Kiss of True Love

Robert hated Alt Shift. Every time he looked in the mirror, instead of the gray-haired CEO Robert Stevenson, he saw... her. A girl. Young. Indian. With features so foreign to his former self. Plump lips, expressive eyes, full breasts. He hated the pink sari that tickled her thighs with every movement. He hated those tits, bouncing with every turn of the car, sweating under that damned, suffocating bra. But most of all, he hated the way his “husband” looked at him now — that smug bastard named Vikram. No, correction — his supervisor. But on paper, thanks to the new amendments to the “Post-Alt Shift Stability Act,” — his legal spouse. All official, all documented, all flawless. Which meant — submission, obedience, “traditions,” and all the rest of that hell.

– You’re looking at me like you want to kill me again, Radhika, – Vikram kept his hands on the wheel, but watched her face from the corner of his eye. – Remember who you are now. Who you are by law. And who’ll have to explain things if you end up in the camp tomorrow.

– Go fuck yourself... – The words slipped out too sharply. The habit of snapping back when someone talked down to him still clung to Robert, even though it’d been months since he ended up here, in India, in this body, swapped with Radhika — not just bodies, but language, now speaking fluent Hindi.

Robert didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until Vikram’s hand slapped her thigh.

– Say that again.

Robert — now officially Radhika Singh — clenched the hem of the sari, nails digging into the silk, and, turning her gaze away, muttered.

– I’m sorry, – Radhika swallowed hard, not wanting to finish the sentence, but the tongue moved on its own: – ...please don’t be angry, Vikram-ji. Husband.

– Good. That’s the right answer, – Vikram smiled and slowed down the car, just as Radhika let out a heavy sigh, staring out the window, clearly avoiding looking at him.

– And what’s this? You apologized and didn’t even kiss your husband, – Vikram’s voice dropped lower, but that softness made Radhika’s fingers tremble. He was using the same gentle tone he used when he called her “my little pearl” in front of the neighbors, but now there was something sticky in it. Binding.

Radhika (formerly Robert Stevenson, once the owner of a billion-dollar corporation, now a wife, in silk and gold, with a pair of breasts impossible to hide even under the thick sari) bit her lip.

– A kiss? – she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

– Exactly, Radhika. – He turned to her, impatience flashing in his eyes. – You used to always kiss me after an apology. Softly, sweetly. Like a girl madly in love with her man. And you do love me, don’t you? Remember how you used to whisper “my Vikram-ji,” pressed up against my chest? Show me. Show me who you are now.

'Of course I don’t remember, you idiot! If it weren’t for that damn law, I’d be sipping wine in my cottage, not stuck here with you!' — the thought rushed through her head, but she knew it was nothing more than a dream. The law was ruthless. She had to be Radhika. And the only one who knew what Radhika was supposed to be — was her supervisor, and at the same time, her husband.

Radhika swallowed. Something twisted inside her chest, her nipples hardened under the fabric, becoming painfully sensitive. The hated body responded. It always responded during moments of intimacy. And that still infuriated her. Because it made her more and more Radhika, like she’d really been her all along.

– My... Vikram-ji... – she said softly, and it felt like her tongue curled up in her mouth. She moved closer. Her breasts pressed against his shoulder. Her heart pounded in her temples, something warm and humiliating spread through her belly.

Her lips brushed his cheek.

– I... I’m sorry... – she almost moaned when he turned and caught her mouth in a kiss.

– That’s it, Radhika, – he whispered between kisses. – Sweet, passionate... like a real wife. Mmm... I could honestly forget you were ever someone else. Look how well you kiss. Like a woman. Like MY woman.

She tried to pull away, but his hand landed on her thigh — firm, commanding. His fingers slipped beneath the folds of her sari, touching her skin like it belonged to him. And by law, it did.

– Vikram... – her voice broke, thin and trembling.

– Shh-shh. It’s okay, Radhika. We’ve got the whole evening ahead. You’re going to be a good girl, right? Or do I need to remind you again how the camps work?

Everything inside her went cold. Conversion camps. Those words always dragged her back to reality. The old life — erased. Robert — dead. All that remained was Radhika. And this cursed world, where she was forced to love the one who’d forced on her his name, his role... and his body beside hers in bed.

– Yes... Vikram-ji, – she whispered, pressing her lips to his again, continuing the kiss with more passion this time.

Vikram smiled, satisfied. And on Radhika’s thighs, a wet patch slowly spread — sweat or... something else. The new body was betraying her. As always. As it was supposed to — by law.