Mahsood wheeled the car into a spot in front of the Khans’ house and turned off the engine.
Jane blinked and lifted her head off the headrest.
The sky’s heavy darkness had dissipated, and grayish, predawn clouds hung above the columned mansion and its sprawling garden.
What a beautiful sight. Fit for a princess…if one was around. For her, this lavish residence would become a golden cage. Jane’s lower lip trembled. Too late to regret. Her husband had gotten his way already. Again. She crossed her arms and sat up.
Mahsood unbuckled his seatbelt and grinned. “Welcome home, angel.”
He was in a good mood. Did moving to Uncle Gafar’s place mean so much to him? Out of all people, she should’ve understood. She too hated unfamiliar environments. Jane pulled the door handle and headed for the trunk.
“Leave the luggage here. The bearers will bring it later,” Mahsood said.
“I want it now.” She didn’t need servants to drag her things upstairs. And she itched for her toiletries and her toothbrush.
Mahsood rolled his eyes. “So stubborn.” He fished out her bags and pulling them behind him, entered the house.
Jane tip-toed after him.
The wheels of her suitcase rumbled on the hardwoods of the great hall, breaking the quiet of the vast house. A few nightlights glowed along their path, and outlines of furniture stood out among the shadows.
Mahsood carried her belongings to the bedroom they’d previously occupied. He dropped them inside an oversized walk-in closet, turned around, and stumbled into her. “Aunt Ilma should be up soon.” He shuffled from foot to foot. “Well…I’ll go then.”
Where to? A different room? Another house? Some far away planet? Jane clenched her fists.
He trudged forward, and his massive back disappeared in the doorway.
Hollowness spread through Jane’s chest. Her being here didn’t change anything between them, did it? She squatted down and hugged her knees. Now what? One more day of waiting to see him for five minutes and hoping that some random occurrence would bring them closer. At least, she would be killing her time in luxury. What a relief. She chuckled and glanced around.
Above her, several long, empty clothing racks traversed the white walls of the storage room. Pristine beige carpet bristled underneath her flip-flops.
So empty. As if no one had ever used this space.
The AC whooshed, and a cool breeze from the vent pricked her skin.
Jane pulled together the folds of her robe. What an idiot. She’d moved houses in the middle of the night wearing her bathrobe and slippers. How did she end up in this state? She was losing control of the situation. Maybe, Nessa had a point. This marriage could prove to be the worst idea of her life.
Jane dropped her forehead on her arms and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she turned her head sideways and rested her cheek on the back of her wrist. At least, this mind-numbing vacation would end soon. Tomorrow morning, she’d hustle back to work, and the crazy pace of Davis Consulting would take her thoughts away from her personal drama.
Jane exhaled and got up. She should unpack. With the adrenaline still pumping in her blood, she wouldn’t fall asleep for a while. She pulled her wrinkled suits out of the baggage, smoothed them out, and hung them up. Her jeans and T-shirts went into the dresser and her makeup on top of the washroom vanity.
Hushed voices and banging of kitchenware resounded from downstairs. An aroma of fried eggs and pancakes tickled Jane’s nostrils.
Her stomach growled. Perhaps, breakfast was in sight. She didn’t expect slabs of bacon, but a hot waffle would work wonders on her. Jane freshened up and changed into a pair of classy denims and a long-sleeved blouse with floral print. Best lay off the shorts and tank tops if she didn’t want another fight with Mahsood.
A gentle knock rattled the door.
“Come in,” Jane said and, fully dressed, stepped out of the bathroom.
Aunt Ilma remained on the threshold. An azure chiffon scarf crowned her hair, enshrouded her collar, and hung over her shoulder. “As-salamu alaykum, dear. Glad you found your sense and come living with us.”
Jane shoved her hands in her pockets. “Sorry for barging in so late…I mean early.”
“The men are gone. Come eat.” Aunt Ilma turned around and headed back.
Jane tugged at a strand of her loose hair. If she had gotten out earlier, maybe she could’ve eaten with Mahsood. They hadn’t shared a meal since their wedding day. This wasn’t the time to be an introvert. Jane squeezed out a smile and followed the old lady downstairs.
