Page 74 of The Defiant Wife

The urge to drag her into the nearest hallway and remind her exactly who she's dealing with is becoming stronger by the second.

And yet . . . Against all logic . . . Part of me is amused.Because looking at her.She's having the time of her life.She's charming everyone around her.What was supposed to be a stiff, uncomfortable interview has somehow turned into a comedy show.

The crew loves her. The anchor loves her. The audience is probably going to love her too.

She's impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

"Is this true, Kunwar Sa?" the anchor asks, turning toward me with obvious excitement. "Did a Shekhawat prince really walk into a wall because of a beautiful woman?"

I take a slow breath.Then another.Finally, I look directly at the camera.

"Obviously," I say in the driest voice possible, "have you looked at my wife," I turn my towards her and take her hand in mine squeezing it in a warning, "anyone would be amazed by her beauty." That part . . . is true. Diya's breath hitches and I look at the anchor.

Everyone is suddenly blown away, theaw'sthat follow slightly annoys me but good we're right on track.

Diya actually giggles beside me. Giggles. Like she's proud of herself.Which she probably is. The menace.

Then, still smiling, she reaches over and lightly touches my forearm. The contact is brief. Casual. But somehow it feels far too warm.

"See?" she says to the anchor. "He's a man of few words, but he's actually very sweet."

I turn toward her.She finally looks back at me.Her cheeks are slightly pink from laughing.Her eyes are bright but there's a glint of amusement.

Victorious.

Happy.

For a second, the rest of the courtyard fades into the background. The cameras. The reporters. The audience. All of it. Gone.

There's only her.And that smile.My irritation doesn't disappear.Not completely.But it shifts into something else.Something heavier.Something far more dangerous.

Enjoy your victory, Trouble.

Because eventually these cameras are going to stop rolling. And when they do . . . You're going to pay for every single word.

24. THERMAL DYNAMICS

VEERAJ

The heavy oak doors haven't even fully closed before I turn to look at her.

The silence in the corridor is a sharp contrast to the noise we just left behind. For the last two hours, I've been forced to sit under bright studio lights while Diya happily turned me into a clumsy, lovesick fool who apparently can't walk past a pillar without crashing into it.

"A wall, Diya?" I ask, my voice low as I walk deeper into the sitting room, loosening the stiff collar of my achkan. "A pillar? That's honestly the best story you could come up with?"

"Oh, please," she shoots back without missing a beat. I hear the soft swish of her peach saree as she follows me inside. "You should be thanking me. Did you see the anchor's face? She went from looking for a royal scandal to wanting our love story. I saved both of us out there, Veeraj."

"You made me look like an idiot on national television." I stop walking and turn around so suddenly she almost walks into me.

The afternoon light filters through the curtains, filling the room with a soft golden glow. She stands a few feet away, chin lifted stubbornly, breathing a little harder after keeping up with me. The sweet, graceful princess she played in front of the cameras is gone. Standing in front of me is the same Diya I've known from the beginning—stubborn, loud, impossible, and ready to argue over absolutely anything.

"I made you look human," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "Trust me, that was a huge improvement over the statue routine you had going on. You answered every question with one word. If I hadn't stepped in, tomorrow's headline would've been 'Princess Married to a Royal Ice Sculpture.'"

"I am a prince, not an entertainer," I mutter, taking one slow step toward her.

"Clearly," she says immediately, refusing to move back. Instead, she steps closer too, narrowing her eyes. "Because comedians are actually funny. You just have an ego the size of Mewar Fort."