The Mafia's Bride

Chapter 18

Hayat pov

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers gripping the fabric beneath me. This felt so awkward-I had never shared a room with anyone before. My suitcase, the one with my clothes, wasn't here. What would I wear?

My heart pounded against my ribcage, a frantic rhythm that matched the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. My hands were clammy, my breath uneven.

A sudden knock on the door made me jolt. I quickly clasped my hands together, trying to steady myself, and smoothed down my dress in a weak attempt to calm my nerves.

What was I supposed to do? What if he expected something from me?.

I answered him, my voice barely above a whisper, "Come in."

As the door swung open, my heartbeat quickened. Can he hear it? His eyes fell on me, and he ran a hand over the back of his head.

Was he disappointed? Mad? Did he regret that I had asked him to join me for prayer? My thoughts spiraled until he cleared his throat and awkwardly sat on the sofa.

"Hayat," his voice was gentle yet firm, "you don't have to worry about anything. We'll take things slow. I know this is hard for you too-it all happened so suddenly. Let's just get to know each other first. But please, be comfortable with me. You don't have to hesitate, okay? This is your home too. I would have slept in a different room, but with all the maids here, they would talk."

I nodded, his words easing the whirlwind in my mind.

"Okay... um, Hazar, do you know where my suitcase is? The one with my clothes?" I asked hesitantly. This heavy dress was exhausting-I wasn't used to wearing something like this.

"All your suitcases are here. Let me check. Do you remember what color it was?" He glanced around the room.

"Sky blue," I replied, watching his broad shoulders as he searched. Maybe he isn't as tough as he seems.

"It's not here. Maybe it got left behind... Let me call Azkar." He pulled out his phone, his expression unreadable.

I watched him with hope. I can't wear this for another minute.

After a short conversation, he turned back to me. "Your bag was left at the venue. We'll get it in the morning." His eyes stayed on me, studying my reaction.

My heart sank. My whole body ached-it felt like tiny needles pricking my skin.

"Hayat, are you okay?" His voice held concern. "I can go back and get your bag."

I stared at him, shocked. "That's a three-hour drive one way ."

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.

"My body hurts... I can't keep wearing this dress. Do you have something I can wear?" I played with the edge of my dupatta, feeling self-conscious. I hope he doesn't think I'm being too much.

He nodded. "Let me see."

Disappearing into the dressing area, he returned a few minutes later, handing me a black T-shirt and trousers. Our fingers brushed for a second, and my breath hitched. My heart stuttered in my chest.

"This is all I could find," he said, pulling his hand back. Our eyes met, and for the first time, I caught the scent of his cologne-deep, musky, with a hint of warmth.

"It's fine. I'll go change," I murmured before rushing into the bathroom, my heart racing uncontrollably.

I placed my hand over my chest, feeling the wild rhythm of my heartbeat beneath my palm.

Turning to the mirror, I took in my reflection. His T-shirt reached my thighs, hanging loosely around me. It was soft, comfortable-nothing like the heavy dress I had been suffocating in. I let my hair fall over my shoulders, suddenly realizing... this was the first time he would see my hair.