The older woman was quiet for a long moment. “Why did my son not tell me these things himself?”
“You were too busy being angered by his decision to marry her, ummi,” Aaliyah said quietly.
An uncomfortable silence ensued. Viviana continued to shield her breasts as her mind drifted to memories of her mom and dad. She would give anything—literally anything—to hug them one last time. She supposed Muhammad’s mother felt the same way about her sons, grandsons, and daughters-in-law. No matter what side of this war you were on, loss was loss and heartbreak was heartbreak.
“For whatever it’s worth,” Viviana admitted, “I am genuinely sorry for the loss of your children and grandchildren.” She glanced away. “I am a translator, a linguist, not an interrogator.” She shrugged with a dismissiveness she didn’t feel. “When my people beat your son, I refused to translate for them until he was given medical attention, food, and water.”
She didn’t glance up to see whether that pronouncement was met with indifference, appreciation, or downright hatred. All she wanted was to go home—her real home—and have a good, long cry. Tears were something she would not shed in front of friends, much less enemies. Her one moment of weakness had already occurred when she’d unsuccessfully tried to escape. There would be no more moments of weakness, however fleeting.
Everything was finally getting to her. She couldn’t remember ever being so completely overwhelmed. Considering the three most tragic events she’d experienced in life, namely the death of her parents, her near capture three years ago, and the siege that had successfully accomplished bringing her here now, that was saying a lot.
“Shukran.”Thank you.
Viviana stilled. Her eyes widened in surprise as her gaze clashed with the older woman’s. “Äafwan,” she murmured.You’re welcome.
Another, longer silence enveloped the palatial room. Finally Aaliyah delicately cleared her throat.
“I understand that you are not happy being here yet,” Aaliyah said to Viviana. “Yet I hope one day that is not the case.” She smiled a bit awkwardly. “My brother has asked my mother and me to prepare you for him so your body is notharamby our laws. I would be grateful if you made this easy on all of us.”
Viviana inwardly sighed. She didn’t want to acquiesce, yet the sweet girl made it difficult to deny her anything. Plus Viviana didn’t know what kind of man Muhammad was. Would he beat his sister if she failed at the task he’d given her? She didn’t know. For that reason and only that reason she gave a begrudging grunt of agreement.
“How badly is this ‘sugaring’ going to hurt?” Viviana asked.
“Sugaring?” the matriarch replied. Her eyebrows drew together. At last the beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips, though she resisted smiling fully. “We are not Muslim hillbillies,” she informed Viviana. “Or Saudis.”
“I must have not paid attention very well in class that day.”
“We use wax, not sugar,” Aaliyah said with a grin. “Much as your people do.”
Waxing hurt like a motherfucker, but she supposed they already knew as much. It’s not like she didn’t upkeep her downstairs business anyway. The only hair Viviana had down there was a tiny triangular patch of dark gold.
She conceded again, though this time with an audible sigh. “Where should we do this? I imagine not on the bed.”
* * * * *
One thing Muhammad’s mother would never be accused of was lacking in thoroughness. Jamila had waxed her three times from pussy hole to asshole, making certain not even a baby hair remained. When she’d finished she gave Viviana a peppermint and rosemary oil to rub all over her vulva so the pain would be non-existent by the time Muhammad came in to “consummate”.
After the waxing, Aaliyah had removed the bandage from her arm. Noting that the bleeding had stopped, she’d wiped some sort of ointment on it and covered it with a clear Band-Aid.
By the time the two women got around to doing her makeup, Viviana didn’t care about being naked anymore. She knew she’d care mightily when her captor walked in, but in front of the females she felt at ease.
“I think you will like this,” Aaliyah told her as she finished contouring her eyebrows. “You were beautiful before, butwallah, you have the look of a fabled queen now.”
Even Jamila grunted her agreement. Viviana decided the older woman would have made a formidable Russian dictator, but she said nothing.
“At least you will give me beautiful grandchildren,” Jamila bluntly stated. One of her eyebrows darted up. “You do not take birth control do you?”
Oh how she wished she did. Unfortunately, Viviana had no reason to be on anything because she didn’t have a partner. “No,” she admitted.
Jamila inclined her head. “Good.”
“Wallah,” Aaliyah said, smiling, “I hope they have your eyes.”
Viviana didn’t know what to say to that so she said nothing. By the time the women took their leave, her nervousness had increased a thousand-fold. Sitting at the vanity next to a bathtub big enough to double as a swimming hole, she absently stared at herself in the mirror. Aaliyah could give any Hollywood makeup artist a run for their money. She didn’t even feel as though she looked like herself and had told the younger woman so.
“You look exactly like you,” Aaliyah had returned. “All I did was exaggerate what is already there.”
Viviana sighed. This had been a wretchedly long day. She stood up and began the long walk toward the side of the vast room where the bed was. Any way she sliced it, there wasn’t a way out of this night’s upcoming event. Sure she could fight him off, but she was a realist. He was far too huge to deter for more than a few seconds.
Why did he want her? she wondered for the hundredth time. Marrying someone just to fuck them was a piss poor reason to ruin both their lives. Contrary to Aaliyah’s professed hope, Viviana knew she’d never be happy here. Even if Muhammad grew on her by some unfathomable means, women served no purpose here other than to fuck and breed.
By the time she reached the bed and plopped down onto it, depression overruled her nervousness. She climbed under the blankets and laid her head down on one of the silk pillows.
Viviana sighed. She’d never been the type of starry eyed female to wistfully plan out her wedding day and wedding night years before so much as meeting the man she would eventually marry, but neither had she assumed it would be a hostage situation when and if it did happen.
