Chapter 1: Arnav
Arnav stood as Khushi came into their bedroom, her slim figure clad in a cream and wine-red anarkali suit. It covered every inch of her body, and yet hugged her so well that it left little to the imagination.
Not that he needed his imagination where Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada was concerned.
Khushi ignored him thoroughly, stopping at the bureau and sliding off her brilliant red bangles before reaching for her hairbrush. Arnav sighed in relief.
Two hours ago, he'd stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water and found himself trapped with Di, Payal and Khushi. Their sisters had teased them – Chhote is making excuses to see his wife – and given alarmingly detailed innuendo before forcing Khushi to serve him dinner at the dining table. She'd fumed; throwing hostile looks his way for the entirety of their meal even as they'd fed one another to keep up the pretence of happy newly weds.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Arnav slid open the door to his – their – wardrobe and pulled out a set of sleeping clothes. Electricity zipped along his skin, a gentle warning, and he turned to find Khushi standing a few feet away, her eyes flashing with some inner conflict.
He braced himself for the argument, mentally collating a series of insults and evasions to throw her off balance. He was so distracted that he missed the slight movement of her arm, and was thus startled into absolute stillness when Khushi placed her palm flat against his chest.
"Touch me," her voice was a low vibration.
His pulse skittered to a stop as the memories bombarded him - moving over and inside her as they succumbed to whatever madness that had gripped them that night.
That one beautiful disaster of a night.
Desperate for calm, he took a deep breath and found himself with a lungful of Khushi – jasmine, grapefruit, and the underlying sweetness that was her natural scent.
No goddammit. You can't, Arnav. Not again.
"What the hell?" the timbre of his voice reflected his panic, "What are you–"
"Touch me," she repeated, her eyes on the topmost button of his waistcoat.
"No. Khushi. No."
Arnav closed his eyes and gathered the willpower to step backwards but when he shifted his weight, Khushi's fingers – still over his pounding heart – tightened on his jacket.
Fuck.
"Don't do this," he warned her.
"The other night–"
"–should never have happened," he interrupted with a growl, "It was a mistake."