by Zeenat Mahal
Smiling, Zoella answered her mother-in-law, “I did, Ami. He didn’t say yes, but it seemed to me that he wasn’t as opposed to the suggestion as he was before. He might yet agree. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he realizes now that he’s hurting himself and others who love him. He’ll come around.”
Ami smiled and nodded, much relieved at the words. Fardeen came in from work just then and to Zoella’s horror, her mother-in-law exclaimed, “Fardeen! I’m so happy that you’ve agreed to have the surgeries. I knew Zoella could do it.” Ami clasped her arms around his neck and sobbed.
One dark, laser-sharp eye zoomed in on Zoella. She could tell that he was angry, because the disfigured skin on his face tightened and whitened.
Fardeen’s ire though, was not just at his wife’s unwise disclosures. Every time anyone mentioned surgery, he was forcibly reminded that there was something very wrong with him. The little progress he made towards accepting his new life was exposed as an illusion. He became acutely aware of his own vulnerability. He was angry that he was in this position. Furious that Zoella had promised not to manage him, and yet here he was, being emotionally blackmailed by his mother. Hadn’t he told Zoella categorically not to interfere in his life? She’d defied their perfectly good arrangement and breached the fragile trust they’d both built with mutual agreement.
“Can I see you alone for a minute?” His cold, toneless voice resounded portentously in the room.
Zoella wanted to say no and run, but she knew she’d have to face him sooner or later. She nodded and followed him to their room. Before he could say anything, she tried to pre-empt him, and said nervously, “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell her that you’d agreed. I just said you probably would. She’s so happy, as we all would be if you agreed. I didn’t mean to imply…”
There it was again, that generous way of hers, which made him feel all the more ugly and damaged; someone to be reviled—faulty, not just flawed. Why did she insist on being his savior? He hadn’t asked her to be one. Why was she doing this? Why couldn’t she just let it be? He didn’t want to be saved. Being in this situation made him feel weak and unmanned. She made him see things about himself he didn’t want to see. He wasn’t pathetic or inadequate. She made him feel that way.
“I told you to not manage me or my life. Yet, you set me up. You teamed up with my parents.”
“Fardeen, I…”
“I wasn’t finished. Don’t interrupt me again.”
He paced the room. He could feel his control slipping. Was he afraid? Was he not willing to give himself another chance? Was she right?
“Fardeen, it’s a tough decision, I know…”
He whipped around. Little Miss Sunshine, so beautiful and happy and whole. Unblemished, untouched by tragedy or unhappiness. It was so easy to judge others’ reticence and think them weak-willed when your own mettle had not been tested. What battles had she fought in life? Her honor was questioned? One knight in rusted armor coming right up! He hadn’t mistreated her in anyway. At least not yet.
She wanted to be a warrior? She wanted to save him? Alright then, he’d let her. There was always a price to pay though and she was going to pay for this.
“You want me to have plastic surgery? Fine, I’ll do it.”
Her face lit up at his words, but Fardeen wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He added in a mocking tone, “They do say be careful what you wish for, don’t they?”
He watched the first glimmerings of unease converge on her face, and it gave him wicked satisfaction. He’d see how far this sunny disposition could go. He was going to make damned sure she understood the reality of her situation. She had been hiding behind closed eyes, thinking the monsters would go away if she didn’t look at them. This monster wasn’t going anywhere.
Smiling, he continued, “You’d like nothing better than to be my savior, right? Take care of me? Be the all sacrificing, all giving, and dutiful wife you’re so determined to be?” Fardeen stepped closer and whispered, “We’ll see just how long your enthusiasm lasts, Zoella. It’s time you found out exactly who you agreed to marry so naively.”
Her eyes widened.
His anger at fate, his life, at her, coalesced and gathered behind his words and rushed out in a venomous torrent. “If you’re waiting for a prince to emerge once the beast no longer looks like one, and give you a happily ever after, think again. Because I don’t see that happening, even if you have been dreaming of me in the role of prince for the past ten years.”
Driven by some bestial power, he gave her that lopsided smile he knew made him look dangerous and cruel, and said, “So, first up on the list of your duties, sweetheart, is taking your clothes off and getting into bed.”
Shocked, she couldn’t move. He stepped forward and said ominously, “Need some help with that?”
As he bore down on her, his face cold and cruel, she found her voice, stuttering, “F…Fardeen, please…”
He laughed, almost in triumph.
“You love me don’t you? You want me to be happy, re-claim my life, and my future, carpe diem etcetera. Well, this is what I want.” He thrust his face into hers, biting out through clenched teeth, “You. What do you say we test that little claim of your great, one true love?”
His voice was low, menacing. Her back was against the wall. He closed the distance between them, standing mere inches away, watching her in a deceptive leisurely pose, with his hands in his trouser pockets.
