Page 25 of Mrs. Rathore

Aryan stepped in. He was bare-chested, wearing nothing but shorts. My heart slammed against my ribs.

He froze the moment he saw me in my bathrobe. I quickly pulled the fabric lower to cover my knees, but it only rode higher. My face flushed crimson. I kept my eyes down, praying he wouldn’t say anything.

He didn’t.

He turned and walked to the bathroom, and I couldn't help but glance. His back was a sculpture of discipline. It was broad,muscular, his skin golden brown and tight across powerful shoulders. Veins lined his arms like rivers of raw strength. The sight stole the breath from my lungs.

Then he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, making me jump.

Moments later, Rhea reappeared, cheerful as ever with a man wheeling two massive suitcases behind her.

“Sorry! I got caught up in the preparations,” she beamed.

She crouched down and unzipped one of the suitcases, pulling out a garment bag. Inside was an ivory saree that shimmered like moonlight. The border gleamed with deep red and rich gold, intricately detailed with delicate mirrors and hand embroidery. It looked nothing short of regal.

I reached out to touch it, the fabric soft against my fingers.

“It's beautiful,” I whispered.

“Wait until you wear it,” Rhea said. “You’re going to look like a queen.”

“Let’s get you ready.”

The door creaked open.

Aryan walked out, draped only in a towel.

He didn’t spare us a glance. His gaze was fixed ahead as he strode to the wardrobe, pulled out his clothes and walked right back out.

An hour later

I was in front of the mirror, struggling to recognize myself.

People always praised my beauty, but I had never paid them much mind. My reflection only ever stirred something in me when I danced, when I lost myself in the rhythm of kathak, in the stories I told with each pirouette, each footfall.

But today, I couldn’t even look away.

The saree was ivory silk threaded with gold and hugged my frame with effortless grace. Rhea had insisted on minimal makeup but forced a bold tomato-red lipstick on me. She left my hair loose, waves tumbling around my shoulders, and when I applied a smudge of red powder along my parting, something inside me shifted.

I didn’t just look different.

I looked… married.

“Bhai won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” Rhea teased with a gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t want his appreciation,” I said flatly. “Could you get me a glass of water? It’s time for my medicine.”

“Of course, Bhabhi.” She nodded and left.

I was just pulling my medicine from the drawer when the door opened again and Aryan walked in.

Dressed now, his presence still sucked all the air out of the room. His white shirt clung faintly to his damp skin, and his navy-bluetrousers fit with tailored sharpness. Water still glistened in his dark hair, a droplet sliding down the side of his temple. I tried not to look but God help me, I did.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, grabbing his cufflinks, watch, and cologne in silence. I turned away, quietly tucking my medicine back into my purse.

Then I heard him move toward me. His footsteps were sharp, deliberate.

Before I could react, he snatched something off the vanity.