His hands dangled idly over his meal, as he looked down with a sober, thoughtful expression.
“One mustn't speak ill of the dead, much less the shaheed.
And I intend no disrespect when I say this, I want you to know, but I have certain... reservations... about the way your parents
Allah, forgive them and grant them a place in paradise, about their, well, their leniency with you. I'm sorry.”
The cold, hateful look the girl flashed Rasheed at this did not escape Mariam, but he was looking down and did not notice.
“No matter. The point is, I am your husband now, and it falls on me to guard not only your honor but ours, yes, our nang and namoos.
That is the husband's burden. You let me worry about that. Please. As for you, you are the queen, the malika, and this house is your palace.
Anything you need done you ask Mariam and she will do it for you. Won't you, Mariam?
And if you fancy something, I will get it for you. You see, that is the sort of husband I am.
“All I ask in return, well, it is a simple thing. I ask that you avoid leaving this house without my company. That's all. Simple, no?
If I am away and you need something urgently, I mean absolutely need it and it cannot wait for me,
then you can send Mariam and she will go out and get it for you.”
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