Nandini's POV
After surviving breakfast and all its romantic interrogation, I thought I could finally breathe.
Wrong.
Because just as I stepped out of the dining hall, someone crashed into me with the force of a tornado wearing perfume.
"YOUUU! So you're the silent little bride I've been hearing about!"
I blinked up at a tall, stylish woman with dramatic eyeliner and at least seven rings on her fingers.
She grinned, hugged me before I could react, and then held me at arm's length like I was a dress she was inspecting.
"Hmm... innocent face, soft voice, overdressed in gold—yep, you're definitely my brother's type."
I had so many questions.
She must've read my expression because she laughed and said, "Relax! I'm his one and only sister. Tara. Ex-royal pain. Current favorite Roy."
"Oh!" I smiled. "Hi! I'm—"
"Nandini. Yeah, I know. Mom hasn't shut up about you since the proposal. Honestly, I thought you'd be boring, but turns out you're kinda adorable."
My cheeks instantly heated. "Thanks? I think?"
She winked. "Definitely a compliment."
Before I could process her whirlwind energy, she linked her arm through mine and pulled me toward the hallway.
"C'mon. Let's take a selfie. Proof that you've met the coolest Roy in this mansion."
Click. Flash. Boom. Uploaded.
Then she turned serious—well, Tara-level serious. "Listen. My brother... he's not the best at expressing stuff. He looks cold, but he cares. Like, deeply. But if he hurts you even accidentally, just tell me. I know all his embarrassing stories. And his baby pictures. I hold the power."
I giggled. "I'll keep that in mind."
Just then, Siddharth walked up, suitcase in hand. "Ready?"
My smile slipped a little. "Where are we going?"
"To our house," he said simply.
Tara gasped. "He didn't tell you? Typical. Ice block behavior."
I stared at Siddharth. "We're leaving?"
He looked slightly guilty. Slightly. "I thought someone told you."
"No one told me!"
"Well," Tara clapped her hands. "Surprise! You're moving out, Cinderella."
Mira Amma appeared suddenly like she had teleportation powers. "Kanna, it's tradition in our family. The newlyweds live alone for the first year to build a bond. I packed your things already."
My mouth opened, then closed. I was... moving out. With him. To a house. Alone.
Cue internal screaming.
Tara leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Just don't cry on day one. That's my rule for marriage."
"Too late," I whispered back. "I cried yesterday."
She laughed.
We said goodbye to the family—after 47 hugs, 13 snacks forced into my hands, and one final blessing from a sleepy granny who patted Siddharth and told him not to be grumpy in bed. I'm still recovering from that sentence.
As we drove away in his sleek black car, the mansion grew smaller in the rearview mirror.
New house. New life. New husband.
And zero idea how to act normal when he looks at me like that—like he's trying to figure me out.
Challenge accepted.
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