Chapter 88
◆◆◆
It wasn’t until much later that night that Yamini let out a sigh of contentment.
“I’m so happy that the event went well,” she said.
She lay against Bharat’s chest, warm beneath the covers, watching the snow-covered peaks under the moonlight.
“I told you it would,” he said.
Early that morning, when she had been nervous, he had stated in his typical commanding way that the event would go well and she should relax. She had believed him.
One year of being Bharat Jogra’s wife taught her that his assessments would always be right.
She smiled, letting out another happy sigh. Her eyes fell on the wall opposite the bed, where his latest painting of her hung.
In it, she stood in the palace garden, laughing with her camera in one hand and Sheru tucked securely in her other arm. Her hair had slipped loose from its pins, and her face was turned toward something outside the frame.
She hadn’t known Bharat was looking at her from his studio window at that time. That was still his favorite kind. The candid moments where she didn't know he was watching.
She had become a regular visitor to his studio, and he never objected to her sitting there while he painted. Sometimes she posed deliberately, just to make him look at her for longer.
He always let her, even though she didn’t need to pose because he had a photographic memory.
She sighed happily, burrowing deeper against him.
His fingers moved along her shoulder, then paused at the faint scar.
The air shifted slightly then, and she felt the immediate tension in his body.
She lifted her head to see that his jaw had tightened and his golden-brown eyes had gone darker.
She leaned forward and kissed his tightened jaw. “It’s just a small scar,” she murmured.
“It should not be there.”
He said it every time he saw it.
She had stopped arguing and started looking for other ways to get him to stop thinking about it.
“It’s barely visible when I wear clothes,” she reminded.
“That is irrelevant.”
She smiled. “Think of it as a designer tattoo,” she said. “A limited edition. Jogra Maharaja exclusive. Only you get to see it.”
A faint exhale left him. “You do not get to turn gunshot wounds into jokes.”
“I absolutely do,” she said, moving her lips along his jawline.
His breath hitched while his gaze steadied.
“Stop brooding, maharaja,” she said.
“I do not brood.”
“You absolutely brood and look quite sexy when you do.”
Another faint exhale escaped him, almost close enough to be laughter.
Her smile widened, and she kissed him, capturing the laughter she knew was only for her.
She recalled the initial months of their marriage when she had tried to understand him.
She had wondered whether he married her for revenge, obsession, duty, or pride.
Time had finally given her an answer. None of those questions mattered anymore.
Because whatever name the world gave it, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Nobody would ever love her the way Bharat Singh Jogra did.
“I love you,” she murmured against his mouth.
She said those words quite often. But each time, she felt a faint tremor run through him, and his breath hitched.
His fingers moved gently through her hair, and then there was a slight tug to deepen the kiss. It was slow, deep, and unrushed.
When she pulled back, their breaths were faster.
“I love you too,” he said.
He always said it that way, as though the feeling had been carried so long that the words felt almost unnecessary.
She studied him for a moment, her heart feeling full.
“In a few more months,” she said, “I'm going to be too big to lie on top of you.”
His hand moved and settled against her stomach, stroking it gently. Her stomach was still flat, but she was carrying their child inside.
She was two months pregnant.
A few weeks after she was shot, Bharat had come to her studio one evening. She had been sorting through photographs for her new exhibition when he walked in and stood in front of her.
“I underwent a minor surgery this morning. It was to reverse a decision I made eleven years ago.”
She had been shocked then.
“Are you sure?” she had asked.
He had held her gaze and replied. “Yes.”
She had known, even as she asked it, that it was an unnecessary question. Bharat Singh Jogra did not do anything he was unsure of.
And now, they were expecting a child in seven months.
They had told only their immediate family. The public announcement would be made much later, when her pregnancy would become too obvious to hide.
She recalled everyone’s reactions with a smile.
Her mother had cried with happiness, Pooja had screamed with excitement, Rani Suchitra had hugged her warmly, and Sanjana had been thrilled that their children would be close in age. Her brother and father were happy too. And Ram, Samar, and Viraj had congratulated her with their rare smiles.
“Rani Ma wants a granddaughter,” she said with a smile. “Since there are no girls in the family.”
His fingers continued to stroke her stomach.
“What do you want?” he asked, watching her smile.
“I don’t mind anything as long as our child has your eyes,” she said.
“And if our child is like me in other ways?” he asked.
There were no shadows in his eyes when he asked that question.
Six months ago, he wouldn't have asked it that way. The question would have been a warning, not a simple question.
“Then I won’t be able to answer our child’s complicated questions, which would probably need charts and equations. That’ll be your job. But I’ll already know how to love him or her.”
His golden-brown eyes softened at her words.
“And what if our child is like me?” she asked. “We are going to have to make the entire palace childproof. Although… door and walls have never stopped me.”
His mouth twitched again with a smile. “The staff will be busy for quite some time then.”
They definitely would be busy for years, since they would be chasing after a tiny terror who would climb walls and jump into muddy fountains.
She laughed.
His gaze settled on her face. The amusement in his eyes was turning into something deeper.
One hand lifted and cupped her cheek.
She leaned into the touch instinctively.
He kissed her, slowly and deeply.
Outside, snow covered the mountains in silver.
Inside, warmth surrounded her.
The man she loved. The child they had created together. The future she once thought she
would never have.
She was home. Fully loved. Fully chosen. And fully claimed by her maharaja.