Too old.
Too tall.
Too rich.
Too out of my league.
That's Aryan Arora, the billionaire CEO for me. But apparently, he is the perfect marriage material guy according to the world's pushiest parents of mine.
Getting married was neve...
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As my senses gradually tuned into the world around me, I squinted my eyes closed at the morning light flittering through the transparent ivory curtains. With a soft sigh, I reached out for the presence of Aryan beside me, only to be met with cold sheets.
A cuddle pillow, that I didn't remember placing beside me, was tucked between my legs and stomach. Blinking away the remnants of slumber, I sat up, scanning the dimly lit room. There wasn't any sound from the bathroom either. Usually, whenever I woke up, he was always there on the bed with me or in the shower. But silence greeted me this morning, broken only by the gentle hum of the morning breeze wafting through the corner open window.
The comforter slipped from my shoulders, and when I glanced down at what I was wearing, the events of last night came crashing into my mind, as I felt blush creeping up my cheeks.
I grinned contently, bringing the collar of my Roommate's- No, my Husband's- shirt closer to my nose to sniff at it like the weirdo I was, because it carried that intoxicating musky scent of him. He had made me wear it after our shower last night, saying that I looked cute in it.
Cue an eye roll.
It was painfully cheesy yet thousands of traitorous butterflies took flight in my stomach when he had said that.
I blindly searched for my phone on the nightstand beside the bed. A frown crossed my lips when I didn't find any message from him about his sudden disappearance. When I called him, his phone was ringing on the side-table beside the bed.
Where did he go without taking his phone with him?
Shrugging, I went to the bathroom to complete my morning routine, thinking he must be somewhere around the house.
When I entered the room next, Aryan was already settled on the bed. An expression of focus guarded his handsome face as he typed something on his phone, his thumbs moving in fluid precision across the screen.
Are we supposed to have such sweet eye-snacks so early in the morning?
The soft fabric of his charcoal grey sweatpants clung to his legs snugly, and suddenly I felt jealous of the wretched piece of clothing.
These are not the thoughts of a sane, normal human, are they?
I shook my head, in an attempt to clear these idiotic nonsense ideas from my mind.
The sound of my distinct steps must have been noticed by him, as he looked up at me and a dimpled grin itched his lips instantly.
Immediately tossing his phone somewhere on the bed, he got up, made his way to me, and engulfed me in his arms.
My voice was muffled in his chest when I asked grumpily, "Where were you?"
"No good morning?"
"No. Only good husbands who don't leave their wives in bed get a good morning."
