I wanted to disappear.
The man sitting across from me knew the truth. He knew that my mother’s proud declaration was false, and he knew that I was the woman she was describing.
I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t spoken.
Was he waiting for the right moment?
Was he planning to humiliate me?
Or was he simply enjoying the irony of the situation?
Then Zayd’s mother turned toward me.
“Of course,” she said gently, “before anything becomes official, our son should at least see the face of the woman he may marry.”
My heart began pounding.
My mother turned to me.
“Layla, uncover your face, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t move.
“Layla?” she repeated.
My fingers trembled beneath the fabric.
If I removed the veil, Zayd would see me clearly.
The woman he had known as Nour would stand before him as Layla, the supposedly untouched daughter of a proud family.
There would be no explanation that could make the situation less humiliating.
