Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 22608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
"If I have made you think that I would ever force you to do anything—-"
I shake my head. "It's not that." At all.
Because what I fear is the opposite, and it's how he doesn't need to force me to do anything.
"Will you not at least try to explain?" he asks gently.
"I can't." Because if I do, I'd die in shame—-aaah!
Zahir suddenly drags my chair close, and I find myself staring straight into his eyes without warning.
"Talk to me, habibti. Listen to what your instincts have to say."
It's a really good suggestion, and so I close my eyes—-
"I don't know what's right or wrong anymore."
—-and let the words simply flow out from my heart.
"Are you saying you have a choice to make?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"But you are unable to make it."
I nod.
Silence.
My eyes fly open, and I can't believe what I'm seeing.
"Z-Zahir..."
"It gives me no pleasure to hear you say my name out of pity."
"I don't pity you!"
"I stand corrected then." His tone is excruciatingly polite. "You simply do not know if you want me enough to choose me."
I think I'm in shock again.
It's the only way to explain how I have the craziest urge to laugh.
Since most people already have a hard time understanding what Jamieson sees in me, I won't be surprised if I'm accused of blackmail, witchcraft, and whatnot once people see me with Zahir.
He's a sheikh.
And a general.
Who also happens to be the hottest person alive.
I don't think it's an exaggeration to think that Zahir can have any woman in the world...and yet here he is, with his golden eyes made fierce by blatant jealousy...and oh.
His gaze narrows. "You thought of something," he says sharply. "Haven't you?"
Is this his instincts at work...or is it something else?
"Tell me," he commands.
And there it is, I think dazedly.
It just keeps getting clearer and clearer, and the realization has my heart racing faster and faster as I hear myself whisper, "I've b-been asking myself w-what makes you different, and I...I get it now."
His fist clenches and unclenches over the table, and my heart trips at the sight of it.
Oh, Zafir.
He obviously expects me to be the bearer of bad news, and he's right.
In a way.
"My mom used to read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland to me every night," I say jerkily. "And whenever we'd have meals together, we'd pretend we were in Wonderland and talk about our plans. Afternoon tea with the Mad Hatter. Run a marathon with Mr. Rabbit. Watch a horror movie with the Jabberwocky."
My chest aches as I find myself reliving the past, but the pain is bittersweet.
"She was an amazing mom. She always prayed that I'd have a life that's crazy and wonderful just like Alice's. And I used to want that, too. Because there were times when Mom seemed like a real-life Alice herself. It was just one adventure after another with her, and we didn't even have to leave the house. Her imagination took us everywhere."
I wish I could end the story there.
"Until it didn't."
But it wouldn't be the truth if I did.
"Because whenever she'd start drinking, she no longer thinks we're playing a game. Everything is suddenly real, and she's no longer Mom."
I snap my fingers for emphasis.
"She becomes the Queen of Hearts, and she's screaming all the time."
'Off with your head!'
I find myself mimicking her tone...even as I also find myself flinching because it reminds me of what follows.
SLAP!
She blames me for not painting red roses on the walls.
SLAP!
And for dad abandoning her after finding out she's pregnant with me.
SLAP!
My stomach churns.
SLAP!
And I realize that I'm still not ready to remember those days.
"I'm sorry, habibti."
Zafir reaches for my hands as he speaks, and when our eyes meet—-
How?
I see that he gets it.
How does he know?
Even without me saying a word—-
How does he know that I loved my mom even when she terrified me to death?
"She was a good person," I choke out.
"I know."
"She was just sick."
"I understand."
"I loved her. And I miss her. I never wanted her to die. But..."
God, I'm so sorry.
"It's why..."
Because I really get it now.
"He d-doesn't drink," I say brokenly. "His dad d-died of liver cancer, and it f-freaked him out. So he n-never drinks. He parties hard. But he n-never—-"
Zafir stares at me in disbelief. "Is this your way of telling me you are still choosing him over me?"
"I just want you to understand—-"
Zahir shoots to his feet, and the thought of him walking out has me in a panic.
"He's her opposite in every way. He doesn't get mad, doesn't do crazy and complicated like Mom. He's—-"
"Boring," Zahir snaps.
"He makes me feel safe—-"
"But he also leaves you cold."
I'm so, so sorry, God.
"I thought it would happen in time," I admit unevenly, "but I was wrong, and you were right. I didn't k-know what I was doing. I d-didn't realize I was l-leading him on—-" A sob catches in my throat. "I feel so ashamed. I d-disgust myself—-"