BOOK ONE OF THE SWEET AND SOUR SERIES
Vanya Sharma hated marriages. Growing up seeing troubled and failed marriages carved a bitter spot in her heart, especially when one of them belonged to her parents. While escaping the shadows of her past, she f...
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༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆ
𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐛𝐨
कैसी हुज़ूरी जी ये लब दिखलाए? चुप्पी लगा के भी ग़ज़ब है ये ढाए
📓
𝗠𝗔𝗛𝗜𝗥
08:08 pm, Saturday, 26 April, Oberoi Mansion, LBZ, Delhi
It's been a week. One goddamn week.
Seven days of Vanya avoiding me like I'm the bubonic plague. Like I'm carrying some highly contagious, incurable disease that could wipe out all of humanity. What the hell did I do?
My eyes narrow as I watch the door to the living room, half-expecting her to dash past again like she's training for the Olympics. She's perfected the art of vanishing the moment I enter a room. I swear she's got some sort of sixth sense. Or she's hired a spy. I wouldn't put it past her. She is weirdly resourceful.
My mind replays the last time I actually spoke to her-no, wait, the last time I actually touched her. Kissed her, to be precise. I still remember the way her body molded against mine, the way her lips were so soft, warm... so perfect. Uff. A shiver runs down my spine, and I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory before I get lost in it again.
But then, she bolted. The elevator doors opened, and she was gone, not even looking back once. I didn't even get the chance to ask if she-if she... liked it?
A fresh wave of panic washes over me, and I feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead. What if she didn't like it?What if she was disgusted?Oh god, what if I was terrible at it? Maybe I was too rough? Too eager? Not eager enough? Shit.
I replay the kiss over and over again in my head, analyzing every single second, every movement, every breath. Did I hold her too tight? Did I go in too fast? Was my breath okay? Did I- Oh god, what if I was sloppy?
The thought alone makes me want to dig a hole and bury myself alive. No wonder she's been running away. I kissed her badly.
I groan, my head falling back against the couch, my eyes closing in despair. This is a disaster. My first real kiss with my fake wife, and I botched it so badly she's developed ninja-level evasive maneuvers just to avoid me.
A loud snort interrupts my spiraling thoughts, and I snap my head to the side, scowling as I find Moksh glued to his phone, laughing at some Instagram reel. Useless Bastard.
If it weren't for his call that day in the elevator, I would have caught her before she ran off. But no, his annoying ringtone had to ruin everything. I almost toss a cushion at his head but decide against it, reminding myself that murder is not bailable with lots of witnesses.
