Page 13 of Entangled Vows (Destined Diaries #2)

Mahika groaned as the loud alarm ripped through the quiet, stabbing at her already aching head. Why hadn’t she turned the damn thing off? As she swatted groggily, her frustration grew with each missed attempt to hit the silence button.

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” she muttered, slamming her hand down until the obnoxious noise finally stopped.

She sighed wearily, falling back against the pillow as the memory of last night’s almost kiss came rushing in.

“Fuuuuck,” she mumbled, burying herself under the blanket, wishing she could erase the moment when they’d almost kissed.

And just like that, the scandalous dream popped into her head… her and Vikram tangled up in all sorts of compromising positions. Her face flushed crimson at the very thought. How on earth was she supposed to face him now, when every time she looked at him, she’d remember that dream?

Why was her brain conjuring up these images, for God’s sake?

The Antichrist being infuriatingly hot couldn’t be the only reason.

She’d been a mess last night… drunk, turned on, and spiralling ever since he’d almost kissed her on that dance floor.

That had to be it. Yes. And she knew this was going to haunt her. Forever.

She wanted to hate him. She really did. Perhaps a full-on cleansing ritual, with fragrant herbs and calming chants, would break whatever spell he’d cast on her. Because this... this was escalating into pure ridiculousness.

Just as she was falling back asleep, the doorbell destroyed the silence. Her groan turned into a muffled cry as she buried her face into her pillow.

“Leave me alone,” she yelled, but the insistent buzz of the doorbell kept pounding against her head.

She spent a few long seconds wishing that whoever it was would eventually give up and go away. But no such luck. The buzzing went on and on, slicing through the house like an annoying mosquito.

With a resigned sigh, she pushed the covers aside, and instantly regretted it.

The cold air swept over her, and a shiver wracked her body.

God, it was freezing. The house always turned frigid overnight, and without her fuzzy socks and pyjamas, the chill was unbearable.

She lowered her chin, already regretting her choice of lighter sleepwear.

She glanced down, confirming her feelings.

Yes, she was an absolute mess. She had worn a soft sage-green pyjama shorts with tiny cream stars that barely covered her thighs, and a matching satin cami that clung snugly to her body.

It was cute, yes, but completely ineffective in freezing weather.

Her pastel-blue eye mask had slipped to her chin, and she had only one fuzzy slipper on.

The other was missing... until she spotted it by the door.

As she started towards it, she caught her reflection in the mirror and stopped dead.

Fantastic, she thought wryly. She looked every bit as bad as she felt, to say the least. She grabbed the oversized cardigan from her chair, shoved her feet into both slippers, yanked off the eye mask, and tossed it carelessly on the bed.

The incessant ringing of the doorbell only aggravated her already pounding head.

“I’m fucking coming,” she roared, her voice rough with sleep as she staggered down the stairs. Her mouth tasted like cotton and regret, and whoever was waiting outside that door was about to witness her disastrous morning firsthand.

Please be Ishika. Please be Ishika, she prayed.

She walked by her best friend’s bedroom and saw that the bed was exactly as it was a month prior, perfectly made. A small hope ignited in her. Perhaps she had finally returned.

She should have remained sober last night and called Ishika to tell her everything. She was too tired to even criticise herself now. She was still struggling to remember how she had made it home, let alone where she’d kept her phone after switching off the alarm.

By the time she reached the door, her annoyance had grown into full-blown frustration. Her tired fingers fumbled clumsily with the lock, until finally it clicked open… and she froze.

Of course. The one person she was desperately trying to avoid stood there with a maddeningly smug look on his face.

Vikram.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Mahika muttered, half in disbelief, half in exasperation.

“Why are you here?” she asked, trying to sound more annoyed than confused, but to be honest, she wasn’t pulling it off.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if that would make her look less exposed.

Not that she really cared what he thought.

At least, that’s what she told herself. Or maybe she did, which was again so damn annoying.

“I brought you breakfast,” he said casually.

Mahika looked down at the glass flask in his hands. The green sludge inside looked like it had come straight out of some villain’s scientific lab experiment.

“That is not breakfast. If it doesn’t have carbs or coffee, I am not interested.”

She tried to slam the door, but Vikram was too quick for her.

He thrust his palm against the wood, pushing it open further.

