Aziza Zara Ali stared at the antique porcelain tea set on the table.

It was a contrast to the large smart television on the wall besides it but oh well, what could she say. This wasn't even her house. Surely the woman of the house must have seen that while she did the interior decors..... Or women.

"Ahh, Zara Ali" a voice called and she turned to see the nations prime minister in smiles as he walked towards her.

She stood up from where she sat and bowed before him as he came..

"Where are the drivers? Aren't they done bringing in your belongings yet?" He asked all lovingly.

Zara nodded her head in the negative, still not speaking yet or raising her head to catch his gaze.

When she was about to be sent here, her moral governess had told her that so were the norms of the place she was going to, and that women were alwshs below men in everything, created merely to serve them.

And although she found problems with what she had said, she couldn't voice it out. The Fahads were educated, so she was of the candid belief that they wouldn't be like the other lots of their people, if such a thing existed on how women are treated...

"I'll call the workers, they'll take you to your room, please rest and prepare yourself for the big day"

Well now Zara knew exactly what he meant by the big day.

She had come here to be wed to him.

It wasn't an easy choice but she had made it still because she needed the exposure such union would grant her.

Mr Fahad was an elderly man, grown into his years. She had read about how most of his children were already married, some who were double of her age, but yet didn't let any of these deter her from her mission.

Get married to him, expand her political career, become famous and then when the time comes, she would ask for a divorce. She had heard that those were one of the easiest things that were granted to women by their husbands who saw them as useless.

To her that wouldn't matter, and she wouldn't be termed one anyway. Fahad was going to use her to expand his political stronghold for his interests in the upcoming presidential election, so it was normal, each one of them had their own goals for the union.

"I will go get the workers" he said awkwardly while scratching his head..

"Yeeehhh" Zara managed to mutter while nodding her head in affirmation.

She had noticed his hesitation before he then left.

She couldn't tell why but she'll could sense his unease.

Perhaps he was having second thoughts concerning the marriage. She was in age far too young.

Just twenty years of age. She would turn twenty in a few months time but because she was poised for marriage to a man soon approaching his sixties, she always told she was twenty. Perhaps that would excuse, the years gap that would exist between them in the marriage.

Zara stood standing and when she stopped hearing footsteps, she believed he was gone by then and sat down back at the sofa, raising the veil she had covered her face with before, to continue taking in the scenes of her new surroundings.

It was believed that would be brides who showed their faces to the groom few days into the marriage would experience tragedy and sadness in the marriage. Ofcourse she didn't believe the superstition her governess had told her, but still, she adhered to the rules and had made sure to cover her face with the veil when he had come earlier.

She continued to stare at the house and it's antique designs that always contrasted with the modern day relics on the walls, by the table stand, or even as chandeliers on the ceiling.

She noticed a painting on the wall. It looked very realistic, like one someone had made and not a purchased one and she didn't know when she stood on her feet and went from she she sat to the wall where the portrait was.

It was of a woman , but her face hadn't been drawn in detail and so all Zara could see was the lady's pointed nose and her eyes.

They held alot of messages for Zara to believe they were just in a portrait.

"Who are you?" She heard behind her.

The voice was unfamiliar and she didn't know what to do.

Perhaps it was the workers Mr Fahad had gone to call to help her settle into the house? She thought. But then, no, it couldn't be. A worker wouldn't raise her voice that way, and neither would she ask such a question on fear of being sacked asking an important dignitary that came to visit such a question.

Her fingers paused in mid air as she were about to bring that the portrait and she turned to check who has asked whom she was.

She froze at the sight of him. He was handsome, undeniably handsome. His skin was smooth, and not crimsoned with wrinkles like those of the man that had come to welcome her earlier.

The figure was a perfect height, just same as the other that had come. She could imagine that perhaps their lineage had an abundance of tallness, as it went round to them all.

His hair was jet black, and there were perms all round, holding his curly hair in place, his suit didn't fail to showcase his broad shoulders. And he sure had enough to show off.

But the part of his body she hadn't wasted time staring at was his face. She found it offensive not just to him but her dignity as well. She was a paragon of beauty herself, and men usually were the ones who stopped to stare at her. Why was she embarrassing herself by giving in to the thoughts of checking out this man when she shouldn't.

Cringing at herself, she bent her head immediately she recalled that women weren't allowed to stare at men in this part of the world she had come into. Any mistake from her might cost her what her missions were.

"Ayman Fahad" the voice said as he saw her bending her head.

He could already tell whom she was from the mere look at her. But he didn't want to believe that she was the one going to wed his father, for she was so beautiful and young to be thrust into such a world.

Zara bowed again, nodding her head at him to signify that she had heard the name. But she didn't call him and neither did she tell hers for it was not right to.

If he was a Fahad, then that meant that he was going to become her step child. Funny how it sounded because the man she had seen was in his mid twenties and from the little white hairs appearing on his head, she could tell that he would soon be in his thirties.

"Aziza Ali?" She heard again.

He was questioning her? How did he know of her name and how did he know that she was the Aziza Ali.

She nodded in the affirmative, praying desperately for him to leave he alone as she did not feel alright at the moment speaking to him, a total strange man who was causing a ruckus in her heart, a forbidden ruckus.

"I'm a big fan of yours. I read your work about the politics being operated in the country and I must admit that I was beyond elected. Seeing you in person is even much more nostalgic, a little girl like you wrote that? Wow!!!"

Zara smiled inside the veil. This was the first time in several years, this was the first person.