Page 135 of The Defiant Wife

And somehow . . . On my birthday . . . That becomes the greatest gift of all.

57. PORTRAIT

VEERAJ

The morning sun pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the palace sunroom, scattering warm light across the white marble floor.

For generations, the Shekhawat family has followed one tradition without fail. Every married couple sits for a formal oil painting that is later placed in the grand gallery alongside their ancestors.

Growing up in these quiet palace halls, walking past those serious portraits every day, I never imagined my own painting would hang there one day. I had always believed marriage was another responsibility—something built on logic, duty, and legacy.

Then Diya walked into my life and proved just how wrong I was.

Now, standing beside the artist's easel, I don't care about tradition.

I only care about the woman standing a few feet away from me.

"If you keep glaring at the painter's empty stool like that, Veeraj," Diya says, trying to adjust the stubborn pleats of her saree, "the poor man is going to run all the way back to Delhi before he even opens his paint box."

I look up.

She is wearing an emerald green silk saree that catches the morning light beautifully. The rich color makes her skin glow, and the pale patches of vitiligo along her neck and hands look even more striking against the fabric.

She is absolutely breathtaking.

She is also losing a battle with her saree.

She lets out an annoyed sigh as she tries to tuck the pleats in again. "I swear this saree is plotting against me. It has officially declared war."

I can't help smiling.

"The painter is being paid an impressive amount today, Trouble," I reply as I walk toward her. "I'm sure he can survive one intimidating look from his client."

She looks up just as I reach her. Without asking, I gently move her hands away from her waist.

"I was fixing that."

"No," I say calmly. "You were fighting it."

"I was winning."

"You were negotiating."

"I was absolutely winning."

I raise an eyebrow. "The saree disagrees."

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "I liked you better when you barely spoke."

"You say that every day, at least once."

"And yet you keep getting more talkative."

"Marriage has had unexpected side effects."

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it.

"There it is," I murmur.