The sun, already high in the sky, streamed through the large bay windows of the master bedroom, bathing the room in a warm light.
Aryan woke first, a sensation he was becoming increasingly accustomed to.
He was lying on his back, a willing and comfortable anchor between two equally warm forms.
To his left, Wanda was curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms tucked possessively under her head as a pillow.
To his right, Sharon was sprawled in an exhausted sleep, her leg thrown casually over his, her hand resting on his chest.
The previous night had been a long one.
The grief had been heavy, and they had faced it together, with quiet conversation, shared memories, and perhaps a little too much of Tony's finest scotch.
It had been a celebration of Peggy's incredible life, and a much needed release of the tension and sorrow.
He looked at Sharon's sleeping face. The deep lines of stress and grief that had etched themselves around her eyes were smoothed away by a night of restorative sleep. She looked peaceful.
He closed his eyes, content to just lie there, to listen to the synchronized rhythm of their breathing, to feel the comforting weight of them on either side.
It was Sharon who stirred first. She let out a comfortable groan, stretching languidly like a cat.
Her eyes fluttered open, blinking in the bright morning light. They were clear, the sadness of the previous day replaced by clarity.
She looked at Aryan, a smile touching her lips.
"Morning," she whispered.
"Morning," he whispered back. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I was run over by a herd of elephants who had all been drinking scotch," she admitted with a wry chuckle. She looked over at the still sleeping Wanda. "Thank you. For last night."
"Always," he said.
On his other side, Wanda began to stir, woken by their voices. She mumbled something about "too bright" and buried her face deeper into his shoulder.
"What time is it?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
Aryan replied. "Almost noon."
That got her attention. She shot up, her green eyes wide with panic. "Noon?! Oh no, the briefing! We're so late!"
Sharon just laughed.
"Relax. Aryan called it off last night. And gave everyone a 'mental health day'." She looked at Aryan. "One of your better executive decisions."
Wanda blinked, processing the information, before flopping back down onto the pillows with a dramatic sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank god. I don't think my brain could handle a budget proposal today." She snuggled back against Aryan's side. "So, you're saying we have the whole day... to do nothing?"
"That is the official plan," Aryan confirmed.
A comfortable silence settled over them. It was broken by a rumbling sound.
Sharon's eyes widened. "Was that... you?" she asked Wanda.
"It was not," Wanda replied, a faint blush on her cheeks as she glared at her own stomach.
"Well," Aryan chuckled, "it seems our first order of business for our day off is a late lunch. A very late lunch."
He made a move to get up. "I'll go see what our kitchen staff can "
"No," Wanda and Sharon said in perfect unison.
He paused, looking at them.
"No staff today," Wanda said. "Just us. We'll order pizza."
"Or," Sharon countered, a teasing glint in her eye, "our fearless leader, who is so good at everything else, can finally make himself useful in the kitchen."
Aryan looked at them, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "You know, that's not a bad idea."
Both women stared at him, genuinely surprised.
"Wait, you can cook?" Wanda asked, her head tilted in disbelief. "Like, actual food? Not just toast?"
"I've seen you use the microwave to reheat coffee," Sharon added. "That's the full extent of your culinary skills as far as I know."
Aryan laughed.
"Oh, you have no idea," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm an expert."
He winked at them.
He left them sitting in bed, exchanging looks of pure shock and curiosity.
An hour later, they were drawn downstairs by an aroma.
It was a wonderfully complex scent that filled the entire ground floor of the mansion.
It was a fragrant tapestry of toasted spices, savory meats, and the unique perfume of high quality Basmati rice.
It was the smell of a real home, of a meal being made with love and skill.
They found Aryan in the kitchen, and the sight stopped them in their tracks.
He had a simple white apron tied around his waist and was moving with the confident efficiency of a seasoned chef.
The kitchen was a scene of chaos.
On the counter were dozens of small bowls, each containing a vibrant spice: the deep red of Kashmiri chili, the bright yellow of turmeric, the earthy brown of cumin and coriander.
A pan on the stove sizzled with onions being caramelized to a perfect brown.
A large pot bubbled with what looked like a yogurt based marinade.
"Where in the world did you learn to do this?" Sharon asked, completely mesmerized, her voice filled with genuine awe.
A smile touched Aryan's lips. He paused, his hands stilling for a moment as he looked at the pot. "My grandfather," he said.
Wanda and Sharon exchanged a look, their teasing smiles instantly softening into expressions of shared understanding.
They both knew how much the old man had meant to him.
"He wasn't just a businessman," Aryan continued. "He traveled the world, loved experiencing different cultures. But this... this was his favorite. He learned to make it on a trip to India decades ago. When I was a boy, Sunday afternoons were 'Biryani Day.' He would spend the whole day in the kitchen, teaching me. The spices, the layering... he called it 'edible architecture'."
He let out a nostalgic chuckle. "He said it was more important than any business lesson. He told me it was the one piece of home, one piece of comfort, I could make for myself, wherever I went."
The confession hung in the air. It was a tiny piece of his fake past in this world.
Wanda and Sharon exchanged another look, a deeper understanding of the man they loved passing between them.
They saw the lonely boy who missed his grandfather, the soul that existed beneath the layers of power and control.
Wanda walked over to him and simply wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head against his back. She held him.
He placed his hand over hers, a grateful acknowledgment of her silent comfort.
Another hour later, they sat at the informal table in the sun drenched breakfast nook. The sealed pot sat in the center of the table.
The moment Aryan broke the dough seal and lifted the lid, a fragrant cloud of steam billowed out, filling the room with the most incredible aroma they had ever smelled.
The biryani was a work of art.
The long grains of Basmati rice were perfectly cooked, each one separate and fluffy, stained in patches of saffron gold and white.
Tucked beneath the rice were pieces of chicken so tender they were falling off the bone, coated in a fragrant masala.
He served them generous portions.
They ate in silence for the first few minutes. Each bite tasted of the story he had just told them.
It was, without exaggeration, the best thing either of them had ever tasted.
Every bite was a complex explosion of flavor.
The warmth of the spices, the subtle sweetness of the caramelized onions, the fresh brightness of the mint, the tender, savory chicken, the fragrant, perfect rice… it was all in perfect harmony.
"Oh my god," Wanda said, her eyes closed in bliss. "Aryan, this is... this is magic."
"It's better than magic," Sharon said, her voice full of awe. "I've eaten at the best restaurants in the world. None of them come close to this."
She looked at him. "You have been holding out on us. For a year and a half, we've been living on takeout and my questionable attempts at pasta, and you had this up your sleeve the entire time?"
Aryan laughed. "You never asked."
"We're asking now!" Wanda declared, pointing her fork at him. "This is a new household rule. You are on cooking duty. Permanently."
"Permanently?" he chuckled. "I still have a world to run, you know."
"I'll run the world," Sharon said. "You just cook. It's a fair trade."
"Okay, okay, how about a compromise?" he said, laughing. "How about... I cook for you both, once a day. It'll be our time. "
Wanda and Sharon looked at each other, a silent negotiation passing between them.
"Deal," they said in perfect unison.