Page 92 of The Unwanted Husband
CHAPTER 30
San Francisco, A month later…
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Ashok’s laugh echoed off the rocky cliffs as he steadied Isha on the steep mountain path, his hand firm and warm around hers.
Isha rolled her eyes dramatically before fixing him with a mock glare that didn’t quite hide her amusement. “This is where I worked every summer in high school, thank you.” I know this place like you know your lone island.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before he pulled her against him with that effortless strength that still made her breath catch. His lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, teeth grazing her skin in a way that sent shivers cascading down her spine.
“You are such a tease,” he murmured, his voice dark velvet against her ear. “Are you suggesting we do what we did on our private island?”
Heat flooded through Isha at the memory, their night on that secluded paradise, waves crashing in the darkness while they discovered each other with desperate, hungry hands. The explosive passion that had left them tangled in sheets and starlight, breathless and transformed. They hadn’t been able to return since, and the longing for it was a constant ache.
She turned in his arms, her smile turning mysterious, sultry. “Maybe,” she said, her voice dropping to that husky register that she knew undid him. “But I prefer we pick that up when we’re back on your private island.”
His lips brushed over hers, feather-light, teasing. “Ours,” he corrected, as he always did, his breath mingling with hers. “Our island.”
“Fine.” She laughed, the sound bright and free in the coastal air. “Our private island, Chieftain.” She pulled away, immediately missing his warmth, but the excitement of sharing this place with him propelled her forward. “Come on. My favorite spot is also the deepest point of land jutting into the Pacific Ocean.”
As they walked, Isha found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t expected, sharing stories that tumbled out like treasures she’d kept locked away. She told him about the summers she’d spent there, when the world felt both impossibly large and comfortingly small. How she’d guide tourists through the lighthouse, reciting historical facts while dreaming of her own adventures. How she’d discovered the secret places, the hidden corners where she could sit and watch the ocean and imagine her future.
She noticed Ashok had grown quiet, but it wasn’t an empty silence. He watched her with an intensity that made her hyperaware of every gesture, every word. His dark eyes tracked the animation in her face, the way her hands moved when she talked, the joy that lit her up from within.
“The lighthouse doesn’t open until noon,” she explained, leading him down a narrow path carved into the cliff face, “but I know where they keep the secret key.” She grinned over her shoulder at him. “Perks of being a former employee.”
Still, he said nothing, just followed her with that same focused attention that made her feel like she was the only thing in his universe.
When they reached a weathered metal hatch built into the rock face, Isha paused, suddenly uncertain. “Why are you so quiet?” She glanced back at him, trying to read his expression. “Do you not want to be the Chieftain when we move back to the island?”
“I do.” His voice was rougher than usual, weighted with something she couldn’t quite name. “But there’s something I need to do before I take on that responsibility.”
Curiosity piqued, Isha turned her attention back to the hatch, kneeling to retrieve the key from its hiding spot beneath a loose stone. “What’s that?” she asked absently, fitting the key into the old lock.
The mechanism groaned in protest, then gave way. She rolled up the metal shutter to reveal a tunnel carved through the rock, and beyond it, the beginning of a hanging bridge that stretched toward the lighthouse, suspended over the churning Pacific far below.
“Monisha Varma.”
Her full name, spoken in that voice, formal, with a slight tremble in his voice, made her stop mid-step.
She froze on the swaying bridge, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. He never called her that. Not in a long time. Not both names together, weighted with such ceremony.
Slowly, almost afraid to turn, she pivoted to face him.
The sight stole the breath from her lungs.
Ashok was down on one knee on the narrow bridge, his tall frame somehow graceful despite the precarious position. The wind from the ocean whipped around them, carrying the salt spray and the cries of gulls, but all of it faded into insignificance.
In his hand, held like an offering, was a ring.
Isha’s gasp was involuntary. It wasn’t the massive, ostentatious diamond she might have expected from someone of Ashok’s wealth. Instead, it was vintage, delicate, an art deco piece with a central diamond surrounded by intricate gold detailing. Elegant. Understated. Timeless.
It was perfect. It washer. And the fact that he knew that, that he’d chosen something exactly the opposite of the statement Ruby ring he had bought her as part of the contract and convincing they had to do. It made her eyes burn with sudden tears.
“Monisha Varma,” he said again, and his voice cracked slightly on her name. “Please marry me.”
The smile that broke across her face was involuntary, radiant, hard to contain. She took a step closer, then another, until she was standing directly in front of him. Without a word, she extended her left hand.
His normally steady fingers shook a little, barely. But she felt it, as he slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, of course it did, settling into place like it had always belonged there.
