Page 49 of Cherish my Heart
His muscles tense under my touch for a fraction of a second, then relax. We don’t say anything. The tension between us is thick enough to choke on. I can smell his cologne—subtle, dark, warm. Too familiar now. I should step away. But I don’t.
We walk toward the entrance, my hand still resting on his arm. I try to convince myself that it means nothing.
We’ve barely made it inside when a woman, maybe in her early thirties, strides toward us. She’s tall, her hair in soft waves, wearing a green silk gown. She is gorgeous. She throws her arms around Abhimaan without hesitation, hugging him tightly.
I freeze.
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even flinch. His hand rests gently on her back. It’s… natural. Intimate.
I step back, instinctively. My fingers slip from his arm.
But his hand finds mine again. Holds it. Firmly.
The hug ends, and the woman’s eyes shift to me. “Hi,” she greets, smiling warmly. “I’m Ila.”
She looks back at Abhimaan. “His sister.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Sister? He never mentioned —
“You are not my sister, Ila,” Abhimaan says, voice low but unmistakably annoyed.
She gives him a pointed look, her attention returns to me, and her smile does not quite fade. “I hope you two enjoy the gala. And please don’t buy everything, okay?” She says to Abhimaan, then walks away without waiting for a response.
I exhale. A little too loudly. That’s a great start. I’m going to be fine. Totally fine.
I look up at him. He’s already looking at me.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly.
And there he goes again. Making it difficult.
I glance away, pretending to adjust my clutch. “Thanks.”
We start walking again, his hand never leaving mine. And I pray, silently, fervently—Lord, give me the strength to survive this night.
Because if he keeps looking at me like that, I might not make it out of this evening with my sanity intact.
CHAPTER 27
ABHIMAAN
I’m sitting at the bar—well, technically, at the far end of the long mahogany counter where drinks are being poured with silent efficiency—a glass of whiskey resting untouched in front of me. My eyes haven’t left her since she walked in.
Royal blue.
It’s a shade I’d imagined on her once when I came across the dress. I didn’t think she’d wear it.
Didn’t think she’d show up either.
But she did. And now I can’t look away.
Aditi glides through the gala like she belongs here, even if I know she doesn’t think so. Her hair falls in soft waves down her back, her neckline sculpted and elegant, and the slit in her dress is subtle but enough to make my jaw clench when I catch a man doing a double take.
“You could drink that,” Harsh mutters beside me, breaking my focus. He lifts his own drink in mock salute. “Or just keep staring at her like you want to burn a hole through the back of her dress.”
I don’t respond.
He leans forward. “This is painful to watch, you know? For all your icy exterior, you look like a heartbroken college kid.”
