Chapter 2: inn
The carriage swayed. The lantern swung. Her feet stayed on his face.
Priya's toes curled against Raj's cheekbones. She could feel the faint scratch of stubble, the warmth of his breath through the thin silk of her sari where it pooled around her ankles. Her right arch rested over his left eye. Her left heel pressed into the corner of his jaw.
She felt his tongue move.
Not a kiss. Not exactly. A slow, deliberate drag of wet warmth across the sole of her foot. From heel to toe. Tracing the curve. Tasting her.
Priya jerked. Her foot slipped. Her heel caught him under the chin.
"Sorry—" She pulled back. Started to apologize. Stopped.
Raj was smiling. Eyes still closed. Lips still parted. A red mark blooming on his jaw where her heel had struck.
"That hurt," he said. Calm. Almost amused.
"I know. I'm—"
"Don't apologize."
Priya's mouth opened. Closed.
"Don't ever apologize for touching me," he said. "For any reason. With any part of you. No matter how it feels."
Her face burned. The blush was back. Spreading from her cheeks to her chest to the tips of her ears. She could feel it, hot and prickling, like a fever under her skin.
Raj opened his eyes. Looked up at her from beneath the arch of her foot. His gaze was steady. Patient. Infuriatingly calm.
"You're embarrassed," he said.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
She peeked through her fingers. He was still kneeling. Still looking up at her. Still smiling that soft, patient smile.
"You're enjoying this," she accused.
"Very much."
"My feet are—they're not—"
"They're perfect."
"They're feet." She dropped her hands. Stared at him. "They're just feet. They walk. They get dirty. They—"
"They're yours."
Priya's throat closed. She didn't know what to say to that.
Raj leaned forward. Pressed his lips to the top of her foot. Right where the veins showed through the skin. Right where the bones formed that delicate arch.
She shivered. Couldn't help it.
"Tell me something," he said against her skin.
"What?"
"Are you ticklish?"
Her eyes widened. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't you dare."
He grinned. Actually grinned. It was the most boyish expression she'd seen on him yet. Mischievous. Playful. Completely at odds with the strong, serious man who had walked into her uncle's shop three days ago.
"I'm not going to do anything," he said. "I'm just asking."
"I don't believe you."
"Smart girl."
He kissed her arch. Slow. Deliberate.
Priya's toes curled. Her leg twitched. The movement pressed her heel into his cheekbone.
He laughed. Low. Warm.
"That tickled you," he said.
"No it didn't."
"Your foot moved."
"That was—that was involuntary."
"Everything about you is involuntary right now." He tilted his head. Rubbed his cheek against her sole like a cat. "You're blushing. Your breath is fast. Your toes keep curling."
Priya wanted to die. Wanted to sink through the floor of the carriage. Wanted to be anywhere but here, with her feet on a man's face and her body betraying every secret she had.
"Stop looking at me," she whispered.
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Because you're beautiful."
She made a sound. Something between a laugh and a sob. Her foot pressed harder against his face. Pushed his head back. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make him stop looking at her with those eyes.
"Priya."
"What?"
"Your foot is on my mouth."
She looked down. It was. The ball of her foot was pressed right against his lips. His breath was hot against her skin.
"Sorry—"
"Don't apologize."
She didn't. But she didn't move her foot either.
Raj's tongue flicked out. Touched her sole. Just once.
This time she didn't jerk back. She watched. Watched his eyes flutter closed. Watched his jaw go slack. Watched the way his whole body seemed to relax under her touch.
"You like this," she said.
"Yes."
"Is this what you want?" she asked. "Every day?"
"Every day."
"Forever?"
"Forever."
"You're serious."
"I am."
She pressed her heel into his cheek. Watched his eyelid twitch.
"You paid six hundred rupees for a girl you didn't know. You married her the same night. And now you're kneeling on the floor of a carriage with her feet on your face."
He nodded. "That's accurate."
Priya swallowed. Her chest was tight. Her eyes were stinging.
"There's a storm coming," Raj said.
She blinked. "What?"
He tilted his head. Listened. The carriage was quiet. The driver had stopped singing.
"Wind's picking up," he said. "Rain before morning."
"You can tell?"
"I can tell."
She looked at the window. The curtain shifted. Dust swirled in the gap. The sky beyond was dark—not just night-dark, but weather-dark. Threatening.
"We should stop," she said.
"We will." He shifted beneath her. Kissed her heel. "The driver knows a place. An inn. We'll rest there tonight."
Her foot slid down his face. Rested against his throat. She could feel his pulse. Steady. Calm.
"You planned this," she said.
"Planned what?"
"The whole journey. The stops. Everything."
"Of course."
"Because you're used to being in charge."
He smiled. "Yes."
"But you're not in charge right now."
"No." His voice dropped. Softer. "I'm not."
Priya's breath hitched. She pressed her foot flat against his throat. Not hard enough to choke. Just enough to feel.
"You like this," she said again.
"Very much."
"You want me to be your—your master."