In the next moment, he stepped closer, and she was very much aware of his proximity.

The incredible scent of his freshly showered skin crashed over her like a wave, and it was the last thing she needed right now. Not with everything that was going on.

“You don’t need carbs this morning,” he said, closing the distance between them.

Mahika blinked, totally thrown off. “You can’t decide what I eat.”

“Too bad, I already did. You need something to help detox last night out of your system.”

“How do you know what I did after you left last night?” she snapped, tilting her chin up in defiance to look him in the eye.

The moment she did that... oh, hell no. Their chests brushed.

And of course, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

The sudden contact sent a jolt straight to her core, and her body responded instantly, betraying her in the worst possible way, even through the barrier of a cardigan.

She stepped back, but naturally, he only leaned closer.

His warm, overly familiar breath tickled her neck, and the brush of his lips against her ear sent her brain into sensory overload.

“Who do you think tucked you into bed last night, sweetheart?”

Mahika stilled, her eyes wide as she tried to process his words. What. The. Hell? She staggered back, nearly losing her balance, and in that moment, he pushed past her, forcing his way inside.

“No way,” she hissed, clearly angry. Watching him walk into her house like he owned the place made her shriek. “Vikram, what the hell?”

Vikram entered the living area, his eyes sweeping over everything with that same inscrutable intensity that always unnerved her. Mahika crossed her arms, bracing herself for what was coming. He wasn’t here for shits and giggles. He was here to judge her. Like always.

Heat rose in her chest as she got more irritated, and her cardigan suddenly felt tighter. She knew the mess around would catch his attention, and he’d say something annoying. And as expected, he didn’t disappoint.

“Chaos,” he said, his tone far too critical for her liking.

She rolled her eyes and, without thinking, snatched the bra from the couch and stuffed it behind a cushion. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice it.

And if he did? So what? Girls had the freedom to be comfortable in their own homes. Having a bra within reach was perfectly practical. He had no right to judge her based on that.

“Perhaps I would have cleaned if you had warned me,” she said, but she knew she was lying. Mahika crossed her arms as he surveyed her house critically, acting all superior. She could almost imagine him plotting hard how to restore everything to its gleaming, utensil-like state.

“Grizzly. Stop thinking about ways to fix this place. This is my home,” she snapped. “And I like it lived-in. Not everyone wants to live in a showroom.”

Although she hadn’t visited his Mumbai home, she could picture it as a stylish, sterile, and eerily quiet pad.

“And not all of us live on takeout,” he muttered, his eyes lingering on the greasy containers.

“I was busy, you nosy food freak. Fucking sue me.” She crossed her arms and fumed as Vikram cleared a spot on the counter. He wordlessly set down the flask of slimy green liquid and then pulled a container out of his bag.

Wait. Was he carrying a bag? And… was that a box of salad? She scoffed. Indeed, it was.

She liked healthy food, but come on! Indulging in a few carbs wasn’t a crime.

“Rabbit food? Wow. My roommate would adore this. But we’re all stocked up, thanks.”

His brow twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a devilish grin. “FYI, after a hangover, I always go for a breakfast loaded with carbs.” She pointed at the salad, “No way I’m eating this ghaas-poos… and that too first thing in the morning.”

“Do you even realise what junk you’re putting into your system?”

Mahika sighed to herself. Seriously? Who made him the food police all of a sudden?

“Grizzly, stop trying to run my life. I work out, I do yoga, I eat clean… most of the days. But I also eat junk because, newsflash, I like enjoying life.” Her eyes flashed as she added, “Not that you’d know what it’s like to loosen up and have fun.”

He scoffed. “Junk is junk. There’s no such thing as good junk. And I do have fun,” he said, his voice clipped.

Mahika rolled her eyes. “Sure. Sounds like a riot… boring sex on rotation with airheads who think deep conversation is talking about their nails.”

He chuckled darkly, as if she were amusing him rather than tearing him down.

She scowled. “What’s so damn funny?”

He shrugged with easy nonchalance. “The fact that you assume sex with me would be boring is hilarious.”

She arched a brow, unimpressed. “If your bedroom skills are anything like your taste in women, I’m probably right.”

“You’ve never met any woman I’ve been involved with.” He let the insult roll off his back.