Betrothed

21 \ smoke and salt

The soft click of the poolside lanterns coming on marked the beginning of another honey-hued dusk. The air was thick with the scent of frangipani and sea salt, and the ocean murmured in the background, a seductive whisper against the marble silence of their villa.

Divya emerged from the infinity pool, water streaming off her like silk. She peeled off her goggles and tossed them onto the lounger, letting her wet hair fan across her shoulders. Vikram watched from the deck, drink forgotten in hand, the orange sunlight carving out every inch of her skin that wasn't already sculpted by water. His jaw clenched.

She didn't look at him. She never looked at him when she knew he was staring.

Instead, she reached for a towel, wrapped it loosely around her waist, and padded toward the outdoor shower—her hips moving in a rhythm that felt intentionally punishing.

"Where were you?" she asked, as the spray hit her collarbones.

Vikram leaned against the balustrade, shadows hardening the sharp planes of his face. "Walk. Had to clear my head."

"Did you find Ahana there?" she threw casually over her shoulder.

He straightened, every muscle locked.

Divya laughed darkly. "You looked at your phone and smiled earlier. You never smile unless it's business or... old flames."

He strode over. "Are you seriously jealous?"

"No. I'm possessive of my husband."

The towel slipped. She made no move to pull it up.

Vikram's hands closed around her waist like steel. "Then act like it."

He shoved her back gently against the wet wall. Her gasp was swallowed by the sudden crush of his mouth. Salt and citrus clung to her skin as he bit down on her bottom lip. The spray soaked them both, but neither noticed.

He pulled away only when she whimpered. "You don't get to poke at me and walk away. You want a reaction? You've got one."

She arched into him, eyes molten. "Then do something about it."

Later, her moans still echoed faintly in the tiled recesses of the shower.

Wrapped in a cotton robe, Divya traced circles on the tablecloth with her spoon. They had dressed for dinner in the open-air restaurant. Vikram wore an ivory shirt open at the collar, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Divya's wraparound dress kept sliding off one shoulder, exposing the bruises he'd left in the shower.

"I was jealous," she admitted, picking at her dessert.

Vikram looked up slowly. "Of Ahana?"

She shook her head. "Of you. Of how easily you stay composed. Like nothing touches you. Like you're immune."

He sat back, watching her. "You think I don't feel it too? The confusion, the fear... the way I can't stop looking at you even when I should?"

Their eyes locked across the candlelit table. Divya's fork paused mid-air. "Do you regret marrying me?"

"No." His answer was immediate. "But I'm scared I'm falling alone."

She put the fork down, the dessert forgotten. "You're not."

Vikram reached across the table and took her hand, pulling it toward his lips. "Then stop pretending this is just fun. Stop pretending Karan's just your best friend."

Her body tensed. "That's a low blow."

He raised her hand and kissed her wrist, lingering. "He doesn't look at you like a friend. I see it every time you talk about him. There's something there, Divya. And I hate it."

She whispered, "I don't want him. I married you."

"Yeah, well, I don't want Kabir's leftovers haunting our bed either," he snapped, harsher than he meant.

She flinched, then stood abruptly. "We're done here."

But they weren't.

Minutes later, he found her in the spa garden, curled on a wicker lounger near the koi pond. The scent of sandalwood hung in the air.

Vikram sat down beside her. "That was uncalled for."

She didn't speak, just let the silence stretch.

He looked out over the pond. "You confuse me. One minute you're pulling me into bed, the next you're shutting me out. What am I supposed to feel?"

She turned toward him. "What if I'm scared I'm not enough?"

Vikram blinked.

"I've never been someone's first choice," she continued. "Not even in college. I was the backup girl. The safe bet. I'm scared you'll realise I'm not exciting. That I'm just a distraction till something better comes along."

He swore softly and pulled her into his lap. "You're not a distraction. You're the damn storm."

His hands found her thighs, exposed under the wrap dress, and she gasped as his mouth sought the hollow of her neck.

"This place has too many rules," she muttered.

"Then let's break them."

He pushed her gently onto the lounger and slid the dress up her thighs. The garden was secluded, the night warm and thick. Somewhere in the distance, soft music played.

His tongue traced fire along her inner thigh, and she arched off the cushions, one hand gripping his hair. His name fell from her lips like a prayer and a curse.

They didn't make it back to their room.

Instead, they found themselves in the sauna pavilion by the lagoon.

She sat straddled on his lap, her back against the hot wooden wall, beads of sweat pooling between her breasts. He rocked into her slowly, drawing moans from her throat. She bit into his shoulder to muffle the sounds.

"Mine," he growled into her ear, biting her lobe.

"Always," she whispered.

But even in the chaos of skin and steam, Vikram's thoughts were elsewhere. He kept seeing Karan's name on her phone, the way she smiled at his texts. He hated the doubt. Hated that she hadn't said "I love you" yet.

And Divya? She couldn't stop wondering why she craved his jealousy. Why it thrilled her to be owned. Why, despite her instincts, she wanted to be ruined by this man completely.

Back in their suite, he took her against the glass door, the moonlight casting long shadows across the floor. Her palms pressed to the cool glass as he thrust into her from behind, his hands on her hips, claiming.

"Say it," he commanded.

She moaned, "I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours, Vikram."

When they finally collapsed into bed, tangled and breathless, there were no more walls.

"I hated seeing Karan hug you that night before the wedding," Vikram admitted.

She blinked. "I hated how that woman smiled at you at that party."

He laughed. "We're a mess."

"But we're ours," she said, tracing his chest.

As dawn broke, Vikram watched her sleep, lashes resting like ink on her cheeks.

He knew now. He wasn't confused.

He was in love.

Terrifyingly, utterly, desperately in love.

And maybe... just maybe, she was too.

But would either of them say it first?

Would either of them risk being the fool?

Only time—and temptation—would tell.