Eternal Temptation

❥ 14| man and wife

I FELT LIKE DEATH.

There were dark circles under my eyes — not exactly a shocker — but they stood out so vividly against the paleness of my face. I looked like I was about to throw up, and I could already feel my stomach churning at the thought of what the day would bring.

I mean, that was obvious. The day was going to bring my wedding. In five hours, I'd be becoming a married woman, and I stared at my face in the mirror, slapping my cheeks to bring some colour back into them.

Only, nothing worked. The only colour on my body was the redness of the henna on both my hands and feet. Three days earlier, it had been my kina night — my goodbye to bachelorhood as far as everyone but Zayaan and I were concerned — and it had ended up being a fun fest.

The women had adorned my hands and feet with henna, wishing me well and hoping that my married life would bring me all the happiness in the world. I'd given them a fake smile, which had quickly turned into a real one from their pure joy, and I'd later changed into the traditional bindalli, which was a bright red. The henna had dried soon, leaving my hands painted a vivid red which the women had teased about it being a sign of the strong love my husband and I would have for each other.

I'd laughed uncomfortably and hadn't responded to their commentary, allowing the evening to move to the fun part where there were just games of sorts and we, women, just had a good, peaceful time. Peaceful for them, not exactly for me, the bride herself. But the henna had barely faded away and I knew that the crimson would look extremely bright against the ivory of my dress. Oh well, it could be a sign of my bleeding heart.

There were five hours left; a productive five hours that I knew would be filled with panic, lots of prodding and pricking, and of course, inevitable scolding from my dear mother. Stylists were coming over to do my hair and makeup first, where we stayed at the Raven Park Hotel in London, where my reception would also be happening later today. It was the second part of the ceremony per Persian traditions — the aghd was the wedding itself, and the mehmoonee was the reception.

"Faithe, darling, have you showered yet?" My mother burst into my room — without knocking since she already had a key — and I could hear shuffling as if she was walking around and moving things about in my suite.

"Yes! I'm done; I'll be out in a minute," I shouted back, sighing at my reflection and put on my robe, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

"Okay, okay. The stylists will all be here in five minutes tops; they'll do your hair and makeup. Then you need to put on your dress and we need to leave by noon. There will be a limo to pick us up," she reminded. 

Just as she'd warned, the stylists made it up quickly and pushed me into the chair at the vanity table and mirror. I let the group of people prod and pull away, not a single word leaving my mouth as they conducted whatever magic they were trained in.