Zoella wasn’t sure what was going on with him—or her—because even though he looked and sounded threatening, she didn’t feel scared at all. If anything, she was just a little thrilled. She looked at the damaged man in front of her. Who wouldn’t be angry at life after what had happened to him? He’d been the golden boy. He had everything, and then in one mighty blow, it was all gone. Her only regret was at the way he was approaching what should have been a good thing—or at least that was what she’d hoped, and dreamed of for years. But maybe, like all her other dreams, this too had to be shattered. This too had to become vile and ugly, and she had to grow out of this last vestige of dreamy romantic notions. She loved him. She always had. It was time to test that love, he’d taunted. Well, if this was what it took, she was just fine with that.
Fardeen watched the play of emotions on her face and with shock he saw the moment she decided to let him do it. Inexplicably, he became even more incensed than he’d been before. He felt guilty too, at the sudden flare of desire that had set his heart pumping.
“You’re not even going to try and stop me are you?”
“N…no. You’re my husband.”
“That’s right, I am. Duty first, and all that?”
Zoella nodded without comprehension, still in a daze, thinking about what she should do next, and how it would happen rather than his words.
Fardeen ground his teeth. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Tell her no, want me for me, ugly brute that I am? Or back down and have her behaving in that happy, syrupy way, pretending all was good and peachy? What the bloody hell was wrong with her? Didn’t she have any self-respect? He’d practically said he was using her in the worst possible way, and she was fine with it.
Stoicism and fortitude won’t take you too far, sweetheart…
The vicious thoughts wouldn’t cease. They plagued him and sustained him at the same time. He was vulnerable without that streak of cruelty that had entered his life along with his new face.
“I…I’ll be back in a minute.”
Certain that she’d be unable to go through with it, he said, “Fine. Be quick about it. Our wedding night is long over-due.”
He gave her his best leer and had the satisfaction of seeing her chin tremble. She vanished into the bathroom like a rabbit fleeing from a fox. He sat down with his face in his hands. Remorse, guilt, pity, they were there but so was the bitter wrath that had become a part of him. There was that perverse desire to see her fail and admit that she couldn’t take it, that she lied when she laughed with him, lied when she looked
at him with that openly adoring expression. She didn’t know what she was saying. She didn’t want him, she wanted her prince. And he didn’t exist. There was only the beast.
Then the dark, secret desire to take her, and have what he’d been craving even in secret from himself took over. She was his by right. Why not? He took his jacket and his tie off, still wrestling with his chthonic emotions, and was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when he heard the bathroom door open slowly. He turned around with a deliberately vicious look on his face…and stopped dead. Every thought of retribution and anger scattered. All the blood rushed from his head. He was rooted to the ground.
Her graceful, perfectly proportioned legs were bare beneath the little lacy lingerie that stopped mid-thigh. Her eyes fluttered. She stood there unsure and nervous. Fardeen’s brain ceased to function. He moved forward, as if in a daze. He was no longer in control of his body. Even as warning signals screamed somewhere in his consciousness, his fingers were brushing the length of her rounded arm. Her skin felt satiny smooth. His hand swept across her shoulder and down that lovely slope just begging to be kissed. So he did.
She trembled.
Why had he waited so long to do this? What could he have been thinking? Fardeen lifted his head to look at her, and instantly wished that he hadn’t. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she seemed to be holding her breath. In fear or revulsion, obviously. He found the strength to get his hands off her, somehow. Maybe, he found it in his pain.
“Open your eyes, Zoella.”
His voice sounded hoarse to his ears. She did so with reluctance, and he saw the question that lurked in them. He stepped back.
“The love shining in your eyes is blinding me. Keep it under control, will you?”
He managed to sound almost nonchalant. What he actually wanted to do was punch a hole in the wall. His hands remembered the feel of her warm silky skin and the swell and dips of her curves. He thrust them in his trouser pockets.
He wanted her back in his arms.
His hands fisted. He’d set himself up to fail, just as much as her. Why should it hurt so much when he’d known what to expect all along? Why did he have this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he’d known this would happen? This is what he’d wanted to prove, right here, this was it.
“Your annoying effervescence to hide your distaste, or your regret at having had to marry a wreck of a man, don’t fool me one bit. Admit it, you find me repulsive. God knows, I do. So why not just drop the act? What do you hope to get out of it, anyway?”
“B…but I don’t…”
“Yes, I saw that quite clearly.”
She was an arm’s length away. All he had to do was stretch his hand, and take her. She wouldn’t resist, he knew, but she’d hate every minute of it. How could she not? And he wouldn’t forget for a minute that she did.
Fardeen turned on his heels and stalked out of the room.
***
Zoella wasn’t sure what had happened, or why, but for the next three days Fardeen was insufferable. He yelled at everyone and everything. He snarled at her every time she caught him looking at her, which was often. Since that night when he’d humiliated her twice, he’d been unbearably rude to her. First he’d admitted cruelly that he was going to use her, and then when she’d turned up in sexy lingerie so that he could, he’d rejected her. How humiliating was that? She was still seething with embarrassment at the memory.
Just then, Fardeen walked into the room. He avoided looking at Zoella. He took up his book and sat down on the couch as he’d been doing since that night, with the reading lamp perched on a table nearby. He came to bed when she fell asleep. Or maybe he didn’t, because he was up and gone by the time she woke up.
