Viviana swallowed another bite. “Can we eat first? I was taught never to speak with food in my mouth and there is going to be food in my mouth for at least ten more minutes.”
“Of course.” There was that sparkle in his dark gaze again. “I’m glad you like it.”
She hesitated. Viviana didn’t know how a woman in her position was supposed to react, but there was something that needed said regardless to everything else. “Thank you.”
Muhammad swallowed the bite in his mouth and shrugged. “Waiting to talk until you’ve eaten is a simple request. I’ll always oblige you when I can.”
“I meant for the food.”
He stilled. His gaze found hers. The food went deeper than the request to put off talking and they both knew it. He had gone to great lengths to ensure she would have a meal on her wedding night—forced or not—that she would enjoy.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured.
They ate and drank in comfortable silence for what turned out to be another twenty minutes. Everything tasted so good, all the dishes’ ingredients so fresh. When Viviana plopped a sweet, sticky date into her mouth she was certain this feast was as close to manna from heaven as it got. The dates back home were good, but they didn’t taste like candy.
At the end of the meal, Muhammad poured them both a glass of wine. Her jaw dropped a bit. Observant Muslims never imbibe alcohol and that was a Parisian label. France wasn’t exactly known for producinghalal—permitted—wine by skipping the fermentation part.
“The prophet—peace be upon him—enjoyed fermented wine,” Muhammad told her, obviously reading her expression. “Nowhere in the Qur’an are believers forbidden from drinking wine. They are forbidden only from excess and drunkenness. Imams made up the rest.”
Viviana realized she wore the expression of a shocked simpleton. “I know that, but I’ve never heard a Muslim admit that out loud.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “There is a difference between serving Allah in reverence and making up rules to suit the whims of men.”
“The Qur’an doesn’t state women are to be veiled either.”
“I do not argue this point with you. Again, the veil falls under the heading of ‘whims of men’.”
She blinked. Viviana was a learned woman. She’d heard a few feminist Muslim women—all branded as heretics—make the same argument, but she hadn’t expected to hear it come from the mouth of a traditionalist, much less a male one. She took a sip from the wine as she studied him. “Christians do that too, you know.”
“Do what?”
She took another drink before answering. “Disregard the reality of our sacred book and allow men who think they know more than everyone else to interpret the passages for us.” She set down her glass. “Their interpretations are usually wrong.”
“You are that confident in your knowledge?” he mused.
“I’m a logical thinker, not an emotional one.” She shrugged. “Nor am I easily led.”
His expression was unreadable. “I believe you.”
“Well that and I also speak, read, and write all the archaic languages the books were originally inscribed in.” Viviana cleared her throat before changing the subject. “You wanted to know what I was thinking about…”
Muhammad inclined his head. “I still do.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.” She audibly exhaled. “I’ve got a lot of questions.”
His eyes raked over her cleavage—and themahrdangling between them—before returning to her face. “Then start asking them.”
She looked away. “I’m not so sure I want to hear the answers,” she muttered.
He said nothing, only stared at her. Viviana realized he was being patient and giving her the time she needed to collect her thoughts. What she couldn’t understand yet again waswhy. Muhammad al-Jihad al-Raqqah held all the cards here. She nibbled at her lower lip. The man was an enigma.
“Okay,” she finally said, breaking the silence, “let’s start with what I hope are easy questions.”
“Go on.”
She held up a hand and started ticking off questions with her fingers. “Number one: will I ever be given clothes to wear? Number two: will I ever be allowed out of this room? Number three: will I ever be permitted to go home? Number four—”
“Yes, yes, and no,” Muhammad interrupted. He frowned, apparently irritated by the third question. His next words confirmed her supposition. “I do not thinkmy wifeunderstands what it means to be married.”
