Page 96 of The Defiant Wife

Veeraj walks back inside carrying a silver tray. A bowl of steaming soup. A glass of water. Medicine. Without saying anything, he places the tray on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.

I immediately turn my face away. "Go away," I mumble, my voice rough and scratchy. "I don't want your charity, Veeraj."

"Go back to your palace work. Just . . . leave me alone."

He completely ignores me. Instead, his hand comes up and rests gently against my forehead. His palm is cool. The relief is so instant that a quiet sigh escapes me before I can stop it.

He checks my temperature for a few seconds, his thumb brushing lightly across my forehead. Then, with surprising ease, he slips one arm behind my shoulders and helps me sit up against the headboard.

The quilt stays wrapped securely around me. "You can fight with me after you're better," he says calmly.

"But right now . . . " He picks up the spoon and stirs the broth once. " . . . you're going to eat."

I stubbornly look away. "I'm not hungry."

"I know." He brings the spoon closer anyway. "But you're still going to eat."

I shake my head. "No."

He lowers the spoon and looks straight at me. Really looks at me. The usual unreadable expression on his face is gone.

All I see is quiet concern. "I don't like seeing you like this, Trouble," he says softly.

His voice is lower than usual. More honest. "You have absolutely no right to torturemywife." He pauses for a second before adding quietly, "No one does, not even you."

"So eat. And take your medicine."

My chest tightens.Mywife. He says it so naturally. So simply. Not because anyone is watching. Not because we're attending some royal event.

Just because that's who I am to him.

Hiswife.

The word settles somewhere deep inside me, quietly pushing away memories that have lived there for years.

For one brief moment, I don't feel like the unwanted girl from the orphanage. Or the daughter who was never enough. I just feel . . . cared for. Veeraj lifts another spoonful of broth toward me.

I keep staring at him.

He waits patiently. Then, very quietly, he says one word. "Please."

That's all it takes. Every bit of stubbornness I've been holding onto melts away. I open my mouth and take the first spoonful.

The warm broth eases the ache in my throat.

A few minutes later, I swallow the medicine without another argument.

Veeraj doesn't say,I told you so.He simply hands me the glass of water and waits until I've finished. Looking at him now, I realize something that scares me a little.

He isn't taking care of me because he has to. He isn't doing it because we're married on paper. He's doing it because seeing me hurt hurts him too.

And somewhere along the way without either of us noticing . . . The stone prince stopped feeling like a stranger.

He started feeling like home.

34. TASTE OF CARE

DIYA