I took a sip from my scalding cup of tea and cringed at its bitterness. Damn Lia and her too-healthy lifestyle. ‘Tea is a remedy and should not be soiled by the use of those blasted sugar cubes!’. Her words, not mine.
Looking up, I plastered on a smile and cleared my throat. “So ah…what would you say your hobbies are, Mr Zayed?” I asked, redirecting my attention back to the man sitting in front of me.
Ibrahim, or as he insisted on being called, Mr Zayed, looked at me as if I had just cursed his own mother. “Hobbies? Who has time for hobbies these days? Especially when you work in a field like mine,” he replied arrogantly.
Was this guy serious? “Nothing at all?” I prodded, keeping my tone polite. “I mean, maybe you like to read in your spare time, or go for a run?”
He scoffed and then looked at me pityingly. “Well, if you insist on an answer…work would be my hobby. I give one-hundred percent dedication to my job. I expect you wouldn’t know, but being a lawyer is not easy.” He took a sip from his own cup of tea, before sitting back and actually crossing his leg over the other!
“Right,” I drawled disappointingly.
The only reason I was making the slightest effort to keep the chatter flowing with this man, was because my father had seemed particularly keen on him and as always, a girl trusts her father’s judgement. I don’t know where my father’s instincts were hiding with this one though.
Silence enveloped us after that, as I ran out of questions and ideas that would keep the conversation running. It didn’t help that he just sat there like a headless chicken and waited on me to strike up a topic of interest. I looked over at Ziad for help, but he was on the other side of our magnanimous living room, a book perched on his lap. He looked enthralled and it would be quite rude of me to call out to him now.
So instead, I studied, with great curiosity, the Turkish styled china cup I was holding. It’s white, gold and blue designs were woven into a geometric fashion. I knew I had to buy them as soon as I saw them in the warehouse.
“Why are you wearing a ring on your finger?” he demanded suddenly.
I looked at him oddly. “Uhm, because I like jewellery?” It came out more as a question than a statement.
“Someone could mistake you for being engaged. I really wouldn’t recommend it.” There was so much stupidity in his comment, that I couldn’t even fathom a response; so I dignified him with none. I just sat there and stared at him like my gaze was the cure for his imbecilic illness.
Just as I heard an awkward cough from Ibrahim (in my mind, at least, I refused to call him Mr Zayed), Lia walked over and delighted us with two plates filled with sweets. She looked between us questioningly, probably wondering why we weren’t saying anything to each other. I gave her a look that said I’d tell her everything later.
“Thank you Lia.” I smiled at her and immediately picked up my fork and plate.
“Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything else.” She directed her words to me, before smiling in return and heading back out of the living room.
“Are you on a first name basis with all your servants?” Ibrahim asked, both his words and tone condescending. I looked into his hard, dark brown eyes and seriously wondered if this guy was normal.
“Excuse me?” I gritted out, finding it very hard to remain courteous at this stage.
“You knew her name,” he pointed out, eyebrows pointed.
YOU ARE READING
An Echoing Race.Spiritual
The last two years of Sameena Ahmad's life have been interesting, to say the least. Why? Maybe it was because she was the Prime Minister's daughter. Or maybe it's because that's when the suitors started knocking on her door. One after another, Samee...