Page 18

After fifteen minutes, she came out of the room, pulling back the heavy curtains. She changed into a grey long sleeve dress and covered her head with a scarf. A decent look which was considered pleasant in Arab world.

She saw Oman sitting comfortably on one of the couches. His gaze was already fixed on her. It seemed he was waiting for her.

They both looked at each other silently. She placed her hands behind her back, waiting for Oman to speak. While he surveyed her body closely, as if it were a map of places he planned to conquer, He was pleased with her attire.

Only the sound of wind could be heard, which was sneaking through the opened window. Still, this silence was so loud that it made Tara nervous. She was looking down at her naked feet.

The way she constantly avoided looking him in the eye was starting to irritate him.

Slowly, he got up and stepped towards her. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and husky.

"Next time, don't walk away from me," he told her, still angry with her for rejecting him.

She threw daggers at him in return. He still didn't get it; she doesn't want him to look at any woman.

Her innocent heart sank every time she saw another woman looking at him. He was a clever man, but it was really surprising that he didn't understand her feelings.

Disappointingly, she squeezed her eyes and looked away in anger.

Oman was seething in anger now. He didn't want to get mad, but her childish behaviour made his mood foul.

"You have become so disrespectful toward me." His eyes narrowed dangerously at her as he pointed a finger at her.

"You are a donkey."

"SHUT UP!" he barked at her, making her flinch back.

"ENOUGH OF YOUR DRAMA. I am trying to be polite, and you are playing games with me," he gritted his teeth.

He didn't know why he was getting so angry, but right now he wasn't thinking straight.

He knew she wasn't mature enough to understand their relationship, but at the same time, he wanted her to be a submissive wife.

Her chin wobbled, and tears threatened to fall. She flipped and stomped toward the exit door and was about to walk out when he spoke in a dangerous tone.

"Stop right there or I'll break your legs." His words made her shiver, and she stopped in her tracks. Tara swung viciously at his leering face.

"You don't like listening?" He spoke with bitterness as he swiftly grabbed her wrist and clutched it.

"Ahh"

He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. Her eyes were full of tears as she struggled to look him in the eye.

"When I speak to you, you will do me the respect of looking me in the eye and answering me." The way he spoke confused her. His voice was stern and loud. She didn't want to make trouble.

There was something about him that frightened her. Sometimes he becomes so aggressive. Now she wasn't mad but scared of him.

Oman cornered her by the wall as he roughly grabbed her waist. With his hand, he grabbed the back of her hair, forcing her to look him in the eye again. This time she didn't dare look away.

His sleeves were rolled up to expose his muscular forearms. She had experienced his tremendous strength.

"I was expecting you to be a good wife, but you are just a brat," he said with finality. His voice was rougher now.

"I am sorry" Her voice was small with fear, but low and warm and a little husky.

His thumb slid onto the nape of her neck, wrapping his hand around it. Her heart started pounding. She couldn't look at Oman any longer, and her gaze fell. He could break her with his lean, brown fingers like a broken toy.

"I know I tried forcing myself on you last night. I promise, I won't do that again. One day we are going to get intimate, but with your consent. I am your husband, Tara. At least show some respect. I am not asking for anything else," she nodded meekly.

She stayed silent. while he was questioning her with his eyes. At last she spoke after a long silence.

"I don't like it when you look at other girls." He couldn't ignore how beautiful her voice sounded. She licked her lips and looked dead in in his eyes.

Was she asking for him to kiss her? He was fighting with himself to dip his head and grab her petal lips in his mouth.

He was angry because she denied his rights, but now he knew why she was behaving this way.

Her tender neck was still in his grip. She sniffed and placed her hand on his hand. She was utterly in his power and at his mercy.

"It's hurting," she whispered.

He removed his hold on her neck and creased her cheeks with his both hands lovingly.

"Don't ever deny my right on you. It makes me crazy," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Hmmm," she hummed.

She obeyed instinctively.

She gave a weak smile and went out of the room. In the corridor, she looked at the large carpet that rested comfortably underneath the furniture, which appeared very elegant.

She thought it was strange that in a house so large, there was not one maid or servant. Azadeh did all the work by herself. Was Azadeh a good wife?

