Page 71 of Okay Boss
A crimson canopy moved at the entrance, held steady by her brother and cousins. Beneath it, Divya stepped forward, her mother at her side.
Red silk flowed around her like a slow flame. Gold caught against her skin with each movement. The faint rustle of her lehenga whispered across the ground with each careful step.
She did not look up.
But he did not look away.
The woman who’d spent six months making herself invisible on his sets now commanded every eye in the room simply by existing.
When she reached the base of the mandap stairs, her mother’s fingers tightened briefly around her arm, a silent blessing, a wordless gesture for the new beginnings.
Vikram stepped down without thinking and extended his hand.
Palm up.
Waiting.
Her fingers rested against his.
Heat. Immediate. Quiet. Undeniable.
His hand closed around hers, firm and warm. His thumb brushed once over her knuckles, slow, instinctive, before he stilled it.
She took the first step. Then the second.
He felt the slight tremor in her grip. Felt her breath shift. His gaze lingered, at the line of kohl darkening her eyes, at the pulse fluttering at her throat, at the delicate curve where her neck disappeared into red silk.
She looked like the bride of Vikram Khanna. But she also looked like Divya. His Divya. The woman who hummed off-key and pushed her glasses up with her knuckle and made his chaos manageable.
Except the glasses were gone. And in their absence, he could see her eyes more clearly than ever before.
Wide. Uncertain. Beautiful.
His hold tightened just enough to steady her as she climbed the final step.
Under the canopy, he guided her to their place. His fingers remained around hers a heartbeat longer than necessary before easing away.
When she finally lifted her eyes to his, there was no actor there.
Only heat. Dark. Unmasked.
And dangerously aware of the woman sitting inches from him.
Raghav noticed his brother’s reaction from his position nearby. So did Ishani. Kavita saw it too, her lips curving with quiet satisfaction.
Vikram recovered, somehow, his public mask sliding back into place.
But his hand itched to hold hers again.
The ceremony proceeded with the weight of tradition guiding each movement. Prayers were spoken. Offerings were made. Promises were exchanged.
Through it all, Divya moved as if in a dream, following instructions through a fog, her world narrowed to the sensation of Vikram’s hand returning to hers after each ritual, anchoring her.
When the time came for the mangalsutra, Vikram took the sacred necklace from the pandit’s hands. The black and gold beads caught firelight as he lifted it.
For all the rehearsals he’d done for film scenes like this, his hands had never been as steady as they were now.
He leaned forward, bringing the necklace around Divya’s neck. The weight settled against her collarbone, cold at first, then warming against her skin. His fingers brushed the nape of herneck as he fastened the clasp, the brief contact sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
