Page 84 of Mrs. Rathore

I forced a smile. “I can’t wait to become a mother.” I played well with them.

And then, like a blade slicing through the scene...

“And I can’t wait to become a father,” Aryan said coldly, stepping into the living room. His glare was sharp and directed at me. It wasn’t a playful tease; it was a warning.

I forced a smile at him, the corners of my lips trembling.

We had started this story as enemies, and now we were trapped in a lie so big that even love might not be able to pull us out.

In the dining room, Aryan sat across from me, his dark eyes fixed on mine, a hard, unreadable expression on his face. He hadn't spoken a word since we sat down, not even when Grandma poured out her hope like it was gospel truth that soon, there would be another Rathore in the family. A baby. A symbol of love that didn’t exist.

I didn’t dare meet Aryan’s gaze, knowing he disapproved of the lie I had told her. But it was too late to take it back. Instead of correcting her, I had covered our fake relationship with another thick layer of lies. I had constructed our story like a house of cards, and every breath Aryan took made it tremble.

Tension radiated off him, coiling tightly around us both. We had just begun to find some delicate middle ground; we weren’t friends, but we had started to speak without venom, even laughing at times. Now, I had messed that up. Maybe I was cursed to ruin everything I touched.

I dared to glance at Grandma. Her face glowed with excitement. That sweet, wrinkled face looked younger somehow, illuminated by a joy that made my stomach twist. She genuinely believed I could be carrying her great-grandchild. Aryan and I had returned from our honeymoon filled with love, laughter, and... intimacy.

God.

She thought we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, that we had spent our nights tangled in bed sheets, whispering and cuddling. That we were building a future.

But in reality, Aryan and I hadn’t even kissed.

Not once.

And yet, I had wanted to. I hadn’t admitted it to myself until now, but I had. That night… when he brushed my hair back with such quiet gentleness, the warmth of his fingers lingered long after he walked away. That moment had carved a permanent place in my memory.

I shook the thought away and glanced at him again. Aryan sat stiffly, his plate barely touched. His jaw was locked, a muscle twitching there like a danger signal. He didn’t say anything, but his silence screamed louder than any words.

I tried to lighten the moment.

“If you’re not going to eat that dal makhani, can I have it?” I asked, scooping a spoonful of rice into my mouth. “It’s really good today.”

His eyes snapped to mine. “No, you can’t. This is my leftovers. You can get your own.”

“But you’re not eating it,” I pointed out, frowning.

“Because I’m full.” His voice was flat and cold. He glared at me like I had insulted his entire lineage.

“Then let me take your leftovers. I hate wasting food. The maid can take away the rest of the fresh food, let's save some for them. Now hand over your plate, Mr. Full.”

“Avni…” he growled in protest, but I reached across and snatched his plate anyway. I even winked at him for good measure.

I dug into the leftover dal makhani, unfazed. I didn’t care if he glared at me. Aryan was obsessively hygienic, and I knew for a fact he hadn’t touched the makhani with his fingers. It was safer than restaurant food. And if pretending to be a normal, happy couple in front of Grandma meant sharing a plate, I could do that.

He could not.

I heard Grandma murmur under her breath as she observed us, “Maybe I was overthinking...” Her eyes sparkled with renewed hope as she offered a soft, delighted smile.

I forced myself to smile too, but inside, everything felt wrong.

Later that night, when we returned to our room, I let out a quiet sigh only to freeze.

Aryan was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood the moment he saw me and took two quick steps forward, slamming the door shut behind me.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice low but furious. “What story are you feeding that poor old lady now?”

“I just told her we had a normal honeymoon. That we did what couples usually do,” I said quietly, backing away from the intensity in his eyes.