Page 104 of The Defiant Wife

"A little."

She leans forward, smiling."So . . . What's one thing nobody knows about Veeraj Singh Shekhawat?"

My instinct is to dismiss the question. There isn't much to know about me. At least, that's what I've spent years making people believe. Publicly, I'm the prince who attends meetings, signs files, and speaks only when necessary. Most people assume that's all there is.

They don't see the details I quietly hold onto.

The names. The routines. The people who've spent decades keeping this palace running without ever asking for recognition.

"I remember every birthday of every employee who's worked in our palace for more than five years."

She blinks." . . . Why?"

"Because no one else does."

For the first time that evening, she doesn't have a clever reply.She just looks at me.Really looks at me.Then she quietly locks her phone and slides it into her bag.

"No more questions?" I ask.

She smiles. "I don't think I need the list anymore."

"Tell me about you?” My eyes drifts over to the pale patches on her hands. She notices that.

“I am what they say, flawed, in their language.”

“There are no flaws sitting across from me.” Her breath stills. “You look like a painting someone had taken their time creating.” Her hand relaxes beneath mine.

The waiter arrives with dinner, but neither of us notices immediately.Somehow, somewhere between colour-coded questionnaires, terrible books, old dreams, and honest answers . . . This stops feeling like two strangers sharing a meal.

It starts feeling like the beginning of something real.

37. CRIMSON DIAGNOSIS

DIYA

"Diya didi . . . are you sick?"Rani stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, her tiny eyebrows pulled together so seriously that she looks like an elderly doctor about to deliver terrible news.

Before I can answer, she reaches up as if she's about to touch my forehead.

I gently catch her hand. "No, sweetheart," I say with a smile that's probably a little too quick. "I'm perfectly fine. Why would you think that?"

She squints at me."Because you're all red."

" . . . What?"

She points at my face with complete confidence."Your cheeks."Then my neck."And here."

She tilts her head thoughtfully. "You look like those big tomatoes Meher didi brought from the palace greenhouse."

My hand immediately flies to my neck.It's warm.Very warm.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

I'm officially being diagnosed by a seven-year-old because my face refuses to behave.The moment she points it out, every memory from last night's date comes rushing back.

Veeraj sitting across from me beneath the lanterns.His fingers wrapped around my wrist.The warmth of his hand covering the pale patches of my skin without a second thought.His quiet voice saying there were no flaws sitting across from him.

That I looked like a painting someone had taken their time creating.