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18 Zain

PART THREE

“Then how should I treat my wife, Sultana?”

18

Zain

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I groaned seeing the tent in my pants and forced myself to think about anything else but Nasrin. How stunning she looked, how sweet her smile was, or the softness of her skin and the way her hair—

No, no, no, Zain.

Taking a deep breath, I eyed the closed door of the bathroom and averted my attention to the bed covered in rose petals and the gossamer golden fabric. She didn’t mention it or pay it any heed.

Should I remove it? Maybe I should. It’s not like she wanted to do anything else but sleep on our wedding day. She had clarified that I shouldn’t even hold her hand without her permission.

I didn’t mind. I had many other things to think about and work on as a sultan and being distant from her, at least physically, shouldn’t hinder our marriage arrangements.

That day in the bath was just the two of us accepting each other’s conditions. In a friendly way. That’s all.

I lied to myself and tried to igno
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