Page 137 of The Defiant Wife

"You surrender already?"

"I negotiate."

She laughs again, and I swear the entire room becomes brighter.

The sound settles somewhere deep inside me.

For so many years, silence was enough.

Now . . . Her laughter feels like home.

I reach up and gently tuck a loose curl behind her ear.

"You know," I say quietly, "the painter is going to have a difficult job today."

"Oh?"

"He'll never be able to capture what I see."

She blinks. "And what exactly do you see?"

"My favorite person."

Her teasing smile softens. "That's unfair."

"I haven't even started."

I lightly brush my thumb across the back of her hand. "I see the woman who gave abandoned children a home." My eyes soften, "The woman who somehow convinced my family to laugh louder." Her eyes glisten, "The woman who made this palace feel alive." My lips curve up in a smile, "And the woman who walked into a marriage that began as an arrangement . . . and somehow turned it into the greatest thing that has ever happened to me."

Her eyes immediately fill with tears. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Making me cry before breakfast."

"I'd rather make you smile."

"You do."

She reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. "You do both."

For a long moment, neither of us says anything.

We simply stand there in the sunlight.

The palace suddenly doesn't feel so grand.

Not compared to this.

The artist finally walks into the sunroom carrying a large wooden paint case.

He stops the moment he sees us.

"Oh . . . "

He clears his throat awkwardly. "My apologies, Your Highnesses. Should I . . . come back?"

Before I can answer, Diya smiles innocently. "Please do."