Page 33 of Protect my Heart
"I'm good, beta. Thank you for coming," she smiles, a genuine warmth in her voice. I nod, glancing at Anika from the corner of my eye. She’s looking anywhere but at me. Cute.
"I'll leave you two alone," Aunty announces, giving me a knowing smile.
"There’s no need, Mumma," Anika says quickly, grabbing her mother's arm in a desperate attempt to keep her from leaving.
Aunty just raises an eyebrow. "I wasn’t asking you," she says pointedly, prying her hand free and walking off.
Anika looks like she’s been betrayed. I smirk, watching her with amusement. "So... scared to be alone with me?" I say, stepping closer, dropping my voice just enough to make her squirm. "Miss Toofan," I add again, enjoying the way her jaw clenches.
"You're insufferable," she mutters, crossing her arms again like a shield.
"And you're beautiful," the words slip out before I can stop them.
She freezes, blinking at me like she’s not sure she heard me right. Then she shakes her head and looks down at herself, probably thinking I’m teasing her. "Stop messing with me," she says, cheeks still red.
I shrug casually, not bothering to correct her. If she only knew how serious I was.
"Now that you’ve met Mumma, you can leave," she says, gesturing toward the door.
Instead of listening, I take another step toward her. She’s so close now that I can smell the faint scent of her shampoo—something fruity and sweet, like peaches.
I reach up and tuck a strand of messy hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger just a second too long. Her breath catches, and I smirk to myself.
"Looks like you’re still half asleep, Anika," I whisper near her ear, loving the way she stiffens. "I wasn’t here to meet your mom. I’m here for you."
Her eyes widen, but I don't give her time to react. I straighten and step back, slipping my hands into my pockets. "Remember you agreed to serve me for a week?" I ask, tilting my head slightly.
She groans dramatically, but I notice the hint of disappointment. "First, stop calling me Miss Toofan. Second, I remember. What do you want, Swami?" she says with heavy sarcasm.
I chuckle, loving how she can never back down from a fight.
"Such a smart mouth," I say, shaking my head in mock disappointment. "Wait here."
Before she can argue, I turn on my heel and walk out the door, signaling to my driver, who’s been waiting by the car.
Of course, I hear her scrambling after me, whisper-yelling, "What’s going on? What’s that?"
I smile to myself. Always so curious. The driver carefully lifts a large canvas and a bundle of art supplies, walking toward the house.
Anika’s brows furrow. "A... canvas?" she guesses, peeking around me.
I nod, not offering anything more.
"Why?" she asks, voice suddenly small, uncertain.
Because you once wanted to be a painter, I think. Because even at ten years old, your art could move people. Because Maa loved your drawings, and she has the best eye for art amongst everyone I know. Because life got in the way, but that doesn’tmean your dreams have to stay buried. Because you deserve to shine. But I don't say any of that out loud.
"You don’t get to ask questions," I say instead, lifting her chin gently with my finger so she has to look at me.
"My personal toofan," I add, smirking when she huffs in frustration.
I glance over to see the driver setting the supplies carefully in her room. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and pluck the clip from her hair, letting the silky strands fall over her shoulders.
She gasps, her hands flying to her head, but it’s too late. I grin shamelessly.
"Make me a painting, Anika," I murmur, close enough that she can probably feel the heat of my words against her skin.
Her cheeks turn a deep red. She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a look that brooks no argument.
