Forbidden (Now Published On Amazon,Kobo, B&N and Apple Stores -FREE)

Truth Hurts

19

The next morning, after Jasmine stepped out of the shower, she stopped short and stared at Armaan who was lying back on the bed with his arms folded behind his head. He was two days early.

"Hey." She walked over to the bed and looked down at him. "You're back."

He gave her a long, lazy look as he lay there, looking hot in a white shirt and black trousers. He made no move to touch her. "Good to see you too," he said slowly.

She was not sure how to react. In a way, she was happy to see him. But she was also worried that now, Hamza would start keeping his distance even more.

Walking over to the bureau, she sifted through her clothes.

"Did you finish whatever it was you went to take care of?" she asked.

"Yes." He did not tell her that he had been busy every single day and night trying to finish it so that he could come back early. Allah had been on his side. "I'm sorry I didn't call last night," he said, watching her as she found a pair of lace panties and turned to look at him uncertainly.

He sighed and turned over on his side so that his back was to her, giving her the privacy she wanted. It was so unfair. He was her husband but she wanted to treat him like a stranger.

He wanted her to love him but looking at her lukewarm response to his arrival, he had to admit that it was going to take her a long while to reach that level of intimacy with him. Tracing circles on the sheet, he closed his eyes, wondering why he felt so disheartened. Your wife doesn't give a fuck about you, that's why. But it had been his choice to marry her. Why should he punish Jasmine for the decision that he had made for them? That was not who he was. He did not start blaming the people he loved just because they could not love him back. He did not complain. He took action.

Getting out of bed, he made his way to the wardrobe and started to change, ignoring her startled look. He took off his pants and shirt and found a pair of shorts in the drawer along with a light blue t-shirt.

His soccer boots lay at the bottom of the drawer and as he bent to pick them up, he felt her hand on his arm and turned to her. She was gazing at him as if she had never seen him before.

"Where's your tattoo?" she breathed in amazement and he finally understood the reason behind her strange look.

During their video calls, when she'd demanded he expose every inch of his body to her, she'd always wrinkled her nose at the lewd tattoo of a naked girl in a provocative pose which he had had inked on his shoulder blade a few years ago.

"I got rid of it," he told her levelly. She shook her head as if she could not believe it. He decided to tell her the rest of it while he was at it. "I went to Italy to put my club, hotel and house on the market. The hotel and the club are sold. Negotiations are still on for the house. I'm going to give all the money away, Jasmine. It's all unlawful. And I found that woman and paid her the twelve million pounds back from my inheritance. All of it had to go because it was bought from the money I made by prostituting myself," he stated calmly.

"The day we got married, someone asked me to design a mosque here in Amira. I can't begin that project living the way I've been living so far. And I can't be the best husband if I don't let go of my old ways."

He sat on the bed and put on his boots. "Going to play soccer at my old school grounds," he explained. "You can come and watch if you want." He got up and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Love you, baby."

He left without waiting for her to say something and Jasmine leaned back against the drawer in shock. He had done all that without anyone lecturing him about it or forcing him into it. He had done all that on his own.