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My fingers itch to type out a message asking him about this unexpected addition, but I hold back. I know exactly what he’s doing. He wants to gauge my reaction through this text. Well, two can play that game. I’d much rather see his face when I bring this up—watch those expressive eyes of his try to hide whatever game he’s playing.

The thirty-minute drive passes quickly as my mind churns with thoughts, and soon, we’re pulling up to the house. Claire greets me at the door, holding Veer’s baby monitor in her hand. At her feet, Leila, my cat, weaves between her legs and lets out a gentle meow. I scoop her up and rub my cheek against her soft fur. I’ll miss her. A whole month without my cat or Claire feels... unsettling. I’m going to miss them both terribly during our time in India. At least Leila will be in good hands with Claire, who was more than happy to take care of my precious cat during my absence.

I’ve entrusted Claire with a lot in the past eighteen months. She had even offered to come to India with us to help with Veer, but I couldn’t let her do that. She deserves a break a break after taking care of me during my pregnancy, and then both of us after Veer was born. She needs this time with her family, and I know she’ll be here when we return to New York with Veer.

But… will we really return? The thought hits me suddenly, and my chest tightens. Vishnu’s career as NEP’s party president is in India. How are we going to manage this transcontinental marriage? How will we give Veer the stability he needs while shuffling between two countries? One question leads to another, and suddenly, the future seems like a complicated puzzle with pieces that don’t quite fit together yet. Marriage is supposed to bring stability, but all I see are logistical challenges and emotional hurdles.

It’s ironic—here I am, just hours away from my wedding, and instead of stressing over typical bride things like my dress or makeup, I’m trying to figure out how to balance a marriage between two continents. But then again, nothing about our relationship has been typical. Why should our marriage be any different?

“I was thinking,” Claire says excitedly, breaking my chain of thoughts. “Should we decorate your bedroom for tomorrow night? You know… your wedding night?”

My cheeks flush instantly at the mention of our wedding night. The mere thought sends warmth coursing through my body.

Claire doesn’t relent. “Come on, Simran! It’s a big deal. Have you thought about it? Like, what you’d want? Or, more importantly, what would Vishnu prefer?”

I am speechless, which doesn’t happen often. My imagination betrays me as flashes ofthat night—the one that changed everything—flood my thoughts. My cheeks burn brighter as I struggle to form words.

“I’ve heard that in India, they go over the board decorating the bed with rose petals and all that?” Claire continues. “Do you want me to do any of that? Add a little traditional touch?”

I chuckle, trying to hide my embarrassment. “No, that’s not necessary. It’s... it would be too awkward.”

Claire sighs dramatically. “Well, I asked Vishnu about it, and he said he didn’t mind. He said, and I quote, ‘Whatever Simran wants.’”

My breath catches in my throat. Vishnu didn’t mind? My mind starts racing again, conjuring images of what he might be planning—or not planning—for tomorrow night. Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought of him and me… together.

Before I can dwell on it further, his deep voice breaks through my haze.

“You didn’t reply to my message—who should be the third guest?”

I turn to see Vishnu standing by the doorway. Claire takes the hint and excuses herself, Leila trotting after her. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of everything—my heartbeat, the tension in the air, and, most of all, Vishnu.

He’s freshly showered—at this hour? Then I remember he usually hits the gym during Veer’s afternoon nap. His hair is still damp, droplets of water trailing down his neck and then disappearing beneath the snug t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and chest. The sweatpants hang low on his hips, adding to his sexy appearance. I can’t help but trace the outline of his muscles with my eyes. His skin looks fresh and clean, and I catch a whiff of his woodsy shower gel that always makes my knees weak.

My gaze lingers longer than it should. His arms are crossed, making the veins on his forearms more pronounced. Finally dragging my gaze back to his face, I notice the knowing glint in his eyes. He’s caught me staring. But when have I ever hidden my attraction to him? Why start now?

“Julie has to be at the boutique to handle all my schedules,” I say, walking toward my bedroom, perfectly aware he’s following me. “Emma and Sarah have client visits tomorrow and can’t take leave to come to my wedding either.”

I slip off my sandals slowly, then remove my scarf and coat, laying them on the bed. With measured movements, I reach up to untie my hair, letting it cascade down my back. I can practically feel him following my every movement, his gaze burning into my skin.

When I turn around, he’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, radiating that quiet intensity that makes my pulse race. His eyes meet mine as I continue, “Peter is out of the city, so we’re left with Zane...”

His smirk says it all—this is exactly what he was waiting for. He nods and walks toward me with slow, deliberate steps.

“Invite him then.”

His calm tone throws me off. “Invite him?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes. “The last time we talked about Zane, you couldn’t stand the idea of him being anywhere near me. And now you want him at our wedding?”

“You told me,” he begins, “that I need to stop having an issue with your male friends and clients.”

He lifts my chin with his finger, his smirk deepening as his eyes linger on my lips—the same lips he’d kissed two days ago during our wedding outfit trial. Meeting my eyes again, he murmurs, “Consider this me… trying.”

Before I can process his words, he leans down and captures my lips in a kiss—soft, quick, but utterly intoxicating. It’s different from our previous kisses. This time, it’s not born from argument or banter, but just pure desire.

“This is the least I can do. Invite him,” he repeats as he pulls away.

I’m lost in the sensation, my lips tingling from the kiss. My tongue darts out to taste the lingering taste of him. My body feels like it’s on fire, and I can barely think straight. I’ve never been shy about what I want. As if on autopilot, I turn around, gathering my hair over one shoulder and tilt myself slightly—a clear invitation. I know he’s still standing behind me, watching my every move.

He hesitates for a moment before I feel his presence near me. His rough fingers brush against the zipper of my dress. His sharp intake of breath tells me he understands exactly what I want. He slides it down slowly, deliberately, his trembling fingers betraying his composure. His breath fans across my nape as he inhales deeply, pressing a kiss to my hair, then my neck. My eyes flutter shut as he breathes me in, his hands settling at my waist.