He carried her upstairs after reassuring his family that he could handle things. Jasmine told him it was a sprain and he claimed to be an expert when it came to treating sprains since he'd had his fair share of them from playing soccer.
"Hmm." He contemplated as soon as they were alone and he had placed her on the bed. "Now…what shall I do with my completely helpless and dependent wife?"
Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Not completely helpless," she argued and raised herself to a sitting position, wincing all the while.
He frowned at her. "Keep still," he ordered and then his frown deepened when there was a knock on the door and one of the maids stood there with an icepack.
The girl smiled uncertainly. "Ms Zulekha asked me to bring this," she said and Armaan strode over to her to take it.
"Thanks, Humaira," he said and she smiled widely at him. "Close the door on your way out, please." As he strode back to the bed, Humaira frowned at his dismissal but she saw the look Jasmine gave her and retreated.
Armaan was looking at her mutinous expression and chuckling. "Stop scaring the staff, Jasmine," he murmured in amusement, placing the icepack against her ankle gently.
"You've slept with her, haven't you?" Jasmine said shrewdly. "I can just tell from the way that girl looked at you. Like she knows you...intimately."
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" he said innocently and moved closer to her on the bed. She leaned away a little and he moved even more close. Jasmine could not move anymore because of her ankle and he grinned. "Well having a handicapped wife certainly has its peaks," he teased.
"It's a sprain. I'm not handicapped. And stop avoiding the question. You slept with Humaira, didn't you?"
He looked skyward and said, "It was a long time ago." She looked at him steadily and he sighed. "Okay, it was about two months ago. She started to get a little too productive, spending more time cleaning my room than any other place in the house."
"And you just could not resist checking out her credentials," she countered in disgust.
He laughed at her. "Oh, come on, Jasmine. It was only a few times. I was bored, she was in here late and things happened. But after that, she started acting like I'm the king of the jungle or something." He shook his head as if in exasperation. "I mean, just because I'm big-"
"Okay!" She put up her hands. "I get the picture," she stated.
"I'm sure you do," he teased again. "But seriously, she's not my usual."
"Your usual?" Jasmine gaped at him. "You have a usual?"
He bit his lip but his eyes sparkled with humor. "Not anymore," he assured her before continuing. "You know that girl with the dark curls who's only responsible for looking after the flowers around the place?"
"Azaria?" she asked, stunned. That girl was so quiet and innocent, Jasmine would never have guessed that she was capable of doing something so naughty.
"Yeah. She's pretty, isn't she?" She glared at him. "We fooled around sometimes whenever I came home from abroad," he revealed. "She was just so quiet and serious all the time, the least I could do was cheer her up."
"How very noble of you," she muttered and he laughed again.
Then he sobered up and gazed at her fondly. "So tell me, princess," he said gently. "How may I be of service to you?"
Jasmine's eyes widened at his words. "Don't," she said and his eyes darkened.
"Why not? You need it. I can tell that you need it. You're hurting. He's making you feel out of control."
Jasmine looked down at the way he was gently pressing the icepack against her ankle. "I can't," she whispered.
"I promise to be very good."
She looked at him in dismay. "You don't understand," she whispered. "I...I can't because...I let him touch me again."
Armaan stilled, his blue eyes boring into her dark ones and for a moment, it seemed as if neither of them was breathing. His jaw clenched and he looked furious.
"How far did he go?" he finally bit out.
Jasmine swallowed. She had not meant to tell him but she just could not keep it inside anymore. "I...I went down on him."
The blood seemed to drain from Armaan's face. His breathing grew labored and he stood up slowly.
"Was it your idea or his?" he asked roughly.
She gazed at him imploringly. "Armaan, please, don't get mad."
"Whose idea was it?!" he yelled and she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the pillow.
"He asked me to," she whispered. "I...I didn't protest or anything even though it felt wrong but I didn't know how to refuse him. He would have thought that I didn't love him if I had refused."
There was a thick silence and she opened her eyes to find Armaan staring bleakly into the distance, at the flat screen TV that hung on the wall. She had a warning vision, kind of like Spiderman's senses, and opened her mouth to say something but it was too late. The icepack in his hand was already hurtling across the room and hit the screen with a loud thud, making her wince. The screen cracked but it did not shatter. The distance had been too great.
She looked at him in distress but he strode into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, obviously even more pissed off because he hadn't been able to break the screen. A minute later, he came out again with a glass of water and painkillers.
He handed them to her silently and she took
