Vika Oneshots

Twenty Three

The plan was always simple.

Find a girl to sign the contract. Stay married for a year. Then part ways.

Simple and easy right? Doable right?

It was never part of his plan to stumble upon his soulmate by accident. To fall so deeply in love with the woman he had only intended to spend a year with. It was never part of his plan to feel so attached to his contract wife that the thought of life without her was enough to make his chest tighten in panic. And it certainly wasn't part of his plan to be lying here at 6 a.m., pretending to be asleep while secretly—and shamelessly—staring at her as she stood in nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body, fresh out of the shower.

Vijay felt ashamed. This was not what his grandparents raised him to be. He grew up rich and spoiled, yes, but they had always taught him to stay grounded, to never exploit weaker people, to always respect others, especially women. He wasn't supposed to be... well, this. A peeping idiot.

But then again, Kaveri wasn't exactly weaker than him, was she? Her occasional slaps on his arm were always solid enough to sting.

Besides, was it really taking advantage if the woman he was currently ogling was his wife? Legally and religiously. They got married in a temple! That counted for something, right?

Vijay sighed internally. Okay, maybe it was a gray area. But if staring at her like this was his one-way ticket to hell, he was already packing his bags. He knew he should look away, should respect her privacy while she believed he was still asleep, but... he couldn't. He physically couldn't. His body refused to cooperate with his guilt-riddled conscience. Every fiber of him was frozen, eyes locked on her, pulse racing like he'd just run a marathon.

Kaveri, completely unaware of the hurricane of emotions raging inside him, stood in front of the mirror, humming softly as she fiddled with the hair dryer cord. Vijay's eyes tracked the way her hair—still damp from the shower—clung to her back, water droplets trailing down the curve of her spine and disappearing into the towel. His fingers itched to follow that path, to trace the lines of her body, but he squeezed them into fists, forcing himself to stay still.

Her skin, that perfect caramel shade, had somehow become his favorite. Whether it always had been or whether it was because it was her color, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that every inch of her glowed, and his mind was drifting to places he definitely shouldn't go.

Seven.

He had counted seven moles scattered across her shoulder and collarbone, tiny dots that he now felt irrationally possessive over, like they were secret treasures only he had discovered. One was darker than the others, more noticeable, and his heart gave a weird little skip at the sight of it.

There had to be more of them, right? Hidden beneath the towel, waiting to be caressed, kissed and worshiped. He shouldn't be imagining this. But he was, and that was the problem.

He was a wreck.

This was madness. They were married! Technically.

But here he was, staring at her like a teenager seeing a woman's body for the first time, his heart thundering in his chest and his breath coming in shallow gasps. He felt like some kind of perverted fool. Shouldn't this be easier? Shouldn't he be more composed? For God's sake, he owned a million-dollar company, and yet here he was, on the verge of hyperventilating because his contract wife was in a towel.

But no matter how much his brain yelled at him to have some decency, his eyes refused to cooperate. Instead, they were glued to her like some lovesick puppy.

Kaveri, still oblivious, shifted slightly, causing the towel to slip just a fraction. The barest hint of her back was revealed, and Vijay almost choked on his own breath. The lump in his throat grew to the size of a cricket ball, and he had to physically bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. He closed his eyes for a brief second, muttering every curse word he knew under his breath.