Now...

I had managed to recreate a large chunk of all the deleted portions of my draft.

Of course, four times in between I almost jumped into the pool and decided drowning was a better choice than rewriting a scene. Twice I banged my head against the laptop for five minutes. Five times, I got distracted and watched movie trailers and then reviews for those movies.

Of course a nice interlude for delicious lunch that I shared with Hrei.

In the midst of this, I managed to get some work done. And I commend myself on it.

Now, it was time for a break. Well deserved in my opinion.

I stretch my arms up and lift my legs out of the pool. Little ducts under my feet shoot a gust of warm air up my legs as I stand. My brows raise.

Four seconds later I'm drier than the desert.

I decided it was time for a spot change. I carry my laptop and phone and begin a spot hunt.

After a careful scout I decide the sofa in the living space looked mighty comfortable. I toss my things onto it and fall into the sofa. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

I would groan if I had any non-melted muscles left. My eyes close, a mild pounding beginning at the back of them.

Maybe a nap was not a bad idea.

Not a bad idea at all...
———
——
—

A name being screamed in the darkness.

Screams. Desperation. Running.

Clangs of metal.

Silence...

Fire burning to the sky.

Funeral.

My husband's.

Walking towards it.

I wake with a start. My eyes widen as I realise my nap had turned into a coma. I had slept for an hour. Perhaps making up for all the sleep I hadn't got before my wedding.

I press a hand to my forehead. The voice screaming a name in the darkness. The chord it struck inside me...and I knew. It was my name.

And the one calling me...

I drag in a breath. My fingers tremble as I reach for my laptop. I remembered the vision I had had at my wedding. Something that recurred now in my dream.

I opened a search engine.

Jumping into husband's pyre

I click the very first link that turns up.

Sati or suttee is an obsolete funeral custom where a widow immolates herself on her husband's pyre or takes her own life in another fashion shortly after her husband's death.

Mention of the practice can be dated back to the 3rd century BCE, while evidence of practice by widows of kings only appears beginning between the 5th and 9th centuries CE. The practice is considered to have originated within the warrior aristocracy in the Indian subcontinent, gradually gaining in popularity from the 10th century CE and spreading to other groups from the 12th through 18th century CE. The practice was particularly prevalent among some Hindu communities, observed in aristocratic Hindu families, and has been attested to outside the Indian subcontinent in a number of localities in Southeast Asia, such as in Indonesia and Vietnam.

I suck in a sharp breath. My heart pounds and I close my laptop and set it aside. There was both a fear and an exhilaration at finding reality in your dreams.

I needed a distraction. And a cup of coffee.

So I get up and head to the kitchen.

As I'm searching for the coffee, my thoughts are inadvertently drawn back to the...

I remember the emotions. The agony of knowing he had passed and was burning into nothing. The...relief at knowing my pain was short-lived. And finally... Peace. Peace at the pyre.

I stand frozen, tapping my fingernails on the counter. Thoughts swirled, entwined and plunged. I had married a man I would rather walk into the pyre for than live without.

I swallow and continue to open another drawer.

"Where's the coffee?" I mutter.

A sound at my back has me whipping around. A section of the tiled wall above the counter slides aside and a sleek black machine sparkles, tucked away in the alcove.

"Please choose your drink." The house says. And as she (it?) speaks, the machine displays the many many options of drinks I could choose from it. I stare at the monstrous drink-maker. There were things here I'd never of. I could control temperature, proportion, components...

"Um...can this work like a normal coffee machine so I can add my own milk and sugar to it please?"

"Yes, Mrs. Kri."

I wonder if I'd disappointed her (it?) by asking it something so simple. I hear muted sounds come from within the machine and stare warily at it.

I jump when the bottom section of the machine opens and the tray holding the hot milk and the coffee brew in separate insulated cups, slides out.

I stare at it, my eyes wide and tracking the trails of steam leaving the cups.

"Enjoy your drink, Mrs. Kri."

I jump again, before huffing out a laugh.

"Thank you." I say as I take both the cups out and place them on the counter. I wonder where I would find the mugs and decide to just ask for it.

"Where are the—"

A drawer opens and inside it was my mug. The one I used at home. It was the mug Pearl's sister's daughter Maggie had painted for me. A white mug with yellow flowers.

I look accusingly at the house.

"You could have let me finish the question."

"Anticipating your needs is my Gospel."

I chuckle at that. "How about not freaking me out be added to that?" I joke as I pull my mug out and place it on the counter.

