CHAPTER 32
Rani-Sa
MEHER
I wake up to the strange sensation of warmth pressed around me. At first, I think it’s the quilt, too heavy for a summer morning. But when I shift ever so slightly, my cheek brushes against something firm and solid. Not cloth. Not a pillow. Skin.
My eyes flutter open. And there he is.
Raja-sa.
My entire body freezes. His arm is draped lazily across my waist, holding me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His breath is steady, brushing over my temple, and his gaze—oh god—his gaze is already on me.
I shriek. A ridiculous, high-pitched sound escapes me before I can stop it.
His deep laugh rolls out instantly, vibrating through his chest against me. “Good morning, Meher.”
I bury my face in my palms. “Oh my god! You—you were watching me sleep?”
“I was.” His voice is annoyingly calm, as if this is some everyday habit of his. “You frown in your sleep sometimes. I was trying to guess what dream could cause it.”
Mortification sets my whole body on fire. “This is so embarrassing!” I mumble behind my hands, trying to wriggle out from under his arm.
But before I can escape, he pulls me back, flipping our positions so suddenly that I gasp. One moment I’m nearly off the bed, the next, I’m pinned beneath him, his weight caging me in, his hands braced on either side of me.
“You look beautiful, Rani-sa,” he murmurs.
The world stops.
My heart slams against my ribcage, every beat loud and frantic. “Ra—Rani-sa?” I stutter, the word tumbling out clumsy, like it doesn’t belong on my tongue.
“Yes,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious truth. “You may not see it, but for me… you are my queen, Meher.”
His eyes hold mine with such steady conviction that I almost forget to breathe. Then he leans down, slow enough for me to anticipate it but not fast enough for me to prepare, and presses his lips gently against my forehead.
My eyes flutter shut on instinct. Something inside me gives way—like a dam breaking, like a secret blooming in the dark.
He lingers there a moment before pulling back just slightly. His lips curve faintly. “So… Rani-sa.”
My throat is so dry I can barely form words. “Raja-sa…” My whisper sounds more like a plea than anything else.
His gaze flickers to my mouth, and my entire body tenses. He leans closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath.
Panic jolts through me. “Wait—I—I haven’t brushed yet!”
For a second, silence. Then, his laugh. Deep, warm, wicked. His eyes dance with amusement as he whispers, “Do you think I care?” And before I can protest, his lips catch mine.
It’s not urgent, not demanding. Just a brief, sure press that makes my heart stop beating altogether. The kiss is soft, scandalously simple, and yet my whole body feels like it’s burning alive.
When he pulls back, I’m trembling. He doesn’t let me go, though. His lips brush my forehead again, lingering this time, and then he smiles at me like I’ve given him the world.
“Have a good day, Rani-sa,” he murmurs.
And then, just like that, he rises off the bed.
I watch in complete daze as he moves across the room, bare-backed, his muscles shifting as he picks up the crisp white kurta draped on the chair. My breath catches as he slides it over his broad shoulders, the fabric hugging him before falling gracefully down.
I shouldn’t be staring. I know I shouldn’t. But my eyes don’t listen to reason.
As he buttons the kurta, he glances back at me. His smirk tells me I’ve been caught red-handed.
“It seems you’re enjoying the view, Rani-sa.”
My eyes widen. Heat floods my cheeks. “N-no! I wasn’t—I just—”
He laughs, a rich, low sound that makes my stomach flip. “Your reaction is confirming it.”
Mortified, I grab the pillow and hug it tight to my chest as if it can shield me from his teasing.
He doesn’t let me off easy. He comes back to the bed, leaning down close enough that his presence steals all the air from the room. His thumb brushes across my lips with infuriating tenderness, making me forget how to breathe.
“I like this,” he says quietly. His gaze softens in a way I’ve never seen before. “This real, unfiltered version of you. Be that for me, Meher.”
My throat aches with the weight of words I can’t say.
He presses another kiss to my forehead, slower this time, like a promise. “Always.”
And then he leaves me sitting there—like a fool, clutching the pillow, red as a rose, my heart beating so violently that I swear I’ve just run a marathon.