Married in Vengeance (Dynasty Rebels #4)

Chapter 15

Fifteen

RAM

He was being punished. That was the only explanation for it. God had decided that he’d been too much of a prick and must be taken down a peg or two. And apparently, vomit over his favourite custom-made leather shoes was the way to go.

He stood beneath the shower, water pouring down his head, and prayed for patience. But apparently his prayers wouldn’t be answered. Only Aadhya’s would. Vomit on his fucking shoes!

Thankfully the manic pixie bunch outside had vanished when he’d stormed into the bathroom to shower and change. He toweled off and pulled on tracks and a tee-shirt before leaving the sanctuary of the bathroom.

The bedroom was thankfully empty and even more thankfully, clean. Someone had called the help to clean up. Most of the smell was gone too and the ashtrays had been emptied out. His room still looked like a tornado had hit it, but the worst of the debris was gone.

Ram grabbed his laptop bag and was almost to the door when it opened, and Aadhya walked in hauling a bucket and a mop. He stopped, blinking at her.

“Why are you cleaning up?”

Aadhya shrugged, not looking at him. “I made the mess. I’ll clean up.”

Ram blinked a bit more. “You can call someone for that.”

Aadhya stiffened, her back still to him, her mop working aggressively across the floor. “I clean up my own messes.”

Ram hovered awkwardly by the door, watching her. “I can help,” he offered, putting his laptop bag down.

Aadhya scoffed, pulling a cloth out of nowhere and scrubbing at the marble top centre table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ram bristled.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a noise. A disdainful noise.”

Aadhya snorted a laugh now. “A disdainful noise! You’re a prudish eighty-year-old British woman stuck inside the body of a thirty-year man.”

“And you’re a petulant teenager in the body of a twenty-four-year-old. Yet, here we are.”

“Yeah! Here we are!” Aadhya shrieked suddenly and flung the mop at him, barely missing his head. “Why the fuck are we here?”

Ram glared at her, furious. “You fucking lunatic! What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with me??” She shot him a wild-eyed look. “What is wrong with you? You married me for what? To make my life miserable?”

“Don’t you dare think about throwing that bucket at me,” he warned, advancing on her, a watchful eye on the bucket she was hefting. “And in case you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, I’m more fucking miserable than you are.”

“That’s your fault!” she shouted. “You did this to both our lives. Why?”

“You know why!”

Aadhya shook her head. “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” he sneered. “Your family might buy your innocent act. I fell for it for a short while too. But I know you now, Aadhya Reddy. I know exactly who and what you are.”

She widened her eyes at him dramatically. “And who and what am I?” she gasped. “Do tell.”

Ram could have sworn there was steam erupting from his ears. “Don’t fuck with me, Aadhya. I’m not in the mood.”

She dropped her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him. “Oh, I’m not fucking with you, Ram. Nor will I be fucking you. Not ever again.”

“Good. I have better things to do than to be sticking my dick in a venus flytrap.”

“You can just stick your dick down your own throat,” she replied, with a polite smile.

“That’s not even anatomically possible.” Ram argued, his blood pressure shooting up even higher.

Aadhya let off a muffled scream. “Oh My God! You are the most frustrating man in the universe.”

She turned away from him and picked up the mop lying on the ground. “Not anatomically possible,” she muttered to herself. “Who even fights like that? That’s not even –“

Ram took a deep breath, trying to will the vein pulsing in his forehead to calm down. “If you ever feel the need to come clean, I’ll be waiting.”

“You can wait until the end of this lifetime and the next,” Aadhya told him pleasantly. “Come clean my ass.”

“Fuck this shit,” Ram said wearily, grabbing his laptop bag and walking to the door.

“Yeah. Fuck this shit.” Aadhya shook her head, the mop clattering against the bucket as she swiveled away from him.

He glanced at her, his heart twisting rebelliously at the sight of her stooped shoulders and downbent head. He saw her hand come up and surreptitiously swipe at some tears.

He reached out, his instinct to hold and comfort her too strong to be controlled but before he could touch her, Aadhya pulled herself together and moved away from him.

“I’m not sharing a bedroom with you,” she told him, her back still to him.

His hand fisted in midair and dropped back to his side. “This is my bedroom,” he reminded her.

“I don’t care. There are like five hundred bedrooms in this house. Pick another one to use.”

“There are twelve bedrooms in this house. Regardless, this one is mine and this is where I’ll sleep.”

“Fine.” She turned abruptly to face him, her entire body tightly clenched against whatever emotions were battering her. “I’ll pick one then.”

“Like hell you will,” he snarled. “My parents live in this house, and I won’t have them wondering why we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms.”

“You slept somewhere else last night,” she reminded him, her arms going to wrap around her waist as if she was holding herself together physically.

“Consider that a one-off,” he bit out. “You’re my wife. We sleep in the same room, in the same bed. End of story.”

Aadhya’s hands fell away from her waist. She reached down and grabbed the bucket with the mop sticking out of it.

“I’ll give you this one, Ram Gadde. But only because I know what our families are like. But if this is the end of the story, you can be damned sure I’m writing the fucking epilogue.”