Page 88 of Protect my Heart
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re such a show-off.”
“Only because I know you love it.”
He’s standing in front of me now, too close, too warm, too Aarav. And it hits me again how lucky I am that this is no longer just a six-month contract. That we’re not pretending anymore.
I smile up at him. “You’re going to marry me again?”
“I’m going to marry you properly,” he says. “In front of everyone. So no one—no one—can ever question what we are again.” He slowly presses his lips against mine, kissing me softly, "Not even you." He smiles so gently, my legs almost give up, and all I want to ever do is look at this man smile at me, because of me. I nod, suddenly a little breathless.
“And this time,” he adds, brushing his lips against mine in a soft, reverent kiss, “I’m not letting you go. Ever again.”
As if I would ever want to. I chuckle and let him hold me. I don't know how I will survive the staying away from him part of this wedding. I am already missing him.
CHAPTER 51
AARAV
I adjust the collar of my kurta for the third time, still not happy with how it sits. It’s a deep maroon, embroidered just enough to look celebratory but not flashy. Maa had it custom-made. My palms are a little clammy. Why, though? I’ve already married her. We slept with her cold feet tangled in mine every night. I’ve kissed her senseless and argued over the most stupid things, like toothpaste brands. I’ve even seen her stubborn self cry. But today, my heart’s acting like it’s our first time all over again.
“Are you nervous?” Rudraksh bhai leans against the doorframe, smirking.
“Or just dying to see your wife again?” Samarth adds, fixing his sleeves dramatically like he’s the one getting roka’d.
I roll my eyes, smirking. “Guys, I saw her this morning on video call, for God’s sake.”
Bhai raises a brow. “Yeah? And yet you’ve been fixing your hair like a college boy with a crush for the past ten minutes.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I can’t fight the smile tugging at my lips.
They’re right, though. God, I do feel like a college boy with a crush.
Because when she walks in... I forget how to breathe.
Anika steps into the room in the softest shade of peach. Her dupatta is pinned neatly to one shoulder, the border glittering gently in the evening light. Her hair’s loose but curled at the ends, framing her face like some damn painting. She hasn’t even looked at me yet, and I can feel my pulse skyrocket.
She turns—and smiles.
That smile. Shy, beautiful. She looks like she belongs in a frame, not in this chaotic living room filled with relatives and laughter and the scent of marigolds.
I walk toward her without even realizing my feet are moving. My eyes don't leave her face; she looks around, her cheeks turning red as someone comments that I look like I will eat her, and I might if I am given a chance.
“Are you real?” I whisper as I come to a stop, close to her but not close enough to make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed, because I am too scared of her scolding me later for not maintaining decorum. Although, I know, secretly she loves it.
She rolls her eyes. “Behave, Mr. Groom-To-Be.” There it is. The discipline I was talking about.
“I’m trying,” I say, leaning in slightly, “but you’re making it very hard.”
She tries to glare at me, but her lips curve. Victory.
The scent of mogra clings to her. When she moves to adjust her dupatta, her bangles clink together softly. Someoneclears their throat—probably Maa—and we both straighten up instantly, like teenagers caught sneaking off.
The rituals begin. Aunty applies a red tilak on my forehead, her fingers trembling just slightly as she blesses me. Maa follows, placing her hand over mine and Anika’s as if sealing us together all over again. There's something heavy and comforting in the way their love grounds us.
Badi Maa hands me a gold chain, brushing my hair affectionately as she does it. “To tie around her neck next week,” she says with a wink, and everyone laughs.
Aditi chimes in next. “Finally we get to attend your wedding! Don’t you dare elope again!” Only if it was an elopement. But I don't say anything. Laughter echoes around the room, light and warm, but I’m just staring at Anika. Her eyes meet mine. There’s that look—soft, warm, and certain—that she wants this.
Funny how we were already married. Well, legally divorced, but I don't count it. But somehow, this feels more real. More of us.
