The Rich Life

3

I woke up naturally, bright sunlight pouring through the glass window. I sighed in bliss. This was going to be heaven for the next fortnight. My body clock seemed to have adjusted itself accordingly. It was 9 am and I got out of the bed. Somehow I managed to tangle myself in the sheets. Being alert, I finally got a proper view of the ultra-luxurious hotel. My room was a one-bed suite with a panoramic view of the gulf sea. Damn. It looked dreamy. I had a quick shower to rinse off the sleepiness and honestly, I felt like a new person. New name, new everything.

Girls similar to me are forced to cover up, not for the sake of our religion, but for the culture and honour. Because if a boy attacks you or they talk to you somehow it's YOUR fault and not the boy. At least that's what Mum told me. It's like there's some mysterious shroud protecting them. It fucks me up if I think about it too deeply. I try not to.

I slipped on a strapless white dress. It was a new purchase that I had brought just before I left England. It was 46 degrees anyway and I slipped it on. The cool fabric calmed my hot skin and I got ready to go downstairs and have breakfast with the sunlight drying my hair quickly.

As I walked down I remembered the handsome stranger who helped me last night, Adam something. His sharp features were still in my mind, illuminated by the moon that shone through the glass of the hotel. He looked maybe the same age as me. I wonder If I'll ever see him again. This hotel is so huge that it's on an island by itself so probably not. The staff guided me to the buffet and I gorged myself on food. I was hungry, I hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours. There was such a huge variety that I wanted to try it all.

It feels weird to be solitary. There are loads of honeymoon couples here. Saif was planning to take us on a honeymoon to the Maldives or Seychelles, I don't know, it was supposed to be a surprise, according to his sister, when we were at the Mehendi (Bachelorette party). I stared down at my hands that were adorned with patterns of henna, all the way up to my elbows. Pretty swirly flower patterns. The colour was still darkening too. Thank God I didn't do my feet, I hated the idea of henna on my feet. That was the only thing my mum let me have a decision on in the entire wedding planning. My nails were still painted ruby red to match my dress.

I decided to have a wander around the place so I don't get myself lost. Everything here was so gold and elegant and expensive. This place had waterparks, fine dining, spas, fitness suites and an infinity pool. God, the infinity pool looked stunning, I definitely had to have a swim in here. I tried to find my way back to the room to get dressed in my swimsuit, again I needed help but I managed to get there. put some sunscreen on, pulled on my black one-piece swimsuit and flip flops and made my way up there.

I managed to find myself a sunbed to lay on, next to a blonde bombshell. She was laying on one and her Hermes bag on another. I felt self-conscious next to her. No wonder why nobody sat next to her. She was long and radiant and golden. She had angelic features and her curls were fanned out around her face. Her face lacked any wrinkles and her eyes were shut, basking in the sweet sunshine. Then there's me in comparison.

My mother is beautiful, simply beautiful. They say I take after her. Black curls that frame my pale face and set off my golden eyes to perfection, a beaky nose, full lips. But I wasn't as tall as her. Nor did I have the elegant grace that she had. Mum took one sweeping look at me, and scoffed, hardly believing that strangers were comparing her to her plain, ugly daughter. 

She taught me that beauty would get me somewhere in life. No one would love me if I was unattractive. So when she beat me, I prayed to Allah that He would make me pretty so my mother would love me. 

But in the end, I didn't care anymore. Nothing I'd ever do would ever make me the apple of her eye, or love me equally to my brothers. 

I took out my book to read, some non-fiction bollocks. I prefer historical romances. Let's me fantasise about my non-fiction love life and a stranger who will one day sweep me off my feet. I was absorbed in the book until the beautiful lady next to me spoke up.