His Scandalous Bride

2: Now

SADDIQ KEEPS TOSSING, TURNING AND HISSING on the floor of his bedroom until he eventually gave up any pretence of sleep. His heart was frustrated. The clock had struck three a while ago, 3:00am, but despite his best intentions, he couldn't sleep. How can he sleep after the stupendous way his night was spent.

"I've never slept with a man before." Her voice steals into his consciousness like sugar on a toothache and he frowns not wanting to go down that particular route again. He didn't want to relive those past few hours ever again even if it be only in his head. It had been quite an eyesore; watching Aisha's poor attempt at seduction and had witnessed the whole ordeal openmouthed, shocked into silence and utter embarrassment. He didn't want to relive those moments ever again.

"Who said anything about sleeping with me?" He'd asked as soon as he'd recovered from the initial shock of being manhandled. Saddiq was certain what happened with him could be regarded as a form of sexual harassment.

"Isn't that what married couples do?" She fired back genuinely perplexed with those perfect full lips of hers pursed in obvious distaste.

"According to whom?" He couldn't help himself. "Or were you ever married?" What monstrosity wrought out this nonsensical turn of events? One would think watching your stranger-bride strut to you, quite awkwardly, in a sleeping dress which leaves nothing to imagination and flirtingly running soft dainty hands across your face and bare chest in a disastrous attempt at seduction was nightmare enough. Apparently not!

He kicks briskly at the blanket hissing in thickening frustrations as the whole ordeal crosses his mind anyway. His head hurts. How in God's name did Aisha come to the conclusion that he was going to share her bed? He doesn't seem to understand. Yes, tonight is their wedding night. Yes, he told her his only condition for marrying her was only if the marriage was true in every sense even if they had signed and notarized a divorce agreement effective in exactly a year. But he'd never given her any impression that might suggest he desired her. Not even a little. Not even at all.

"You're a man, aren't you?" She'd then asked out of the blue just when he thought the night couldn't get any drearier.

"What does being a man have anything to this?" He'd snarled, pissed. He didn't like her tone or the expressions in her eyes.

"I want to know."

"Will it change anything?"

She paused as if giving it a thought. "No. Not really." And almost like an afterthought, "I just thought that's all you men think about and you'd pounce on such an opportunity."

He'd glared at her but chose not to answer. What does she take him? An animal? Or in heat? What madness would possess her to think he expected anything from her? Wasn't it obvious that he wanted nothing. And the knowledge that she could even imagine anything like that happening infuriated him beyond words. He might have agreed to marry her on a whim merely hours after meeting her and announcing his intentions to move in with her three days later despite the protests from his family, friends, acquaintances and strangers who seem to have a say about whom, how and when he marries and brought her into his home as his wife, but he never gave her any impression that this was anything but a business deal. Until he couldn't help himself. He just had to know why she would think he would sleep with her.

"I know I am beautiful, Saddiq." She had fired back, feisty. "Didn't you agree to marry me because of my beauty?"

"Is that what you think?" He'd asked incredulously not bothering to hide his disillusionment any longer. How dare her question his intentions? He doesn't mind her questioning his reasons but he draws a curtain when his intentions are on the line.

"Isn't that the truth?"

However despite his anger, he'd paused, thinking, not quite certain if she was completely wrong. She is beautiful. Tall yet graceful, with flawless brown skin and honeyed eyes full of fire and ice. She couldn't be anything but beautiful. But was that the reason why he had agreed to this sham of a marriage? Was he truly that shallow? What had he truly expected when he agreed to marry her? A shotgun marriage? Watching an amateurish strip tease? Sleeping on the floor of his room? Aisha might just become his undoing.

"You can have the bed, Aisha," he'd said in resignation suddenly exhausted. He had made his choice anyway. His reasons might still be unclear but he doesn't want to question his intentions."I have no intention of sleeping with you." Ever.

"Suit yourself," she had huffed walking to the bed,"God! Someone would think I just asked you to go to hell with me." She'd whined and moments later, he could hear her soft breathe sifting through the quiet night oblivious to the havoc she was unleashing into his life a breath at a time.

He lingered momentarily, watching her sleep from afar, wondering how she could sleep right now and in such haste. She just literally asked a stranger to sleep with her. However, it was his fault for assuming his bride was the shy, blushing type. Aisha was definitely no damsel in distress.

Careful not to awaken his fiend of a bride curled like a foetus on his bed, he grabs a pillow and switched off the bedside lamp. The silvery lights of the moon immediately washes the room from the sheer white curtains covering his floor-to-ceiling bedroom door overlooking the indoor heated swimming pool which was glistening beneath the skin of the moon in an entrancing splendour. For a minute, he was tempted to strip and fall into its warm embrace, and knowing he couldn't, not anymore, had hurt him much more than he had anticipated. He felt the cut of loss for a life he might never have again and the fear of one he might not have a choice but have. And he'd never felt as pathetic as in that hopelessly long moment in his entire life.

Saddiq shivers and instinctively wraps his arms across his chest only to remember he had ditched his shirt earlier like he normally does the minute he walks into his room to take a shower and prepare for bed. Not tonight. 

Hissing softly, he grabs the woolly peach blanket on the bed harshly, too lazy to do anything else, and Aisha moves in her sleep, murmuring some incoherent words and folded deeper into herself. He ignored her. She could freeze to death, he thought, but his resolve only lasted seconds as he finds himself begrudgingly covering her with the soft cream duvet on the bed. She wasn't his favorite person which was no secret, but he doesn't hate her either. He couldn't have. He doesn't know her. Flinging the pillow carelessly on the Persian rug as far away as he could from her, he collapsed on it, too tired to do anything else.

And now, he couldn't sleep. Despite his frustration. Despite his anger. Despite his exhaustion. And it's her fault. Why couldn't he meet and marry someone normal? No, he had to marry the first psychotic person to dare ask him for marriage on their first encounter though it wasn't suppose to work out this way. She wasn't suppose to agree to his bluff. What was he thinking threatening her that way?

"It's almost time for the Friday prayers, why not just get married right now?" he'd taunted.

And she had agreed. No fuss. No nothing. She had married him less than an hour after meeting him and despite having a million and one doubt about his actions, he was careful not to regret them. He couldn't regret. Not again.