He closed his eyes. Let out a breath. "Yes."
"And if I said no? If I said I didn't want this?"
"I would be your husband. Nothing more."
"You'd still take care of me?"
"Until my last breath."
She didn't know what to do with that. With any of it. So she pressed her toes against his chin. Pushed his head back.
She let her foot trail down. From his chin to his chest. She could feel the fabric of his kurta, the muscles underneath. Hard and warm and alive.
"But maybe," she whispered, "I could get used to it."
The carriage hit a rut. Priya pitched forward. Her foot slammed into Raj's mouth.
He grunted. Rocked back.
"Oh—" She grabbed the edge of the cushion. "Are you—did I—"
He touched his lip. Looked at his fingers. No blood.
"I'm fine," he said.
"I kicked you in the face."
"You did."
"I'm so—"
"Don't."
She closed her mouth. Swallowed the apology.
"You liked it," he said.
"I did not."
"Your eyes went wide."
"That was—" She huffed. "That was surprise."
"Mm." He licked his lip. "Tasted like surprise."
Priya stared at him. Then—she couldn't help it—she laughed. A real laugh. Loud and surprised and bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest.
"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," she said.
"Probably."
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
She laughed again. Covered her mouth. Tried to stop. Couldn't.
Raj watched her. His eyes were soft. His smile was real.
"You should laugh more," he said. "It suits you."
She wiped her eyes. "I haven't had much to laugh about."
"I know." He reached up. Touched her ankle. Gently. So gently. "But you will now."
The carriage slowed. Voices outside. The driver calling out to someone. A light—warm, flickering. The inn.
Raj kissed her foot. Once. Twice. Three times. From ankle to toe.
"We're here," he said.
"Good." She pulled her feet back. Tucked them under her sari. "I need to—I need to think."
"About what?"
"About everything."
He nodded. Rose from his knees. His joints popped. He'd been kneeling for hours.
"Your face is red," she said.
"Your feet."
She blushed. Looked away.
"They're perfect," he said.
"Stop."
"Never."
The carriage stopped. The driver pulled open the curtain. The night air rushed in—cool and damp and smelling of rain.
Raj stepped out first. Held his hand for her.
Priya took it. Let him help her down. Her feet touched the ground. The mud was cold and soft and welcome.
Then his words from the carriage came back to her. The way he'd looked at her. The way he'd kissed her feet. The way he'd promised forever.
She looked at him standing in the lantern light. Strong. Patient. Hers.
"Raj."
He turned. "Yes?"
"I don't understand you."
He smiled. "I know."
"You're a strange, strange man."
"I know."
She stepped closer. Closer. Until she could smell him. Sandalwood and jasmine and something warm underneath.
"Take me inside," she said. "I'm tired."
He led her toward the door. His hand on her elbow. Gentle. Steady.
The inn was small. One room with a fire. A bed in the corner. The innkeeper nodded and left.
Priya stood in the middle of the floor. Looked at the bed. Looked at Raj.
"Where will you sleep?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Where do you want me?"
She thought about it. Really thought about it. The carriage. The kneeling. The kisses. The way he'd looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"On the floor," she said.
He smiled. That soft, patient smile.
"Of course."
She walked to the bed. Sat on the edge. Watched him lay out a blanket before her. Watched him settle onto it. On his back. Looking up at her.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
"Very."
"You're going to be sore in the morning."
"I know."
"You don't care."
"No."
She slipped off her sandals. Let her feet hang over the edge of the bed. Dangling. Close to his face.
"Priya."
"Yes?"
"You said you'd think about it."
"I did."
"And?"
She looked down at him. At his dark eyes. At his wait, patient, his hands folded on his chest like a man already dead.
"I'll try," she said. "I'll try to understand. To be what you want."
"You already are."
She shook her head. "No. But I will be."
"Priya."
"What?"
"Your feet."
She looked down. They were hanging there. Right above his face. Right where he could see them. Study them. Worship them if he wanted.
"Sorry." She started to pull them up.
"Don't."
She stopped.
"Leave them."
She looked at him. "Like this?"
"Like this."
"You'll be able to see them."
"I know."
"You'll be able to—"
"I know."
She let them hang. Let him look. Let the firelight dance over her arches, her toes, her ankles.
"You're embarrassing me," she said.
"I know."
"You're enjoying this."
"Very much."
"You're—" She stopped. A smile tugged at her mouth. "You're impossible."
"I know."
She let her foot drop. Just a little. Just enough for her toes to brush his chin.
"Goodnight, Raj."
He turned his head. Kissed her toe. Soft. Reverent.
"Goodnight, Priya."
She pulled her feet up. Curled under the blanket. Closed her eyes.
But she didn't sleep. Not for a long time.
She lay there, listening to his breathing. Feeling the warmth of the fire. Thinking about the man on the floor. Thinking about the life she'd left behind. Thinking about the life she was starting.
Her feet still tingled where his lips had touched them.
She could still feel him.
And she knew—somehow, in some way she couldn't yet name—that she always would.