“You saw most of house last time,” Aunt Ilma said. “Common rooms are on ground floor, my and uncle bedroom—upstairs. Awad and boys are living in basement. Don’t go there. It is male area.”
Jane’s mouth drooped. Chances are her husband would be hiding there as well—in the part of the mansion where she didn’t belong.
They passed the dining room, where Samira and Rafa were clearing plates off a huge varnished table. Aunt Ilma continued to the kitchen.
The bright airy space teemed with modern cookware and stainless-steel appliances. In the center, stood a simple wooden table bearing crystal dishes with breakfast leftovers.
“Sit here.” Aunt Ilma pointed to one of the chairs.
Rafa entered with another set of almost-empty platters, unloaded them in front of Jane, and sank into a seat next to her. She sighed and wiped the sweat that dripped from underneath a heavy orange shawl covering her hair.
“That’s about it. We can eat now,” Rafa said before she broke off a piece of naan and dipped it into what remained of a lentil soup. Her gaze slid to a bowl with a bit of beef drippings but no roast.
Samira settled across from Rafa, and Aunt Ilma faced Jane. Both women dug into the food.
Jane hesitated. The scrambled eggs, though cooled and weathered, presented an acceptable option. To those, she added a tortilla and a few end slices of melon. Good thing she wasn’t a picky eater. She’d stomached worse during college and on long business trips.
As she chewed her rubber eggs and watery fruit, a trickle of energy filled her body. The three ladies had treated her well so far. She couldn’t complain. And Uncle Gafar’s abode was deluxe. Living here may help her get to know her husband. She’d have to assimilate into their way of life for a while, but, sure thing, it wasn’t forever.
Rafa shoved the last piece of bread into her mouth and got up. She wiped her hands on her lime-colored skirt and picked up a duster off the countertop. “Alhamdulillah,” she said as she turned toward the great hall.
Samira transferred the dirty pots and casseroles to the sink.
“I can wash those.” Jane rose.
Aunt Ilma smiled at her. “That will be great help. My head is paining. Samira will struggle making tiffin by herself.”
Samira fished a checkered apron out of a drawer and handed it to Jane.
Jane put it on and tied the strings in the back. She approached the sink and opened the dishwasher.
“No, no.” Aunt Ilma plodded toward her. “This one doesn’t wash well.” The elderly lady squinted at the state-of-the-art machine. “We clean by hand.” She grabbed a sponge and handed it to Jane.
Samira rolled her eyes as she unpacked raw ground meat into an oven dish.
Jane bit her lip, the corners of her mouth creeping up. “Yes, ma'am. Let’s do it the good old way.” She picked up the scrubber, squeezed out some dishwashing liquid, and plunged her hands into a grease-covered caldron.
Aunt Ilma nodded. “Okay. I will lay down a minute. When a woman grows old, every illness is ready for her.” She grumbled and trudged out of the kitchen, her heavy footsteps resonating in the hallway and then on the staircase.
***
Over the next few hours, Jane scrubbed, rinsed, and dried countless bowls, cups, skillets, and baking sheets. Samira fussed over the boiling pots and sizzling pans and from time to time added new cookware to the never-ending pile of dirty vessels. Around midday, Samira laid out fragrant-smelling foodstuffs in containers and packed them into plastic bags.
“I’ll take the tiffin boxes to Mr. Khan’s office. I left food for the rest of you.” She waved at nearly empty bakeware that stood on the stove.
“And you?” Jane asked.
“I’ll eat on the road if I get a chance.” Samira waddled toward the door, a huge filled-to-the-brim tote in each hand. “I have to hurry. The men are hungry.”
Jane shook her head. Poor woman. Not even a second to eat. No wonder she was so skinny and pale. Well, not like her own job was much different. At Davis Consulting, she skipped lunch three days out of five. Jane picked up a spatula and dug into baked ground beef and potatoes.
“Tiffin ready?” Aunt Ilma’s voice croaked behind her.
Jane turned around.
“Eat fast. Little ones coming home soon.” The matron of the house grabbed a serving spoon out of the rack with the recently-washed tableware and scooped some spicy-smelling chicken into a bowl.
