23 year old, Fatima's life was well planned out when she finished her college studies in Stanford University. Coming back home in London, she'd planned to take a gap year and have time to figure out what she really wanted to do with her life. Everyt...
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Following day, I woke up and did my morning routine, I decided to wear my satin light blue dress that had one slit on the left, showing off my thigh and some sandals. I let my hair down my shoulders. I didn't put on makeup, I just wore a nude lipstick. I wasn't planning on going anywhere anyway. After my routine I checked myself in the mirror. I let out a sigh, I couldn't forget about what happened the other day and I was still quite shaken, I couldn't get the images out of my mind. I killed men, I freaking killed three men on my own. That's not something you could just forget and move on from. With three breaths in and out, I closed my eyes and took one last breath out and I calmed down. Opening my eyes, I smiled at myself.
"You got this, baby." I muttered to myself and then left my room and went to the kitchen. When I entered, the first thing I saw was Mr Caruso himself, with a pair of blue jeans, shirtless. His jeans weren't buttoned and they were revealing his Calvin Klein underwear, he had a straight cap on his head. The broad shoulders, strong arms, hard chest, the biceps on his stomach and the V line going below his abdomen, I stood glued on the spot, lost in such a beautiful sigh...beautiful...no I meant to say a gorgeous sight. Wow! Such a heavily breathtaking view so early in the morning.
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" First thing that left my mouth was that question, my voice a little squeaker than I had intended.
'Seriously, Fatima?'
"Do you have a problem with how I am?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"N...no I..." I stuttered and swallowed hard. I definitely didn't have a problem with him looking like that, I could look at him for the whole eternity, I wouldn't mind but one problem remained, he was Zayn Caruso, my worst nightmare of a husband. Of course I had a problem...right? But he was beautiful and hot. It suddenly became hot in that kitchen. Would I be wrong to admire God's stunning handiwork? No? Yes?
'He's an asshole but I'm still a woman so it shouldn't be wrong...'
'What is wrong with you? Focus...you don't like this loser remember...?'
Yes...yes... I wasn't going to let him think I was attracted to him. No, I was still determined on giving him one hell of a difficult time for the time I was in his house. Two months down, four to go and then I'll be done with this stupid marriage and contract and of course his arrogant ass. "...I don't have a problem at all. Carry on." I continued my sentence and sat on the high chair, watching him making breakfast.
"Of course you wouldn't have a problem. It's not like you see this..." He turned around, opening his arms wide. "...everytime. I know I'm hot."
'Dog...'
"Don't swell too much." I forced a smile.
"You're so uptight, Fatima. Learn to live a little." He remarked.
"I promise you, I know how to live my life, you're the snob not me."
