I fold my uttariya neat as a ledger and lay it down on the brass casket. My earrings come next, the neckpieces, the little trinkets clinging to my wrists. All the while I watch Samhita pacing like a caged bird, fingers picking at each other, teeth gnawing her lower lip as though that poor lip had wronged her.

With a sigh, I catch her by the arms to stop her jittering. I slide my thumb against her mouth, freeing the poor lip from her teeth. "Spare those lips, priye. They are made not for cruelty, but for the worship of my mouth alone."

She chuckles, though it's nervous. "Arya... how can you speak so achingly romantic in this moment?"

I hook her waist and, pull her in tight so I feel every tremor of her. "Since when was romance supposed to be rationed out? Didn't I tell you, I ache to fill you with my love."

She gasps, scandalized, eyes going wide like I'd just said something profane. "Arya, did you even hear yourself. 'Fill me with love?' That's downright filthy, you can't just say something like that."