Page 37 of The Defiant Wife

"I am trying to help you."

"I didn't ask for help."

Something in my chest tightens.Because suddenly she sounds less irritated and more . . . tired.

Just tired.

The kind of tired that has nothing to do with sleep.For the first time tonight, I really look at her.The shadows beneath her eyes.The slight slump in her shoulders.The exhaustion she normally hides beneath endless sarcasm.And for some reason, that bothers me more than the argument.

My voice lowers. Just slightly. "Diya."

She looks away. "I said I'm fine."

I don't know why that answer feels familiar.Maybe because I've used it myself a thousand times.Maybe because it's usually a lie.A long silence stretches between us.

Finally I sigh. Then do something I rarely do. I soften. Just enough. "Humor me."

Her eyes return to mine. "What?"

"Get on the bike."

She studies me suspiciously.As though searching for hidden motives.Finding none.Eventually her shoulders drop.A tiny fraction."You're very annoying."

The corner of my mouth threatens to move.I stop it immediately."Likewise."

She huffs. Then mutters something that sounds suspiciously likea tyrantunder her breath. A few seconds later she climbs onto the motorcycle. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly. Like she's doing me a favor.

I hand her my helmet. She stares at it. Then at me. Then at it again. "What about you?"

"Are you concerned about me, Ms. Goyal?"She glares.I feel strangely satisfied.

She snatches the helmet from my hand. "I still don't like you."

I start the engine.The motorcycle rumbles beneath us.Then I glance over my shoulder. "Good."

She blinks. "What?"

I face forward again. A strange feeling settles somewhere in my chest. Something unfamiliar. Something suspiciously close to amusement.

"That makes two of us.”

10. THE RIDE HOME

DIYA

I regret getting on this motorcycle almost immediately. Not because Veeraj drives badly. Unfortunately, the man drives annoyingly well. Confident. Steady. Controlled. Exactly the way he does everything else.

No, my problem is entirely different.

My problem is that I have absolutely no idea where I'm supposed to put my hands.

I stare at his back through the visor of the helmet. The motorcycle rumbles beneath us. The city lights blur around us. And I find myself facing a dilemma no woman should ever have to face.

Do I hold onto the seat and risk falling off? Or do I hold onto him and risk becoming aware of him? The second option is objectively worse. Naturally, that's the one I'm forced to choose.

A particularly sharp turn makes me lose my balance. A muttered curse escapes me before I grab his waist. Immediately regretting every decision that led me here.

Oh.