Authors: Zeenat Mahal
of them relatives, and none of them would ever have thought to pour a cup of tea for themselves let
alone their wives. And she wasn’t even his wife, technically.
“Not at all. Thank you.”
They had a lovely tea with scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam, little sandwiches and tiny
pastries…heaven. She enjoyed her food and made no bones about it. Hussain was taking pleasure in
their obvious delight. He wasn’t such a bad person after all, she thought. He proved her right the very
next instant, because despite his obvious tiredness he asked happily, “Okay kids, do you want to rest
now or go out right away?”
Being kids of course they wanted to go out. She couldn’t believe that the cobbled streets under her
shoes were those of London. Meandering through the lanes and back streets of Russell Square they
came back to their hotel to rest. It was nearly seven so she gave Shahaan a bath and when he was
done, told Natasha to do the same.
They ordered room service because they were all exhausted by then and didn’t want to go out
again. Shahaan went to sleep halfway through dinner, and Hussain, as was becoming his habit, lifted
him easily and carried him to the kids’ room. Shahira was now feverishly thinking of how to make it
clear that their rooms were going to be separate. Hussain nipped her plans, or the beginnings of any,
in the bud very effectively.
“Come, Natasha. You must be tired, too. Shahira, go make yourself comfortable. I just have to
make a few calls before I turn in.” His jaw was set and his eyes glinted in warning.
She heeded it for no reason other than she didn’t want to seem ungracious and gauche. They had
already come to a civilized decision and she was no Marilyn Monroe that Hussain was in danger of
losing his head over her just because they were in the same space.
So, smiling at him, and indicating that all was good with her, she entered the double bedroom and
shut the door behind her.
* * *
Hussain entered their room half an hour later. He’d deliberately given her the time to get used to
the idea of sharing the room with him. The sooner she got comfortable with it the better, since he was
sure by now that was exactly how he wanted it. She was his wife in all but one way, and well, that
was just stupid, knowing how attracted he was to her. He was no troll, so she was sure to come
around.
He stopped in the doorway. She was wearing very prim cotton pajamas and a loose, patterned t-
shirt and was lying at one end of the bed, in almost a fetal position. She wasn’t under the covers but
lying on the top with a bedcover of some sort over her to create a wall of bed linen between them.
He patted himself on the back mentally for his foresight in pre-empting any Victorian gestures on
her part; he’d asked for all couches to be removed from their suite. She would probably be sleeping
on one of those if they’d had any. But he knew her and how her mind worked. Shaking his head at her
sleeping form, he went to change.
She hadn’t stirred. Even when he lay down, she didn’t move. He fidgeted to make himself
comfortable. He wasn’t going to confine himself to one tiny sliver of the bed, so he stretched. But no
matter how much he stretched she was safely out of reach. And he wasn’t going to go back on his
word and frighten her by deliberately closing the space she had so methodically created between
them.
He awoke next morning to the sounds of children giggling and arguing and Shahira’s placating
tones from the sitting room. He smiled and got up from the bed, already feeling cheerful.
“Abba! Where are we going today? What are we going to do? Where are you taking us?”
“Natasha!” Shahira laughed and stopped her daughter. “Let Abba have a breather and maybe a cup
of tea before we badger him about the very interesting plans we have for today.”
“Thank you, and point taken.”
She laughed. He noticed her figure-hugging jeans showing off her curves.
Nice.
Hussain couldn’t help but think how pleasant this was and how long ago, if ever, he’d felt like this,
at home and at peace, as he finished breakfast with his family. They spent three days in London then
went to Yorkshire and visited Blackpool as well.
The children had a great time, and so did he, teasing Shahira who refused to get onto the Ferris
wheel no matter how much all of them cajoled or threatened. Apparently she had a fear of heights.
He delighted in the pleasure his three companions took in the little things that he wouldn’t even
have noticed if not for them—the B&B and its quaintness, the beautiful English countryside, and
apparently the Bronte parsonage that he hadn’t known was so close. She was an avid reader and
tentatively suggested that they go visit, if they could. So they did and although it was extremely
boring, she’d been delighted with it.
* * *
The next day they took a flight to Germany and then on to France where Hussain had a few
meetings to attend. They’d had a blast, except that Hussain was often irritated with Shahira because
she was too careful about what he spent on Shahaan and her. She let him buy them food and pick the
tab for their stay but every time he asked her to get something for herself, she smiled graciously and
said no, thank you. He was beginning to think that she didn’t want him to spend money on her, which
was ridiculous, since everything she owned had been bought with his money. But he didn’t broach the
subject, just stewed over it.
They went straight to Disneyland where they’d stay for three days. He had a few meetings with
some Arab investors, and then they’d go back home.
This time, Shahira went on all the rides and Hussain refused to step anywhere near them. In the
evening, they dined at a wonderfully Parisian café, and true to the spirit of the city, they had a dance
contest during dinner, with people volunteering to come on stage.
Wanting to trip her up, Hussain called the host’s attention to her. To his great surprise and chagrin,
she went right ahead. Her dressy blouse was flirty pink over wide-bottomed summery white trousers.
She looked young, carefree and extremely fetching as she went on stage, and went straight for the
oldest guy there who could barely stand straight. They’d be the laughing stock of the evening.
