All Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty Four

A series of chuckles burst out of me. "It's cause we're both tired."

"Why do you think people get mad about not getting what they didn't ask for?" Dhushyanth wonders, drawing circles on the skin of my waist.

"Maybe people don't ask for things because they don't know what they want," I provide for a plausible explanation. "I didn't know it would make me feel as nice to be thanked for something I've done so long."

"So long?"

"I do all of this in Hyderabad too."

"But that's our house," Dhushyanth argues.

"Is this the neighbour's house?" I ask him.

"I mean," he shrugs, noncommittally, "it's Thathayya's."

"Not the neighbour's thathayya, our thathayya," I remind him, "we weren't taught the difference between our grandparents' house and the house that we lived in."

"I don't think Thathayya would appreciate that I said it like that either," he admits, "but I thought maybe you would see a difference."

"Why? Cause he's your thathayya?"

"No, cause—" he sighs— "I think so, maybe," he admits, begrudgingly, making me chuckle.

"How are you more willing to share your house than your grandfather?" I wonder, jokingly. "The house is yours, but you keep saying ours, but your grandfather is only yours?"

"Well, no," he says, "he's also your grandfather, but do you really not think there is a difference?"

"I mean, we're not related genetically, but I consider him my grandfather for sure."

"Is it because he's your dad's mentor?"

"Maybe a little," I grant, "but also because he's always been thathayya to me— he's always been really nice and kind, and he always tells me stories about my thathayya. So I guess we've just had a pre-existing bond."

"My dad and your dad have also always been really good friends," Dhushyanth says.

"Yes, they have," I agree, unable to comprehend where he's going with that.

"So how did you not have a pre-existing bond with dad?" He asks.

I think about it for a moment before I respond, "I've always admired the kind of politician that Mahendra Mamayya is," I begin, "he's one of the better ones, and he's got a knack for speaking. And even as a person, he's quite warm and nice to be around, but he's been very unlike himself since our wedding—" I hear Dhushyanth sigh and pause.

"It's not you," he lets me know, "it's me he has a problem with. He thinks I didn't do right by you—"

"I understood as much when he brought you straight to my house and offered you to my father as a peace offering."

"Ouch," Dhushyanth winces. "I thought it was only in my head, but now that I realise you've also noticed it, I don't know how I feel about it."

"How do you feel about it?" I ask him.

Dhushyanth yawns and rolls over, snuggling into my neck. "I don't know, really," he says, "but I've never had him give me the silent treatment for so long. I don't like it. It's a bit hurtful, honestly."

"Silent treatment?" I press, feeling my heart dip because of the revelation.

"He hasn't spoken to me since the news came out," Dhushyanth discloses. "Enough about that, though. I feel like a five year old, complaining about my father. Let's sleep."

I realise Dhushyanth does not want to indulge in this conversation anymore, so I don't ask any more questions, but I resolve to set this right between the father and son.

It's hardly as if Dhushyanth manipulated me into having a thing with him. I'm not a victim. And he isn't one either. We were two consenting adults who were having a no-strings-attached relationship, only for two entire states to lose their shit about it when a few blurry pictures came out.

~.~.~.~.~

The next morning, I wake up to Dhushyanth's alarm, but the man in question remains sleeping, snuggling into his pillow, his face contracting with irritation at the interruption to his slumber, quickly relaxing when I turn it off.

"Dhushyanth," I call out to him, poking his muscular arm. "You need to wake up."

"Hmm," he hums, turning over to face me.

"Dhushyanth," I insist, knowing from experience that he's not really awake. "Wake up," I repeat, attempting to shake him, but my sleep doused arm is not equipped with enough energy to move this man whatsoever.

"Dhushushushushu," I whisper in his ear, trying to wake him up so I can go back to sleep without worrying about whether or not he's woken up since I switched off his alarm.

"What are you saying?" He murmurs, making a move to turn around. I move away so he has enough room to turn.

"I'm trying to wake you up," I answer, my eyes fluttering close as sleep beckons me back into its warm embrace in this chilly room.

I pull the blanket up to my neck, making myself comfy under the sheets. I almost slip back into sleep when Dhushyanth slides his cold hand up my waist.

I wince at the sudden intrusion. "Challaga undo cheyyi," I complain, pushing his hand away. [Your hand's cold.]

"Ninna kuda nenu muddhu pedatha ante, oddu annaav," Dhushyanth states, "ippudu emo muttukovaddhu antunnaav." [(Telugu) Yesterday, you refused my kisses, now you're saying not to touch you.]

My eyes snap open. "What's gotten into you?" I ask him. "You were trying to kiss me in a house full of people."

"You're my wife," he argues.

"It doesn't matter. Nobody appreciates PDA, certainly no one in Kurnool does."

"Now you're just hurting my regional sentiments."

"Now you're just being unreasonable," I argue back. "First you won't let me turn the AC down, and now I'm trying to sleep and you're touching me with your freezing hand—"

"No, don't sleep," he says, "you can't sleep comfortably after I wake up."

I frown at him. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Cause I will physically fight you if you don't let me sleep right now. It's fucking early, and I have to be up in an hour, too."

"No, talk to me. I don't get any time with you," Dhushyanth complains, pulling me closer to himself.

"Talk to you about what?" I ask him, wondering why he's getting so clingy all of a sudden. What's gotten into this man?

"I don't know," he says, "tell me I'm the best forced husband in the world—"

"Po bey," I laugh, when he leans into my neck, his stubble brushing against my skin and tickling me.

Dhushyanth chuckles into my neck. "Comfort ekkuvayipothundi neeku. Bey antunnaav." [You're getting too comfortable, addressing me however you wish.]

"Mari yevandi ante nuvvu mari ekkuva melikelu thiruguthunnav kada," I tease. [It's because you get flustered when I address you with respect.]

Dhushyanth sucks at the skin at the base of my neck, making me hiss, but what follows causes my brain to turn into jelly.

"Reddy," I try to warn, but his hand reaches down into my shorts, evidently exciting my core.

"Is that a no?" He wonders, his thumb playing with the band of my panties.

"I hate you," I groan, running my hands through my hair as the sexual desire surpasses my need for sleep.

It's going to be a long day.

"Do you, baby?" He asks, getting rid of his t-shirt and wiggling his eyebrows as he positions himself on top of me.

"So much," I confirm, pulling him down for a kiss.

"I'll change that for you, don't worry," he promises, capturing my lips in a deep kiss before I can wonder what he means by that.