“He’s busy with work,” I said, the lie sliding off my tongue with practiced ease. I forced my lips into a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
“Work?” Prashant snorted, looking skeptical. “What sort of work does he have other than flying jets?”
I felt the heat rise in my neck. I looked around the garden, searching for Mr. Chauhan, hoping the elder man would intervene and shut them up, but he was nowhere to be found. Where the hell had he gone when I needed a distraction?
“How could he miss such a special day?” Avni chimed in, her brow furrowing with genuine concern.
“As far as I remember, nothing is more important to him than his duty,” Ira said, her tone clipped.
Rhea tried to smooth things over, crossing her arms. “Uncle said he’s entertaining a client. He said he’d make it before the day is over.”
The group looked unconvinced. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.
“Why does that sound so strange?” Aryan raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. “Is he still… ” He trailed off, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air.
“I’m here.”
My heart didn't just beat; it skittered, a frantic bird trapped in my ribs. I spun around to find Saurav standing there, holding a large, vibrantly red box. He stepped toward me, his presence swallowing the air even in the open space. When he placed his hand on the small of my back, a violent shiver raced down my spine. That was the same hand that had claimed every inch of my skin just last night.
“I was busy searching for the perfect gift for my wife,” he murmured. I felt his warm breath against my ear as he leaned in, his lips grazing my cheek in a performative display of affection.
I plastered the smile back on, praying my breathing wouldn't betray me.
“Well? What is this 'best gift' you spent all day looking for?” Rhea asked, her voice playful but her eyes curious.
“Here…” Saurav’s smirk widened as he flipped the lid open.
Suddenly everyone went deathly quiet. My eyes widened, the blood rushing to my cheeks so fast it felt like a burn. Inside the silk-lined box lay an array of leather and metal: handcuffs, restraint straps, silk blindfolds, a heavy whip, soft feathers, and a buckled collar.
The women froze, their faces masks of shock. Then, the silence broke. Aryan and Prashant erupted into hysterical, booming laughter, slapping their knees. Rhea covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle her giggles.
“BDSM,” Rhea choked out between laughs. “I guess that stands for Bed, Sleep, Dream, and Repeat in this house?”
Saurav didn't laugh. He just smirked, his eyes locked onto mine with a terrifying, private intensity. “I’m going to try them out tonight,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet.
I rolled my eyes, playing the part of the embarrassed but willing wife. I even managed a forced laugh, pretending to be in on the joke. I watched him walk away to join his cousins, his gait confident and predatory. For a fleeting second, my mind flashed to the handcuffs, imagining the cold metal on my wrists but I shoved the thought into the dark corner of my mind where I kept the rest of my reality. I turned back to my friends, the mask held firmly in place, wondering how much longer I could keep it from cracking.
After the chatter died down and the last crumbs of cake were cleared, we transitioned into the heart of the evening: dinner followed by the tradition of singing and dancing under the stars.
“First, our newlyweds! They must lead the floor,” Rhea announced, her voice bright as she clapped her eyes toward us.
We were gathered in a wide circle around a roaring bonfire. The orange flames licked at the dark sky, casting long, dancing shadows across the grass. Mr. Chauhan and his sister had already retired for the night, taking the sleepy toddlers with them. Tanya had joined our circle, though she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, her expression pinched and distant.
Before I could even find an excuse to decline, Saurav stood up. He didn't offer a hand; he reached down and yanked me up by the arm, pulling me flush against his broad chest. My breath hitched as his calloused hand slid firmly to the small of my waist.
He didn't wait for the music to settle or for me to find my footing. His fingers tightened around mine, hauling me closer until there was barely a whisper of air left between us. My chest brushed against his, and I could feel his heat seeping through the layers of my clothes, a slow-burn warmth that felt like it had a predatory mind of its own.
“Relax,” he murmured against my ear. His voice was a low, controlled vibration, smooth yet laced with something dangerous.
It was easy for him to say. He wasn't the one being crushed under a gaze that felt like a physical weight.
I placed my free hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the rock-hard muscle beneath his shirt. As the music began, a slow, haunting melody, he began to move. He guided me effortlessly, his footwork precise and commanding, as if he had performed this ritual a thousand times.
But it wasn't the grace of the dance that made my pulse erratic. It was the man. It was the way his fingers pressed into my waist, marking me. It was the way his thumb traced slow, absent circles against my skin, sending unwanted shivers racing down my spine. Most of all, it was his eyes. His gaze never left mine, boring into me as if he could hear every panicked, chaotic thought screaming through my head.
“Don’t take this as a hint,” he said, a faint, mocking smirk playing on his lips. “There’s nothing between us.”
“I know there’s nothing between us,” I shot back. I tried to sound composed, but the slight tremor in my voice betrayed me.