There were a lot of young couples and some more mature but very trendy ones; it was Paris after
all. And there she was, guiding the old Frenchman as she moved to the music, laughing and…Hussain
narrowed his eyes. Was she also chatting with him? He wasn’t French, then? They were applauded
onto the second round, much to his amazement and even more surprisingly were still on the stage in
the final round. Their kids were jumping and cheering her on and the host was seriously in love with
her, it seemed, because he kept circling her. Then he announced.
“
Mesdames et Messieurs, les lauréats applaudissent à la victoire!
”
She and her oldie were being cheered and applauded the most, obviously more for her kindness
than any skill, Hussain thought.
“
Les gagnants, Shahira Mme et M. Jean Paul, obtenir un séjour de deux nuits dans notre hôtel
gratuite avec petit déjeuner gratuit
!”
Smiling, she went up to the host and whispered something in his ear. He first kissed her on both
cheeks, which, at last and thankfully, flustered her a little and then he kissed her hand, before handing
the microphone to her. Shahira smiled at the audience and as she spoke there was another hearty cheer
from the audience, “
Bonne soirée. J'aimerais faire partie des gains de l'épouse de M. Jean Paul qui
est assise, droit. Il espoir vous profitez de vos vacances...”
The audience went into a frenzy of applause, and the old man embraced her and then kissed her on
both cheeks. Hussain, who’d been too busy staring at her as she sprouted perfect French out of that
inviting little mouth, got up with a start. What the bloody hell! Was the entire city going to kiss her
tonight?
She’d given her share of the prize to the oldie’s wife. That was so like her and he found that he
was clapping and laughing with the rest of them.
“Well, aren’t
you
full of surprises?” He said when she came back to their table. She laughed, her
face aglow and still looking happily at the old couple now enjoying the limelight.
“Anything else I should know?”
“I want to learn French, too!” pouted Natasha.
“I’ll teach you. I love learning and teaching, as you may remember.”
They laughed. She enjoyed the food and taught the kids a few words of French as they ate.
Throughout the rest of the evening, Hussain couldn’t get over how she’d chosen to dance with the
underdog, won despite the odds, then given up her prize without a second thought, and done all of that
in perfect French. She was so very unusual.
He found himself watching her and wanting her the entire evening.
* * *
When the children were asleep, she came out of their room, looking quite exhausted.
“Next time, I’ll put them to bed. They’re very demanding.”
She smiled. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Yes, I noticed. You can’t help being a generous, giving person, can you?” he said smiling.
She looked slightly uncomfortable. “Yes, well, not really I mean that depends…”
Hussain realized that she might be thinking that he wanted her generosity to extend to their
bedroom and he burst out laughing. She looked even more uncomfortable at his sudden mirth.
“Really, Shahira, and here I thought you were a practical woman of the world. You really think
that’s how I’m going to play this? You gravely underestimate me.”
He dropped the timbre of his voice a notch and added, “When we finally get there, and we will, it
won’t be your generosity that’ll sway you into my arms, but something far more intense, I hope. Love
conquers all.”
“You’re hardly in the position to tell me about practicality and reality after having offered me a
contractual marriage of convenience.”
Hussain looked abashed.
“
Touché.
Only, we both know, it isn’t that any more is it?”
She went to change without comment and emerged in her usual prim cotton pajamas. Her T-shirt
was so loose and big it covered her like a tent. Hussain suppressed his laughter somewhat but he
couldn’t resist asking, “Is this puritanical nightwear for my benefit?”
She shrugged looking embarrassed, and said with a faint smile, “Any possibility of you not
dwelling on my nightwear so much?”
“Unlikely.”
“Try and find something else to dwell on.”
“Like what?”
“Like your own nightwear. And leave me alone, will you?”
“I thought I had.”
He couldn’t help the husky note that crept into his voice. It was so damn difficult, being so close to
her and not do anything about it. She blushed and looked away.
“Considering that you’re letting Frenchmen kiss you left, right and center, I think as your husband I
should be allowed at least similar privileges.”
She gasped and smothered her sudden burst of laughter. Hussain smiled, looking at her slim back
that she diligently turned towards him every night.
“You’re my employer, not my husband. And you have no privileges whatsoever.”
Hussain spoke in a quiet, somber voice.
“Oh, I think we both know that’s no longer true. I’m your husband. Period. And there are privileges
I’m already enjoying that you may not be aware of.”
She stiffened.
“The contract was a foolish whim I imposed on something that’s sacred. We’re married, Shahira,
and no matter what kind of spin we put on it that fact does not change.”
“But we both agreed to this marriage because we didn’t want to be burdened with a spouse.”
“You’re not a burden to me.”
He knew she wasn’t going to be polite and say likewise; and he knew exactly what was
burdensome to her. The only way that he could negate her notions about sex was by not doing what
she didn’t want him to do. And he was her husband, and no way was he going to force himself on her.
She whispered in a tortured voice, “I’m sorry. You don’t understand…”
“Help me to understand then, Shahira. Do you really find me repugnant?”
“No! Not at all.”
He almost laughed with relief at the vehemence in her voice.
“I’m just…”
She stopped; her shoulders suddenly tense. And Hussain had a sudden epiphany.
“You’re afraid.”
She turned slowly and faced him. Hussain perused her face in wonder. She was pretty in an
understated way. The sensation of being centered every time he looked at her was still new and
almost miraculous. She was a stranger, had been a stranger and now he felt as if she was the anchor of
his being. How could he think that of someone he’d hardly spent three weeks with? There was a
strange quality in her that had tugged and pulled at him even before he’d known her. She’d hooked
him when she’d banged the phone in his face after giving him a dose of her righteous anger and then