Page 37 of Drunk On Love

I had another panic attack, and he held me through it. His arms were like a shield, cocooning me in safety. Holy God, I can still recall the scent of him, that unique, calming warmth his presence carried. His hands stayed steady, never letting go of mine, his fingers wiping away every tear before it could even fall.

At some point, while I was half-asleep, trembling from a dream, I remember him calling mebaby.Twice. His voice was so soft, so comforting, as his hand gently caressed my hair.

Now, it’s like he’s disappeared into his own world, leaving me alone to piece myself together again. He’simpossible to read—one moment, he’s the most caring person I’ve ever met, and the next, he’s this impenetrable wall. This man’s poker face is like a fortress—he probably looks like thatevenduring…

God, Kiara,stop! Do not dare to think about him in bed.

Before my thoughts could do some tangible damage, Myra pulled me into a warm hug. “Good morning, babe.” She guided me to the chair beside Manav.

“Are you ready, baby girl? Tonight is the party night…” Roy announced with a big smile.

“Party? What's the occasion?” I asked, curious.

“I'm finally seeing you after ages!”

I rolled my eyes. “Bhai, please stop being so cheesy. I’ve told you, girls don't like that.”

Roy laughed while throwing a cherry at my head.

Manav was watching me with an intense focus as if trying to understand my place in this world. When our eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on his plate.

Why is he acting so strange?

Oh, right,becauseheisstrange!

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“Hey… You’re not seriously wearingthatto the party, are you?” Myra's voice rang out loud and clear as I tried to finish putting on some concealer.

“What’s wrong with this?” Absolutely nothing when I wore the same dress to the last girls’ night eight months ago. Everything went fine except for a coffee stain, but that is not visible now.

“Where should I start?” She said, crossing her arms. “Your faded jeans? That sad beige top?”

Sometimes, I want to murder my best friend.

“You want me to dress like one of those hot bimbos in a gathering of a million people whom I know absolutelynothing about except that they make oceans full of money and mountain-sized lies. Sorry, babe. Not happening.”

“And… What's wrong with my beautiful bimbos?”

“I’m not wearing a saree…” I quipped, eyeing the fabric with suspicion.

“I came all this way to see my favorite person, and you can’t even fulfill my one small wish?” Her dramatic pouts can talk to the walls.

Right… She had arrived here in Manav Oberoi’s private jet.

A private jet?

This is the same man who was supposedly jobless just weeks ago, and now he magically owns a private jet?

Right… because, of course, he can.

Manav Oberoi—the land king of the planet. He has uncountable country-sized properties scattered around the world that he probably can’t even keep track of in that overstuffed little brain of his. He owns half of India, a quarter of the world—and probably has a claim to Mars too—after all, he’s probably already claimed Saturn, and Venus by now.

Am I ever going to forget that he lied to me? No. Absolutely not. He tricked me into buying him those cool t-shirts he never wears, only to parade around shirtless. Honestly, he could establish a whole“Naked Nation”where people get the death penalty if they dare wear even underwear.

And no, I amnotimagining him in underwear. Nor am I imagining his hands on me while he's in underwear. Nope.

But I can’t seem to erase the memory of this massive, magnificent, ridiculously sexy, maddeningly adorable, frustratingly patient, and undeniably masculine human calling me“baby”twice that night. Twice. This outrageouslyattractive human lives in a tiny guest cottage and somehow manages to cook the world’s best food, all while looking like he’s downed gallons of some magical avocado smoothie three times a day.