’t get to start something like that and walk away,” I murmur.
Her breath stutters. “I wasn’t—”
I don’t let her finish. I kiss her back.
This time there’s no hesitation. I pull her closer, my other hand settling at her waist, grounding her, grounding myself. Her fingers curl into my jacket, unsure at first, then gripping like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
The kiss deepens—not rushed, not desperate—but full. Intentional. Her lips soften against mine, responding instead of resisting, and I feel the exact moment she stops thinking and starts feeling.
When we finally part, it’s slow, almost reluctant. Her forehead rests against my chest, breath uneven. I smile, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “Still not shy?”
She exhales, then mutters, “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” I say quietly. “But I got to kiss you, so I am also very happy.”
She looks up, eyes bright, a little dazed. “You deserved it.”
That—that right there—does something irreversible to me. I lean in once more, pressing a kiss to her temple this time, steadying us both because I don’t want to start something she doesn’t want or isn’t ready for.
“Come on,” I murmur. “We’ll be late.”
She nods, slipping her hand into mine. God, I don’t think I can keep my hands to myself anymore, but I will as long as necessary. But it doesn’t make it easier.