She found the way to the kitchen, where last time Azadeh had given her tea.

Azadeh was by the fire, filling two bowls with a delicious-smelling stew. Tara walked slowly over to her.

Azadeh turned back and saw her tear-stained face.

"What happened. Why are you crying?"

In return, Tara shakes her head while looking down.

"You can tell me," she said, placing her hand on her shoulder. Her dark eyes were kind and filled with concern.

"I want... to be a good wife," she said. Her voice cracked as she said it.

Looking at Azadeh, anyone can tell she was an amazing wife and took great care of her husband. She wanted to learn how she could please Oman. She got sad at the thought that he only thought of her as a brat.

Azadeh shook her head at the petite girl and smiled, "You can be a good wife after you finish your meal."

He always chewed on the leaves of a certain plant in the morning and at night, and that helped to clean his teeth and freshen his mouth.

After taking a bath, he went back to his room and opened the chest that contained his clothes, donning a pair of light-tan trousers and a white, long-sleeved tunic.

He had borrowed some money from Bahman. That cunning man was acting so strangly. His honey-coated words were unsettled for some reasons.

In the past, Oman helped him many times, so he was expecting the same from him, but something was suspicious and fishy.

But for now, he wanted to focus on Tara. She was so sad because of him. So he wanted to make everything right between them.

In the kitchen, he found her cutting some vegetables with a big, sharp knife. He became worried about her. She never did this kind of work before. But looking at her, it seemed someone had taught her how to do it.

I won't let her do that again.

Tara's head was bare, but the thick mane of brown hair was tied back with a loose band of linen. He recognised it as the square of handkerchief he had given her once. He didn't know she still kept it.

He saw Azadeh stirring a lamb stew filled with chunks of vegetables, chickpeas, and small sweet potatoes. Flat rounds of bread were baking in a bit of sizzling oil on a flat ceramic surface in the fire.

Tara was helping her and sitting beside her. That's why her face was a little sweaty from the heat.

He called out for her. When she saw Omar at the entrance to the kitchen, she gave him one of her dazzling little smiles.

He gave a little nod to Azadeh out of respect.

"Come here," he commanded.

Walking close to him, Tara blinked in confusion.

He grabbed her arm and took her into the corner.

"We are going out."

"Really," she was surprised.

"Take a bath and wear something comfortable." Tara liked the sound of it.

She was beaming at him.

"Ok"

The smile was very pretty, and she didn't look as scared. Oman was surprised at the throb of tenderness he felt for her.

She came back after getting ready. A black robe and scarf covered everything but her eyes and hands. He didn't ask her to cover herself; it was her own will. After getting molested by those rapists, she was scared to show her body parts.

She laid her small white hand in his tanned hand. Her skin was like the creamy white flesh of the inside of lotus flowers, and his hand was like cinnamon. Her hand was small compared to his hand.

"Let's go," she pulled him behind her.

In the relentlessly glaring light of the sun, everything seemed brighter, more starkly outlined. Then there were the smells of sweet perfumes, incense, spices that tickled her nose. The richness of the ambience was giving this bazaar a great view.

They both walked hand in hand through the streets. After roaming around for an hour, her belly was roaring for something to eat. Under the thick and tantalising smell of the meat, she could smell the good smell of baking bread, and it was mouthwatering.

"I am hungry," she said, removing long veil from her face.

Looking at her cute face, he smiled. Grabbing her hand he pulled her towards a stall that was selling chilled fruit juice.

She stared thirstily at the vats of brightly colored juice that were cooling in wooden containers of water in the shade. Oman asked her what she wanted, and she pointed to a pale pink juice of crushed cactus fruit and pomegranates.

The stall keeper gave her a cup of tightly woven reeds that was disposable and somewhat waterproof, and she drank the sweet, sticky juice.

She smiled at Oman with her lips stained red and sweet, and he felt a sudden strong urge to taste the juice on her lips, to pour the juice on her young, sweet body, and lap it up.

He looked away. They were in a public place, and she had not caught his look of raw lust. She had been too busy petting a stray cat that had rubbed against her ankles.

The stallkeeper had seen it though, and he gave Oman a smile full of blackened teeth. As soon as she straightened, he put his hand on her arm and pulled her behind him.