"Would you like me to add 'not freaking you out' amongst my primary programming code?"

I still in the act of adding my brew to the mug.

"Can I even do that?" I ask, my brows raised.

"Of course. All ownership, access and control of the property and assets owned by Mr. Kri have been legally shared with and granted to you."

I almost drop my brew.

"What?" I gasp.

"You co-own all of Mr. Kri's property, assets, bank accounts—"

"When did he do this?" I whisper in shock.

"Would you like me to find out?"

"No!" I manage to keep the cup of brew down and not drop it. I brace myself against the counter and stare at it unseeingly.

I lean away and press my hands to my face. Why would he do that?

No one does that for a stranger. With a stranger. Did he know.. more than he was letting on?

With shaking fingers I make my coffee, adding my milk to it in generous quantity. Sugar was my next best friend.

I use the spoon—that I had managed to find on my own—to stir my coffee as I turn and lean back against the counter.

I co-owned everything. It gave me a scary kind of power. He could make no large decisions without my consent on it. I could withdraw large sums of his money... I could... I could..

My heart pounds.

He'd made me his equal in ways I would have never have fathomed possible. It was romantic in a very very dangerous way. A very powerful way.

It was romantic in a way I understood.

Because I was a symbolism kind of girl.

At that moment, the door opens and my husband walks into the house.

The second he steps in, he seems to know where I am. His eyes flick straight to me.

He had his grey jacket folded over one arm and his dark tie was a sharp contrast to his white shirt.

His gaze latches on mine.

He walks along the lit path, his gaze unwavering from mine. I can hear my heart in my ears as he moves into the house.

I'm caught in his gaze. He looks like he's hunting me even though I haven't made any move to escape.

There's a lazy but intense look in his eyes with every step he takes into the house and toward the kitchen—toward me...and each step closer he takes feels like an earth trembling quake inside me.

When he finally steps into the kitchen, he drops my gaze. I suck in a sharp breath, blood rushing to my face. He places his jacket on the swivel seats on the breakfast counter.

He looks at me again as he loosens his tie and pulls it off. He drops it over his jacket. His gaze dips to the drink in my hand and a lazy smirk lifts his lips.

He walks towards me, loosening a single button at the top of his shirt. A glimpse of the dark skin of his collarbone has my heart clenching in love and desire. They fight within me for dominance.

"Rough day?" he asks, jerking his chin at my drink.

He looks down at his arm as he begins to fold back the sleeves of his shirt. My gaze drops to the glimpse of his forearm I can see before I look away.

"Why do you ask?" my voice is more breathy than I expect.

His pauses and his lashes lift and his look slams me in the stomach. He'd noticed my voice.

"Humans drink coffee when they're stressed or tired." He says and this time his eyes remain on mine as he begins to fold once more.

He finishes one arm. Starts the next.

My gaze flick to his arms and back.
The intimacy of what I was seeing was shaking me. Muddling my thoughts.

I imagine slapping myself back to my senses.

I let out a laugh and it comes out sounding forced.

"I drink coffee for no reason." I explain. It had sounded a lot funnier in my mind.

He says nothing, his gaze seeming to see through my pores and into my secrets.

"Would you like some?" I ask, holding out my mug to him.

His brows raise as he finally finished his damn folding. I want to bite my lip or look away. Why had I offered him my coffee? Does he even like coffee? Do the Yade even drink coffee?

But I keep my mug extended. Perhaps the part of me that could still think had decided that the Yade should drink coffee.

He comes towards me. I still as he looks at me. I was still leaning against the counter and he was now towering over me.

I could smell him. He smelt like the earth before the rain. And aftershave.

Oh heavens. I drag in a deep breath.

He looks curiously into the contents of my mug. His gaze flicks to me.

"You should try some." I say, "You'll never know until you try some."

Why was I still talking?

One side of his lips lift. He takes my mug from me. His eyes meet mine over the top of the rim as he takes a sip of my coffee.

If I had control over my vocal cords I would've made some sound.

Something embarrassing.

His gaze turns contemplative. He tilts his head, seeming to think. He tastes it again.

He holds it back out to me. I take it from him. The tips of our fingers brush and my stomach flutters.

"It's too sweet for me." He says.

"I can brew it bitter."

His gaze flashes to mine. Icy blue swirls.

For two heart pounding moments, he just looks at me.

Then—

He smiles... and it's a punch to my heart.

"Please brew me some coffee, Alanna."