Page 43 of Protect my Heart
"Alright, Aditi, what did you bring us?" I ask, my voice way too high-pitched.
I don’t even care about the gifts right now. I just need a distraction. Anything to stop thinking about how it felt to be that close to Aarav. How badly I wanted him to close that last inch between us. How scary and thrilling it was all at once.
He may not be upset with me anymore. But I still need to be careful. Because whatever this is between us, it’s still only supposed to last six months.
And I can’t afford to let my heart forget that.
CHAPTER 26
AARAV
Anika gasps, her voice a whisper, "Is that my photo?" I frown, confused by her sudden outburst.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, my eyebrows pulling together. I swear I didn’t do anything to piss her off this time. I was just sitting next to her, minding my own business.
She jabs a finger toward my phone. "Your wallpaper... is that my photo?" I blink, thrown off, and glance down at my phone. And then it hits me. Oh.
There, right on my lock screen, is a picture of her—sitting cross-legged on the floor, her black wavy hair falling wild around her laughing face. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are sparkling with so much life that just looking at them squeezes something tight in my chest. I remember taking that photo two weeks ago, when she was at her house, massaging Aunty's legs, completely unaware of me standing there. She looked so damn happy, so carefree... until she noticed me. Then everything shifted—her smile dimmed, and her shoulders stiffened. I hated it. It's better now, though. She actually smiles at me sometimes when we catch each other's eye. But it's not enough. Not even close. I want all of it—her smiles, her laughter, her happiness—all directed at me.
I glance up at her nervously, half-expecting her to lose it on me. Instead, she just looks... surprised. Curious, even. "Yeah," I admit quietly, my voice rougher than I intend. "It is."
"Why?" she asks, like she genuinely can’t wrap her head around it.
I swallow, my throat dry. "Because I like it. You look beautiful in it."
Anika's eyes widen. Her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. A faint blush creeps up her cheeks, and despite everything, a tiny, stunned smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips in response.
"But... but why is it your wallpaper?" She whispers, her voice shaky, like she's trying really hard to stay composed and failing miserably.
I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head; see how much she's fighting the effect my words have on her. God, I love it—watching her wrestle with herself like this. It's so raw, so real, so endearing.
She suddenly stands up, pointing a finger at me like she’s trying to scold me. "You can’t use my photo without my permission!" she exclaims, her tone high-pitched and almost desperate.
I rise to my feet too, closing the gap between us, looking straight into her eyes. Her anger is adorable, but it doesn’t scare me. If anything, it pulls me closer.
"I don’t need your permission to look at something that’s beautiful," I murmur, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "And you, Anika, are beautiful."
I place my hand on her waist, giving her a second to push me away—but she doesn't. Instead, her breath catches in her throat, her whole body going still under my touch. I pull her closer, so close that I can feel the warmth of her skin through her clothes and hear the slight hitch in her breathing. "And besides," I tilt her chin up, my voice dropping lower as I lean in, "you’re my wife, Anika. I don't exactly need permission to admire my own wife, do I?"
I whisper the last part right against her ear, and she shivers, her body betraying her even if her mind is still trying to fight it. She leans into me without even realizing it, drawn like a magnet.
I chuckle softly under my breath, tightening my hold on her waist just a little. She's struggling, trying to resist, but it’s getting harder for her to keep up the act. Her heart’s racing, her breathing is all over the place, and it’s making me feel things I can't even begin to put into words.
"Stop it!" she suddenly yells, shoving at my chest, her face burning red. But her push is weak, half-hearted.
I lean in a little more, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I murmur, "You look beautiful when you're angry."
Then, reluctantly, I let her go, stepping back even though every damn part of me is screaming to stay pressed against her.
For a second, she just stands there, dazed and blinking like she doesn’t even know what just happened. When she realizes I’ve stepped away, her face falls—just a tiny bit—before she catches herself, masking the disappointment clumsily.
She jabs her finger against my chest, glaring at me like she’s still trying to act tough. "You!" she says, huffing. "You think I’m beautiful when I’m angry, right?"
I smirk, enjoying every second of this. She's scrambling, fishing for a comeback, her mouth opening and closing like she’s rebooting.
Before I can respond, she crosses her arms dramatically and huffs, "Fine! Then prepare yourself, because I’m about to unleash a whole new level of angry-beautiful on you!"
I chuckle, the sound low and warm, as I watch her puff up like an indignant kitten. God, she’s ridiculously adorable.
