Viviana matched him frown for frown. “No. No, I don’t.” She splayed her hands. “A very astute observation on your part.”
His jaw tightened. “Do not,” he bit out, every word overly enunciated, “speak to me with disrespect in your voice.”
Her nostrils flared. “I didn’t, but why not?”
“Because I do not speak that way to you.”
No he didn’t, yet neither did she. Apparently he believed otherwise. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, trying to keep the peace.
“Your tone isn’t convincingly apologetic, but I’ll accept it. This time.”
He should feel grateful she apologized at all. She was a hostage for fuck’s sake! “I don’t have any more questions,” Viviana announced, sighing. She stood up, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you for answering the ones I asked,” she said as steadily as possible. She walked toward her side of the bed, turning to face him once there. Forcing a meek tone and casting her gaze to the ground she asked, “Do I have your permission to sleep?”
A long, unnerving silence ensued. She might have been looking at the tiled floor, but she could feel Muhammad’s gaze blazing into her. It felt like forever and then some had passed by before he spoke.
“Yalla!” Muhammad barked.Come here!
Viviana’s head jarred up. Her turquoise eyes widened in surprise and nervousness. Now what had she done? She swallowed a bit roughly before obeying his command. She walked to where he sat and stood before him, careful to keep her gaze lowered. She didn’t have it in her to argue with him right now so she was doing her best to behave in accordance with Sharia law.
She was never going home. That had been a difficult answer to hear. All she wanted to do was get under the covers and cry undetected.
“Look me in the eye,” Muhammad instructed.
Viviana immediately obeyed. His expression was stoic, unreadable. Her apprehension grew.
“Why,” he asked with forced patience, “are you behaving this way?”
Her round eyes grew rounder. “What do you mean?”
Muhammad’s jaw tightened. He started cursing in a dialect of Arabic even she didn’t know.
“What have I donenow?!” Viviana all but whined. Holy shit! She was this close to losing the fragile rein she had on her emotions. “I am trying to behave respectfully!”
“You are trying to anger me!”
“By being compliant?”
“Yes!”
“There’s no winning with you!” She threw her hands up. “If I say what I’m thinking you get mad and if I keep it to myself you get mad! I give the fuck up!”
“I want you to be you! Not some caricature of a Muslim wife!”
Viviana’s eyes narrowed in dawning comprehension. “Iseeeeee,” she drew out.
He grunted. “What do you see?”
“You want me to be me, but only the parts of me you like.” Her face flushed with irritation. “Well life doesn’t work like that. If you truly wantmethen you take all of who I am. Otherwise,” she gritted out, “you get the caricature.”
Muhammad looked away, but said nothing. She could see he knew she was right even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.
“I just found out I will never see my home again,” Viviana said. “The house filled with memories of my parents, the garden I’ve tended in my backyard since I was old enough to help my mom, the chair my dad rocked me to sleep in as a child…” Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I want to climb into that bed and cry for what I’ve lost if it’s okay with you.”
His gaze found hers. His expression was still unreadable, but the muscles in his face had relaxed. “Yes, of course,” he murmured.
She inclined her head. Turning on her heel, she slowly walked back to the bed.
“Viviana,” Muhammad called out just as she was climbing under the covers. She paused to look at him.
