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It’s a beautiful home. And it’ll burn magnificently.
“If your husband still has his hand when he comes home,” he says in a deep, controlled voice, and a shudder ripples down my spine, “I’ll correct it immediately.”
“I don’t think love is a strong enough term to describe what I feel for you, Ravi,” he says between the kisses. “I wish I could find the words to describe it. It’s like a beautiful flame engulfing my heart, which has transformed into full-blown burning madness. Everything else is insignificant to its light.”
“Would it be weird if I ask you to marry me the same night you became a widow?” he mumbles into my mouth.

