Page 65 of The Defiant Wife

She says nothing.I don't push. I don't expect forgiveness. Hell, I don't even expect a response.

Then quietly, almost reluctantly, her eyes lift.Meeting mine.

Guarded.

Wary.

Waiting.

For the catch.For the condition.For the demand.I've seen that look before.People waiting for the price of kindness.People assuming help comes attached to obligations.Something twists unpleasantly inside my chest.

So I answer the question she hasn't asked."Considering we're here now . . . "I glance toward the fire.The priest continues preparing the next ritual.Everyone remains distracted.For a moment, it feels like we're the only two people beneath this mandap." . . .standing in front of this fire . . . "My gaze returns to hers."I guess there's no turning back."

Something flickers across her face.Resignation maybe.Or disappointment.I immediately add,"For a while, at least."

One of her eyebrows lifts.There she is.There's the woman who argues with me.Good.I like her much better than the silent version.I shift slightly in my seat.Then say the thing I need her to understand.The thing that matters most.

"I am a lot of things, Diya."A tiny snort escapes her. Fair.

"Grumpy." That earns another one.

"Difficult." Her lips twitch.

"Occasionally unreasonable."

"Occasionally?" she mutters.

I ignore that."But I am not a captor."

The amusement disappears from her face.Immediately.Because now she understands I'm serious.I hold her gaze.Steady. Her brown eyes shining with the reflection of fire."I will never force you into anything."

The noise around us fades.Family members continue chatting.The priest continues chanting.Yet somehow everything narrows to this moment."Not your affection."Something vulnerable flashes through her eyes."Notyour time."The vulnerability deepens."And certainly not this marriage."

She blinks. I continue before she can interrupt."You keep your life."Her expression softens."You keep your work."Softer."You keep your space."Something inside her visibly loosens.The tension that's been sitting in her shoulders all morning finally begins to ease. "This marriage will work on your terms, always." Only a little. But enough. Enough for me to notice. Enough for me to feel oddly relieved.

Then, because the conversation has become dangerously serious and because she looks seconds away from crying again, I decide to fix it. The only way I know how. Poorly.

"And . . . "

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. Reasonable.

"I suppose I can negotiate with my schedule."

The suspicion deepens.

"If you need an extra pair of hands at your NGO . . . "

A tiny spark appears in her eyes.

" . . . or someone to intimidate donors into writing larger cheques . . . "

That does it.

The corner of her mouth twitches.

I continue. "Apparently I'm terrifying."

"You are." Her voice is quite,