Page 33 of The Defiant Wife

Instead he's turning out to be thoughtful. Dependable. Reasonable. And unfortunately . . . not entirely wrong.

Which is a problem. A very big problem. Because every day that passes, the image I've built of Veeraj Singh Shekhawat cracks a little more.

And every time it does, I find myself understanding him slightly better.

That's dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Because understanding someone is usually the first step toward caring. And caring about Veeraj Singh Shekhawat sounds like an absolutely terrible idea.

9. WRONG TURN

VEERAJ

I ride when I need to think.Or more accurately, when I need to stop thinking.

Most people meditate.Some people go on vacations.Vihaan annoys his wife.I ride my motorcycle through empty roads at midnight and pretend the wind can knock some sense into me.

It usually works.Tonight is proving to be an exception.The city glows beneath a blanket of darkness as I weave through the nearly deserted roads. Streetlights blur into streaks of gold. The cool night air presses against my jacket. The engine vibrates beneath me, familiar and steady.

Usually this helps.Usually the noise quiets everything else.Not tonight.Because somehow my brain has decided to obsess over an NGO.

And a woman.Mostly the woman.Which is deeply unfortunate.I tighten my grip on the handlebars and increase my speed slightly.The engine growls in response.For a few seconds, all I hear is the roar of the motorcycle.

Then my thoughts return.Every single one of them.

A month.One month.That was supposed to be the extent of this ridiculous arrangement. Show up.Smile forcameras.Convince the board that I am not secretly plotting world domination. Leave.

It was supposed to be so simple.Yet somewhere between fixing toy cars and building the bookshelf for the kids, things became unnecessarily complicated.

I don't even particularly like children.At least I didn't think I did.Aadhya is different.She's family.She doesn't count.

But those children . . . I exhale through my nose.

Keshav and his endless questions. Laila and her stubborn refusal to understand fractions. Raj, who somehow says more with a look than most adults do with an entire speech. Rani.

God help me.

Rani. The tiny tyrant who apparently believes yellow is a personality trait.

A reluctant smile almost appears before I kill it immediately.

No.

Absolutely not.

I'm not becoming sentimental.That would be embarrassing.

The road stretches ahead of me.Empty.But my mind isn't. My thoughts continue circling back to the same person.

Diya Goyal.

The woman is exhausting.I've never met anyone so determined to misunderstand me. Every conversation turns into a battle.Every discussion somehow becomes an argument. Andshe never backs down.Not once.Most people do.They either agree with me or avoid disagreeing altogether.

Diya does neither.

She charges directly into the fight and somehow leaves me irritated every single time.