♛ The Mafia King & The Royal Princess ♛
"You are always being so optimistic, bright and cheerful." He says, staring at me intensely with his magical grey eyes.
My heart literally skips a beat with his gaze, and I feel my cheeks getting warm in shyne...
Even though I said I will be updating in June, I wrote this chapter only for you people. I had some difficult situations, hopefully it will get better soon! Thank you all for your love and support! You don't know how much you all make me happy 🫶
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Happy Reading :)
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I feel a little relieved as Vansh carries me to the pool side-yard because if I am honest I can't understand my dancing feet, they are acting like a puzzle right now. But that doesn't mean I am not annoyed at him for spoiling my fun of teasing Angre. He is always a Spoilsport.
Vansh sets me up on the lounge seat and kneels in front of me on the ground causing a flash of a similar night in my baby brain. Though it is different today. Yes.
Vansh is certainly not vulnerable, he is fully himself – His original impenetrable version – The Vansh RaiSinghania, most significant businessman of the country who is also a King in the underworld behind the secret screens.
The King who is now kneeling in front of his queen. My inner-self gushes, making me smile giddily.
Just then I saw what Vansh is doing down there. He is holding one of my bare feet in his hand and examining it under the light. He does the same with my other foot and nods to himself as if satisfied after finding whatever he wants to find there. What is he looking for in my baby feet?
Maybe he found that my feet are dancing today. Yeah! That's why he wanted to see for himself. But only if I stand on them he will know, right?
“Bravo, Riddhima! Even after knowing about your clumsy feet, you have decided to stroll through the ground with them bare.” He states in displeasure.
I let out a giggle, pointing my finger at his face. “You are wrong, Mr. Vansh RaiSinghania. They are called dancing feet, not clumsy.”
He mutters something to himself before nodding his head and proceeding to take some object from the floor next to him – my wedges. When did he get my footwears? Did he have them in his hands all the while?
As he holds my ankle and makes me wear one of the wedges on my foot, I lean back on my palms and tap my fingers on the wooden seat which makes a mild drumming sound. In this angle, his face is looking all the more beautiful. Hmm.
I wonder in which angle he would look less bad? Is that even possible?
“Why did you bring me here without letting me speak a word to them?” I ask in a complaining tone, after deciding it is indeed impossible for him to look bad. Jesus has specially carved him for his favourite child. Yep, that is Me!