Rafa appeared with a bucket and a mop and set them down against a wall. She scraped the remaining food into her plate and sat down at the table.
The three of them swallowed their lunch, and Jane cleared the dishes, soaked them in the sink, and once again grabbed the scrubber. Rafa returned to cleaning, and Aunt Ilma beat eggs sprinkling the mixture with sugar and flour.
The clock in the great hall chimed three when the front door opened and banged shut.
“Grandma!” A child’s chirpy voice rang in the tranquility of the house.
Wiping her curry-covered fingers on her apron, Aunt Ilma rushed out of the kitchen.
Jane stretched her sore neck, dried her hands, and stepped out behind her.
In the hallway, two identical, chocolate-haired boys hung on the elderly lady, who hugged them and kissed their foreheads. Their Spiderman backpacks lay by the door along with a basketball and two pairs of mud-covered sneakers. Interrupting each other, the children yelled out about ‘a game’ and ‘a math quiz’ and about someone falling from a bicycle.
“There, there,” Aunt Ilma patted them on their backs and set them down.
Jane swallowed. Rachel had told her that Awad had gotten sole custody of his sons. Their mother had left them and hadn’t contacted them for years. Unimaginable. Jane furrowed her brows as she walked back to the washbasin.
The twins ate in the dining room and bolted downstairs. Later, Samira and Rafa headed home, and Jane remained in the kitchen with Aunt Ilma.
The cookroom’s French windows exposed the setting sun and low-riding clouds that drowned in the purplish yellowness of the sky. Distant blasts from a videogame along with excited yelps interrupted the sound of running water.
Jane looked up from the chopping knives she was rinsing. No way those two were doing their schoolwork. Should she say something? No, it wasn’t her place to interfere.
Aunt Ilma shuttled porcelain plates and silverware to the dining room table, where she set them up in an elaborate arrangement with crystal glasses and linens. “The men return late these days,” she said as she picked up a new load from the drying rack.
“Hmm…” Jane clenched the sponge in her wrinkled fingers that sported cracked, grime-filled nails. She’d taken care of the heavy cookware. Only the dishes used for dinner would be left. She straightened her aching back and yawned.
Rustling, stomping, and masculine chatter carried from the great hall.
“Ya Allah. Finally.” Aunt Ilma opened the oven she’d been keeping warm and pulled out a soup tureen. “Put the mutton into that one. Quickly.” She jerked her chin in the direction of a blue and white ceramic and dashed out of the room.
Jane transferred the food into platters, and Aunt Ilma served it. After the elderly lady disappeared in the doorway with a bowl of bread pudding and fresh fruit, Jane slumped onto one of the chairs and wiped her sweaty forehead. She must’ve looked awful. Best stay here and out of Mahsood’s sight. Not that anyone was inviting her to join their meal. She swept back her disheveled hair and rubbed her eyes.
Aunt Ilma returned in a few minutes and plopped down on a seat next to her. In the adjacent room, the utensils clanged, and Uncle Gafar spoke in a measured tone.
“You like dramas?” Aunt Ilma asked her. “Beta got me Netflix. Humsafaar is good show. American shows good too. We watch later if you want.”
“And will they watch with us?” Jane nodded in the direction of the dining room.
“They timepass with themselves. Talk about business.”
“Oh.” Jane’s shoulders sunk. “Another day maybe. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Best go to bed early.”
Aunt Ilma chuckled, and crow's feet gathered around her eyes. “I tell your uncle not keep Mahsood for too long. ”
Heat flushed Jane’s cheeks. Aunt Ilma was giving her relationship with Mahsood too much credit. “Thank you,” she said.
After the men ate and went downstairs, Jane and Aunt Ilma cleared the table, supped on what was left of the meal, and washed the remaining dishes.
“Go rest, beti. You worked hard,” Aunt Ilma said as she removed her apron and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door.
Jane got up. “Good night.” She massaged he sore wrists as she walked upstairs. Today, she’d done her best to fit into the Khans’ household, but she couldn’t spend the rest of her life slaving in the kitchen. She’d never give up her job and the independence that came with it.
