A marriage that should have felt like a dream—a honeymoon meant for two bodies still warm with new desire.
... ... ... ...
Kangsadan was lifted into his arms and carried to the bed by the man who was her husband only in name. He laid her down on his mattress, his hands firm yet careful, as if afraid she might break beneath his touch.
"Sleep here with me tonight," he said softly, his low voice brushing against her skin. Her shoulders still trembled as quiet sobs escaped her chest.
"Don't cry…" His fingers traced the path of her tears, wiping them away as they slipped down her cheeks. "It makes me feel unbearably wretched."
He pulled her into his arms, pressing her tightly against him, burying his face into the slope of her shoulder. He could feel the faint shiver running through her body. Remembering how cold she had been the night before, he reached for the remote and adjusted the temperature, unwilling to let her feel neglected again.
"Sleep," he murmured. "You barely ate. You must be exhausted."
"No…" she whispered hoarsely. "If you want to continue… we can. It's part of the yesterday's agreement."
He paused, then shook his head. "No. Not like this. The mood is gone."
Her body gave in to fatigue. She fell into a deep sleep on his bed, unaware of when he rose and left her side.
Morning came softly. She startled awake when warm breath brushed her ear.
"I want life to feel like a dream," he whispered, his voice alive with morning heat.
"How?" she asked sleepily.
"My father sent a message."
"We're going to Sydney next week. You remember?"
"Yes…"
"Aunt Uma's friend recommended a doctor." His eyes gleamed as he watched her reaction.
"Congratulations," she said quietly.
"Shall we continue…?" His voice dipped.
"No."
"Oh? You said you wanted to last night." His lips brushed close to her ear.
"It's daylight now. It doesn't feel right."
"What? You even choose the timing?"
"Yes. Old traditions care about auspicious hours."
Her words made him laugh aloud.
"Bell… you really are fascinating. Just like Paul said."
"So, it was him who pushed me into this."
"What's so wrong with me?" he asked lightly.
"Nothing. You're very good—too good. Handing me papers, stuffing nonsense into my hands."
"Like a dream?"
"Who said so? More like a scammer. You scared me half to death."
He didn't let her finish. His mouth claimed hers, slow and deliberate, lips pressing, teasing, lingering until her thoughts blurred. She closed her eyes, drifting in that hazy space between waking and surrender.
His kisses trailed from her lips to her cheeks, over every inch of her face, unhurried and possessive. Then lower—slowly, deliberately—until her body reacted before her mind could stop it. Every nerve beneath her skin awakened, pulsing.
A soft moan slipped from her throat. It sent heat rushing through him. The memory of the morning before had never faded. Now it returned stronger, sharper, dragging him deeper into desire. He could no longer pretend indifference toward the young intern in his arms.
"Don't leave me aching… alone again, Bell," he murmured.
"You said after one year, no renewal," she replied, breathless.
"So, you'll go back to your ex?"
"And you? Ditsaya is still waiting, isn't she?"
"How do you know?"
"I saw it yesterday. With my own eyes." Her voice faltered. "The way you laughed together… I know how far you've gone."
"You're good at guessing," he said, smiling faintly.
"Or maybe I'm wrong?"
"So bad I deserve an F?"
"Even your grandmother mentioned them—both the foreign woman and Ditsaya." She shot him a sharp look.
"The foreign woman was my own excuse. Ditsaya was my uncle's suggestion," he replied, amused.
He leaned closer, studying her face.
"There's only one person named 'Bell' who truly knows how hopeless I am."
"That's slander. I'll sue."
"Then punish me," he said softly. "I want to be punished."
"How?" she asked, hesitating.
He took her hand and guided it—slowly—teaching her through touch, through movement. She felt his body respond beneath her, the tension building, unmistakable.
"You'll be late for work," she whispered. "Get up."
"No one rushes a newlywed," he laughed.
"Everyone takes leave for their honeymoon—except this vice president," she said, poking his chest.
"Then I won't go. I'll hold you all day."
She slipped into the bathroom. The tub was already filled with warm water.
"I needed this," he said, stepping in ahead of her. "Last night weighed on me."
"Later, let's swim," he suggested.
He pulled her down into the water, settling her astride his lap. The warmth wrapped around her skin, soothing, intimate.
"No meetings today?" she asked.
"I canceled them all."
"That's excessive."
"You'll be gone almost two weeks next week."
"Go to work."
"Bell… meetings are online now." He smiled. "I can attend from right here."
She laughed. "The whole building would gossip if they saw us."
… … … …
Later, at the pool, he spoke of Aunt Uma.
"She's not really family—but close enough."
"Your father's mistress?"
He blinked. "How did you know?"
"You think I'm foolish?"
"I misjudged you."
"You gave me an F on my first evaluation. I cried all night."
"A nightmare?"
"I was fighting a lion."
"Then ride it," he laughed.
"That's ambiguous."
"What does that mean?"
"Ambiguous. And dirty."
"There's only us here."
She continued teasing until he dove into the pool, unwilling to listen.
Watching him, Kangsadan finally understood—this family was tangled in old wounds, sins passed down through generations. And Vishpan, her husband in name, bore scars deeper than he showed.
She decided then: she would stay close. She would help him heal.
"Bell! Let's have a diving contest!"
"Yes."
She leapt into the water, diving toward him. She swam around him slowly, teasing, drawing him after her—hoping to ease the tension that clung to him, the unnatural strain shadowing a marriage that should have been nothing but heat and hunger.
A honeymoon meant for two people in the season of fresh desire… Yet instead of bliss, they struggled—bound by a body-deep connection that was anything but simple.