All Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty Eight

A/N

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Sita

I look up from my book when Dhushyanth opens the bedroom door. I watch as he smiles at me, his movements marked by a subtle hesitancy that he attempts to cover up by clearing his throat.

"Hi, sweetheart," he greets, climbing onto the bed.

He forwards his face, presumably to kiss my cheek, but I move away, pointing to the bathroom. "Don't dirty the sheets. Shower first."

"Okay madam," he agrees, leaving to do as I say.

I notice he doesn't stop to pick up a towel, even. "Oye," I call out, causing him to pause and look back at me. "Towel evaru theeskeltharu?" [Who will take the towel?]

He points to himself. "Nene theeskelthaanu, Srimathi Garu." [I will take it, my darling wife.]

I watch as he opens the closet for a towel and throws it around his neck, glancing back at me as though wanting to say something, but he seems to decide against it as he goes off for a shower.

I return to my book, but can barely get through a page without returning to the beginning, since obviously I haven't registered a single word on the page. And that's all I've been doing all day which is such a pity since I'd been so eager to read the book.

I close the book and leave it on the bedside table, choosing rather to scroll through Instagram.

I glance at the clock, repeatedly, trying to determine how long this man would take to shower. Does he have any respect for an angry wife?

Twenty minutes later, when he's still not here, I determine the silent treatment is the best kind of treatment for this man.

I cover myself with the blanket, and turn on my side, continuing to scroll through Instagram, and a few minutes later the bathroom's door creaks open, and my husband emerges, his lower half covered with a white towel. He rakes a hand through his wet hair, causing a tiny flip in my stomach.

Shhh, I'm supposed to be mad at this man.

How are you supposed to stay mad at hot as fuck husbands?

I do myself a favour and pull my eyes away before they continue on their path down his naked upper half, but I cannot help the traitorous glances at his six-feet form, noticing him pull on a white t-shirt and black shorts, entirely mimicking my outfit.

He pulls the towel away after pulling his shorts on, and wastes no time in leaping towards the bed, causing me to bounce off the mattress, even if only slightly.

I kiss my teeth with annoyance, and try to settle back into a comfortable position, but his arms come around me, and he proceeds to kiss my cheek, his beard tickling my neck as he does.

I am acutely aware of the smell of his body wash, a fresh woody scent mixed with something lemony.

"Hi, wifey," he whispers, pulling back to look at my face.

I keep my eyes focused on my phone's screen, silently refusing to return his gaze.

"Si-ta," he calls, dragging out the first syllable and ending with a short sound.

Nee thatha, I think to myself, and have to bite my lip to suppress the smile that grows on my lips from my humour. [Literally translates to: your grandpa, but I think it would be a much softer version of saying teri maa ki.]