Page 110 of The Defiant Wife

He folds his arms. "This." He gestures between me and the photograph. "I didn't think anyone could get past those walls you spent years building." He smiles. "I think I should personally thank Diya someday."

I raise an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For proving my big brother actually has a heart and can love someone." I pick up my pen and point it toward the door.

"Get out."

He laughs loudly. "I'll take that as confirmation."

Then he walks toward the exit. Just before leaving, he glances back with another knowing smile. "Don't keep her waiting too long today."

The door closes behind him.

Silence returns.

I look back at the photograph. My fingers rest against the edge of the frame. His words stay with me.

A heart.

Love.

For most of my life, emotions have been something to control. Duty comes first. The family comes first. Work comes first.

Feelings only get in the way. That's what I've always believed.

But then . . . Diya.

I think about the night she woke up crying from a nightmare and asked me to hold her.

About the anger that rises every time I remember what her father or those children and caregivers at the orphanage put her through.

About how my day somehow feels incomplete if I don't see her. About the way I finish meetings faster than I used to because all I want is to go home. About how easily she smiles around children. About how proud I feel every time I watch her stand up for someone else. About the ridiculous satisfaction I get from making her blush. About how naturally my life has started revolving around hers.

Somewhere along the way . . . Without even realizing it . . . She stops feeling like someone I married.

She starts feeling like home.

I lean back in my chair and look at her smiling face in the photograph again. A slow smile appears before I can stop it. Maybe Vihaan is right. Maybe there isn't another word for this anymore.

This isn't responsibility. It isn't a duty. It isn't a habit.

It's love.

I don't remember exactly when I fall in love with my wife.

I only know that one day I look at her . . . And I can't imagine a life where she isn't in it.

41. AN INVITATION

DIYA

The bedroom feels different at night.

Once the palace quiets down, the silence here feels softer, almost peaceful. The weight of royal duties stays outside these doors, leaving just the two of us in the dim light.

We're lying on our sides, facing each other on the large bed. Only a few inches separate us.

Veeraj rests his head on one hand while his eyes stay fixed on me. His other hand gently cups my cheek, his thumb absentmindedly brushing along my jaw.