Page 102 of Okay Boss
Three weeks to make Divya believe she deserved to be loved. And it started now. With small things. Consistent things.
He caught Lakshmi in the hallway, her arms full of fresh towels.
"Don't disturb us for breakfast," he said quietly. "Tell Mom I arrived late. That Divya also slept late."
Lakshmi nodded, her expression carefully neutral. Twenty years managing the Khanna household had taught her when to ask questions and when to simply comply.
Vikram paused outside his bedroom door, hand resting on the handle. Behind this door was Divya, asleep, unaware that everything had changed.
He pushed it open silently.
She was exactly as he'd left her, curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Something warm expanded in his chest.
He moved to the bathroom, changed quickly into a t-shirt and track pants. Returning, he stood beside the bed for a moment, knowing he should take the couch, maintain their careful boundaries.
He was done with boundaries.
He slid into bed beside her.
The mattress dipped with his weight. He settled onto his back, hyperaware of the space separating them. The sheets smelled like her, something clean and warm with a hint of jasmine. His body hummed with exhaustion and energy in equal measure. Three hours of sleep in twenty-four hours, but his mind was wide awake, already anticipating her reaction when she woke.
She shifted in her sleep.
Just a small movement, her body turning toward the new warmth in the bed. Her hand slid across the mattress, fingers brushing his arm. Then, still deep in sleep, she moved closer.
Vikram held perfectly still.
Divya nestled against his side, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder as if it belonged there. Her hand came to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. Her leg curved over his, ankle hooking behind his calf.
Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arm around her, palm settling between her shoulder blades. She made a small sound, half sigh, half hum, and burrowed closer, her face pressing into his neck.
Her breath warmed his skin. Soft. Even. Trusting.
This. This was what he'd been denying himself for weeks. This closeness. This rightness. This perfect sense of her body recognizing his even in sleep.
When she woke wrapped around him, she'd be mortified. Would stammer and flush and try to retreat behind professionalism.
And he'd have his story ready.
A story technically true, if creatively edited.
His lips curved at the thought of her reaction. How she'd deny his words. How she'd try to logic her way out of what her sleeping self had done.
But for now, in the quiet intimacy of this moment, he simply held her.
She muttered something unintelligible and her grip on his t-shirt tightened, fingers clutching the fabric as if afraid he might disappear.
"I've got you," he whispered, too quiet to wake her. A promise she couldn't hear but he needed to make. "I'm not letting go."
Outside, the sky shifted from black to navy. Vikram's eyes grew heavy. The adrenaline from his conversation with Raghav finally ebbing.
His last conscious thought was simple, certain:She's staying right here.
Then sleep claimed him, arms wrapped securely around his wife for the first time in their marriage.
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