CHAPTER 16
Morning painted the snow-capped mountains in shades of rose and gold, but she wasn’t able to appreciate the beauty. She felt too agitated.
And the reason for her agitation was already seated at the long dining table. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, which made his golden tanned skin glow in the soft morning light. He looked like a cover model on a luxury magazine.
Yamini went closer and dragged the heavy dining chair back with deliberate force.
The sound scraped sharply against the polished stone floor, loud enough to echo through the large breakfast hall. It was childish. She knew it, but she didn’t care.
Bharat didn’t look up.
Yamini dropped into the chair opposite him and immediately grimaced because of the throbbing ache that persisted between her legs.
She clenched her teeth and forced herself to sit still, refusing to let him notice her discomfort.
Not that he would care.
His breakfast, arranged with near-military precision, consisted of steaming pink-hued tea, two thinly sliced pieces of bread, a thick slice of meat, a small bowl of curd, and almonds laid in a neat row.
He was cutting the meat into even bite-size pieces, his long fingers flexing around the knife handle.
Yamini's cheeks burned as she remembered those same fingers stroking under her kneecaps last night in gentle circular motions that contradicted the brutal snap of his hips.
The memory made her shift in her seat, the silk of her panties rasping against oversensitive skin where his stubbled jaw had scraped between her legs. She pressed her thighs together surreptitiously, the motion pulling at tender muscles.
Ugh. Stop thinking about last night!
She reached for her teacup, where the palace staff had just poured kahwa, an aromatic spiced green tea.
Taking a long sip, she allowed the warmth to settle in her fluttering stomach.
Although she wasn’t too hungry, she began eating just to keep her mind and hands occupied. She took a bite of the flaky paratha, then reached for the honey, drizzling more than needed.
“You’re not following protocol,” he said, without looking at her.
Yamini froze mid-bite.
“Excuse me?” she said, swallowing. She looked at her honey-smeared plate and then at his neatly arranged one.
For a moment, she thought he was controlling how she ate.
“The security detail has reported multiple deviations,” Bharat continued. “You’ve been walking through narrow lanes where vehicles can’t access. You’ve dismissed the primary escort.”
She frowned. “I haven’t dismissed anyone.”
“You’ve instructed them to stay back,” he corrected. “And then went on foot.”
“So?” she asked. “I wasn’t alone. My friend Pooja was with me.”
“That isn’t enough,” he replied.
That made her snap, and she sprang up in outrage. “You don’t get to control me. I agreed to a contract marriage, not being trapped in a golden cage.”
He finally looked up then, his golden-brown eyes brighter in the sunlight.
“Sit down, Yamini,” he said.
His voice hadn’t risen. There was no fury, but the command was absolute.
Her legs moved automatically, obeying him before her mind caught up, just like her body did when he said ‘again’ during the nights.
Her cheeks burned at the memory.
She wanted to remain standing, but the palace staff standing discreetly at a distance froze in place, and everyone seemed to hold their breath, bracing to witness a confrontation.
Yamini sat down slowly, gritting her teeth.
“Any other commands, Maharaja?” she hissed, her voice dripping with anger as she watched him.
His gaze swept over her angry face and then lingered on her mouth, where she realized honey stuck to the corner of her lip.
Her cheeks heated, and she dabbed the napkin to her mouth furiously.
“The places you are visiting are not secure,” he said.
“They are secure for me,” she shot back. “As a photographer, I have navigated several cities without armed security tagging me along.”
“You’re not just a photographer anymore,” he said. “You’re my wife.”
The words made her stomach flutter. She ignored that.
She clenched her jaw.
“So, your wife is not allowed to open a photo studio? It’s something I’ve always wanted. I’m not going to just give up on my dream for some misguided sense of—”
“There’s a commercial property in North Dalview,” he said, as if she wasn’t getting worked up and in mid-rant. “It belongs to the Jogra estate.”
Yamini blinked. “What?”
He continued, unperturbed. “It’s on the top floor.”
“I don’t want your charity,” she said.
“It’s east-facing.”
“I said I don’t want your charity!” she repeated.
“The light enters between eight and eleven in the morning,” he went on. “Consistent, diffused. Ideal for portrait work.”
She stared at him.
“The ceilings are higher than standard commercial builds,” he added. “That reduces heat retention. The windows are reinforced but clear with no distortion. There is 24/7 power backup to the entire building.”
Her anger faltered.
“You’d have enough space for a primary shooting floor and a smaller editing room,” he said. “Sound insulation is adequate, but additional panels would help if you plan to do video.”
Yamini’s mouth parted slightly before she caught herself.
How did he know so much about photography?
“I reviewed your award submissions,” Bharat continued. “Your preferred focal lengths suggest you need depth. That property provides it.”
She felt suddenly off-balance, like the ground had shifted without warning.
“You… looked at my work?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She was speechless.
“There’s also an option,” he added, already moving on, “to set up a secondary studio here.”
Her breath hitched. “Here?”
“In the palace,” he clarified. “The west wing. Third corridor.”
Yamini shook her head. “That’s not needed.”
“That wing receives indirect mountain light in the late afternoon,” he said. “Golden hour lasts longer there due to the valley angle.”
Her heart raced, knowing how ideal that would be to work in.
“And the view,” he continued, “is unobstructed. It would be valuable for natural-light projects.”
She could already imagine how beautiful the view would be.
But she didn’t trust him.
“Why?” she demanded. “Why are you helping me?”
He paused just a fraction of a second.
“Because you need to work,” he replied.
The simplicity of the answer threw her more than anger would have.
She straightened her back. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to owe you.”
“You don’t,” he replied. “This isn’t a favor. It’s efficient.”
So it’s efficiency rather than him being considerate.
She exhaled sharply. “Does everything in life have to be efficient?”
“It keeps things functional,” he said.
What about feelings?
She bit her tongue before she could utter those words.
Their contract marriage wasn’t about feelings. He had made it clear.
Before she could respond, he rose smoothly from his chair. He slipped on his suit jacket, and it fell into place without a single wrinkle. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his fingers as he adjusted his gold cufflinks, flipping them with practiced flicks of his thumbs.
Her cheeks burned at the way his thumb stroked the cufflink in a smooth motion.
“An agent will contact you today,” he said. “She’ll show you the Dalview property.”
Her head jerked up. “I haven’t agreed,” she said.
“You haven’t refused,” he countered.
Then he nodded once, appearing formal and distant rather than like a newlywed husband.
“I’ll see you at midnight,” he said before walking away.
The security fell into formation as soon as he stepped out of the door. And then, he was gone.
The room felt larger and strangely colder.
Yamini sat there, staring at the half-eaten breakfast.
She didn’t know whether she wanted to be pissed at him or thank him.
He was infuriating. Controlling. Cold.
And yet, he had seen her work and understood her needs.
Her fingers tightened around her teacup.
She was married to a man who touched her only at night, spoke to her only in facts, and somehow knew exactly what kind of light she needed to create her work.
Bharat Jogra unsettled her.
She still didn’t know whether he wanted to help or destroy her.