All Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty One

I take a second to consider, as Dhushyanth's unwavering gaze only doubles my doubts.

Refusing to give in, even if in an attempt to get away from him, I walk away from the staircase, towards the lawn.

"Sita," he calls out, but I don't turn around, since his slippers slapping against the marble floor make me aware of his intentions to follow me.

I slide the French windows open, and step out onto the grass, barefoot, leaving my slippers inside the house.

The grass feels fresh and cold under my feet as a gentle summer breeze goes by, not seeming as hot as the sun readies itself to retire for the night.

"Are you actually mad at me?" Dhushyanth asks, stepping out himself.

I glance at him from the side of my eyes. "Why would I be mad at you?"

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "because of last night?"

When he seduced me and then didn't even have protection and refused to let me use the morning-after pill?

"No."

"Are you mad at me because I called you a kid?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

Which man calls his wife a child?

The wife that he almost had sex with, last night?

The woman he has been hooking up with, for three years now?

And while we're in such an intimate position?

"No."

"So," he stretches, leaning down into my face, "you are mad for both reasons?"

I throw him another glance. "I walked away from you to get away from you."

"Seemed like you wanted me to follow you since you didn't respond when I called out to you," he grins.

I clench my teeth together, using every ounce of willpower I have in me to stop my lips from turning up. I hate when Dhushyanth acts like this; all cute and smart and witty.

Dhushyanth's hands slide around my waist, closing up on my front, making me gasp, silently. "You need to relax, Sita," he says to me, leaning into the crook of my neck. His arms tighten around me, pulling me against his chest. "Let me help," he appeals.

I move my head away from his so I can look at him. "You're just horny," I accuse.

For some reason, Dhushyanth Reddy thinks I'm being funny, he begins to laugh, and presses a kiss to my cheek, smothering his laughter as he does.

The action seems so weirdly intimate. If Dhushyanth simply kissed my lips, I would think he wanted to make out, but what do I make of all of these cute little kisses, filled with affection and fondness?

"Come Kurnool with me," he proposes, immediately diverting my attention, "you don't have to go campaigning for me, you don't have to talk to the media, or anyone, for that matter. We'll set you up with everything you want to make yourself comfortable."

The idea is not unexpected. Different family members had brought it up at different points of time in the last twenty-four hours. Dhruv had mentioned off-handedly that I should go along with them if I wasn't going to campaign for my father anyway, since election season meant busy times for everyone, and I would be alone here. My father had asked if I'm going with Dhushyanth, no asking if I did want to come with him at all, even if everyone knew about the previous campaign's success.

Once married, girls belong to their husbands.

Right, cause I'm a tree or something, not a living, breathing human.