Jane reached the bedroom and popped into a hot shower. Afterward, she wrapped herself in a towel and swept her hand across the fogged-covered mirror.
What a ruddy face. And the tiny creases around her eyelids weren’t going anywhere. She sighed and applied moisturizer, then brushed her teeth and flossed. Too bad she hadn’t brought any decent sleepwear. Jane smoothed her damp locks and slid her fingers down her nape and to her chest. Still beautiful. For now. Her gaze lost focus. Whatever. Not like her husband wanted her anyway. He’d probably hide out in the man cave again. His cousin and uncle were his preferred company.
She donned her old oversized T, flipped the light switch off, and slid under the soft, light comforter. Her body drowned in the cushy bedding, and her strained muscles relaxed. Jane pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. Her mind slipped into a doze.
The mattress shook underneath her, and the blanket tightened around her waist and hips.
Jane’s head jerked up from the pillow. “Who’s here?” In the darkness, she patted the space around her.
“Hush, angel. It’s me.” A low, husky voice rumbled above her.
“Mahsood?”
“You’ll wake uncle and aunt. They’re in next room.” The bed buckled, and a scent of vanilla engulfed her.
“Oh.” She scooted sideways reaching the edge of the king-size lair.
Still cramped. And hot. Jane lay on her back, unmoving. Was he wearing anything? Of course, he was. Stupid thoughts. Her shallow breaths ripped through her chest.
A heavy palm slid across her stomach and stopped on top of her belly button. The heat of his skin burnt through the thin fabric of her shirt.
Her abdomen tightened. What was he doing? Jane remained still.
Mahsood’s rough hand moved down, caressing her bare skin, then squeezed in between her thighs and inched up.
Her toes curled. Oh, yes. Go higher. Pulsation grew between her hips, and she spread them a bit.
Mahsood’s fingers jerked up, halting for a moment at her sensitive spot, then burst inside.
Jane gasped and arched her back.
Her husband’s soft, full lips pressed against her neck, covering it with kisses. His stubble pricked her, sending tingles down her body. His unyielding fingers explored inside of her, pressing and squeezing her lady parts.
Jane clenched her pelvic muscles. She wanted him. Now. She reached up and dug her nails into his forearms.
Mahsood’s other arm snaked underneath her and flipped her onto her stomach. His knee spread her legs from behind and his hand pushed down on her back. Mahsood’s groin brushed against her buttocks.
Jane sucked in air and bit the corner of her pillow. Come on. She rubbed her behind against him.
Mahsood’s lips bore into the back of her neck, pulling her skin and sucking on it. His fingers withdrew from her squelching yoni, and his solid and silky manhood stroked against her folds.
“Ahh…” She howled.
A huge palm covered her mouth. “Remember… ” He rasped, his breath burning her nape. “Uncle and…aunt.”
Jane’s heart pounded. She clasped the bedsheets in two tight grips.
With one sudden, sharp thrust, he filled her to the brink.
Jane sunk her teeth into his thumb and growled. And received another agonizing stab of his male member.
He pushed it in to the limit, then retreated and return with more power. Hard and scorching, it touched the most inaccessible and intimate parts of her.
Her hair and T-shirt soaked with sweat, Jane writhed underneath her husband.
Mahsood’s fist muffled her moans. His pace sped up, and his panting grew louder.
He was close. Trembles spread through Jane’s body. She slid her palm down and found his hand wrapped around her waist. Grabbing it, she pushed it down between her legs and glided it across her sensitive spot.
Mahsood bellowed as his coarse fingers massaged her.
God, he was perfect. All of him. The muscles inside of her contracted, reached one final irreversible instant of tenseness and wrapped around his sex in a tight ring. Jane shook.
Behind her, Mahsood clenched her buttocks, shuddered, and groaned. His grasp on her behind softened, and he rolled off, leaving one hand underneath her cheek.
Jane nestled against the warmth of his palm. Her limbs went limp, and fog clouded her mind. Too bad she didn’t see Mahsood’s face flooded with the agony of orgasm. Tomorrow. Or the day after. There had to be a next time. She yawned, her lids growing heavy.
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