Zoella watched him surreptitiously. Their already capricious, unstable relationship had become even more precarious. The minute he’d touched her, she’d forgotten everything else. Something warm unfurled inside her at the memory and she smiled, despite herself.
“Get into the bloody bed and go to sleep,” Fardeen growled into the thick silence.
She stammered, “I’m n…not sleepy.”
He swung his head back to look at her and in that fleeting moment, Zoella saw something in his face, and her knees went weak.
“Do it any way,” he said.
He desired her. That expression on his face could only mean one thing. That was all the confirmation she needed. That night he’d turned away from her because he thought she was repulsed by him. Admit it, you find me repulsive…you can’t even look at me…
He’d taken her shyness to be reluctance, she realized. She’d have to get over it for him to see that she really didn’t mind. At all. Uh-uh. No sir. He was just afraid she’d reject him, so he’d done it first. She could understand that. He wanted her. Zoella’s heart was thudding as she contemplated the possibility. Could she be right about this? There was only one way to find out. Was she willing to risk being humiliated again? Because it was entirely possible that she was wrong, that she was fooling herself into thinking what she wanted to believe, and he could just as easily reject her again.
However, if she wasn’t wrong, if it meant his doubts could be put to rest once and for all, shouldn’t she at least try? With her heart in her mouth, Zoella made her decision and took out a silky night-dress, to get to the business of seduction. Five minutes later, she came out of the bathroom irresolute and shaking, unsure about her next move. She took a few steps towards him, faltered, and turned back.
She climbed into bed.
She slithered out again.
She’d have to be bold and seductive. Courage, Zee she thought. He’s your prince, don’t be afraid. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she went back to the bed and lay down, reclining on her elbow, channeling Cleopatra. Her head resting on her hand, she let her hair fall onto her shoulders in a thick cascade of waves. She wished she had some sort of slogan or mantra she could repeat to give her courage. Frantically searched her brain for one and came up with the most inappropriate ones, (for God and country!).
Her heart racing, she stammered, “F…Fardeen?”
Without looking at her, he growled, “What?”
“Could you…hand me my book from the shelf?”
“Get it yourself.”
He didn’t stir. Should she go to him? Her legs were wobbly and she didn’t think they’d support her.
Be bold! Be fearless! Be like Scheherazade (she wasn’t the one who was beheaded was she?). No, no, she talked her way out of it.
“Fine. I’ll have to walk all the way across from you and I am cold and…”
Fardeen roused himself from the sofa, went in two angry strides to the bookshelf, snatched the first book that came into his hand, turned…and went very still.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice sounded constrained. Before she could answer, he snapped, “You have ten seconds to change into something sensible and go to sleep.”
“I really don’t want to.”
“I really don’t care.”
“Stop yelling.”
“I’m not yelling,” he yelled.
“Yes, you are. You’re making me nervous.”
He closed his eyes but apparently it didn’t help because he yelled again. “Go. Now.”
“S…stop distracting me. Seduction isn’t as easy as you’d think, and I’ve never done it before.”
He opened his mouth to say something and left it open as her words registered. He looked stunned for a moment and then he closed his mouth. His lips twitched.
“You don’t say.”
They looked at each other in silence.
This had not been a good idea. Zoella had no idea what to do next, especially now that he was looking at her expectantly.
Fardeen said softly, “Well?”
Confused and now disoriented, she said, “Yes?”
“How do you want to…er…proceed?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I could help.”
“It’s my seduction,” she reminded him.
Almost choking on the words, he said, “My bad.”
Zoella took a deep breath. Well, here was her chance. With a small nervous smile, she stretched out her small hand towards Fardeen.
EIGHT
Home should be a source of comfort, security and love, but for Zoella, hers had been a place that had brought her nothing but pain. She’d been the recipient of selfish manipulation all her life. So why had she expected anything to have changed? Feeling hurt and abandoned by Fardeen’s volte-face in the morning after her feeble seduction, she’d gone home to her mother to seek comfort, like a fool.
She got none.
All her mother could talk about was the money she needed, and clearly expected Zoella to somehow conjure. Her brother had foolishly taken a debt for business and then lost it all in bad investments. How was she supposed to come up with that much money? Her mother had suggested her husband and in-laws with the greatest of ease, as if it should’ve been obvious. Zoella’s pride had never mattered to them. She’d never meant anything to them and so neither did her pride.
Why was Fardeen being so awful? He’d become even more distant after her pathetic little seduction. His cold dismissal made her feel like she’d done something wrong. His scars were not just skin deep and he wasn’t letting anyone see the ones inside. How would they heal then, without help or balm? Nothing would heal them, she was beginning to suspect. At least nothing that she had. Not her love, not her devotion, not her. If only he’d let her, she could heal him. She so wished he would let her.
How could she ask for help from Fardeen now? How could she seek support from the man who refused to warm up to her despite all her endeavors? She meant nothing to him. How humiliating. There was nothing for it, though. She didn’t really have a choice. If she didn’t ask Fardeen, her brother could very possibly go to jail. There was no way that she could get the money from anywhere else. How she hated to do it, but there was no other way. She couldn’t bear to lose the little warmth her mother had shown her at the possibility of her helping her beloved son.
