Ria De La Ria Book Club

  Chapter 8 Hassan’s POV "Wow, you have a penthouse too?" She asked, rushing over to the floor-to-ceiling window. "Wow!" she continued, her voice filled with astonishment. "The view of the sea; it’s dark now, but I can imagine how beautiful it must be at day." "Yes, we’ll have dinner on the roof," I replied. She tore her gaze away from the skyline, though we were seventy feet up. Despite the height, she didn’t seem bothered. "I believe you’d rather be here than at the house," I added. "Your house is like a museum," she said. "Filled with too many artifacts." I took off my jacket. "They were collected from my grandfather’s time. They’ve been cleaned and polished for preservation." "I noticed. I could smell the heavy polish," she said, her nose crinkling slightly. "Come with me," I gestured, leading her toward another room. Over the course of a year, I’d learned everything...

  Chapter 7 Sakina’s POV "You didn’t have to take me home," I said to Omar, nervously fidgeting with my fingers until they turned tender and red. As soon as class ended, I left with Omar and our group of friends. We shared a bond that felt effortless; especially Khalifa and me. She was the one I was closest to. But even that closeness had limits; I couldn’t bring myself to tell her just how drastically my life had changed in just one day. "I always take you home, baby. What are you talking about?" Omar replied with an easy grin. "Never mind." "You’ve been quiet today," he said, glancing over at me. "And I know how talkative you usually are." I offered a tired smile. His smirk was light and carefree. He was just... good . His free, curly hair, that sweet smile, his beautiful skin. He was my boyfriend, and I loved him. Our relationship felt real; even if it wasn’t officially recognized the way my family wanted it to be with H...

  Chapter 6 Sakina’s POV I scrubbed at my lips with the back of my hand, frantic to erase the feel of hers. At that moment, I had been caught between confusion and curiosity. Now all that was left was a heavy thud of disgust pounding in my chest. I rushed to rinse out my mouth, shuddering—not from the cold water, but from the horrifying realization that I had just French-kissed my cousin. “Yuck! Yuck!” I whispered harshly, staring at the bathroom mirror with wide, haunted eyes. The reflection staring back at me was one of a girl battling denial. Someday, somehow, I was expected to have sex with that woman. Just lie there and let it happen; as if it were normal. As if it weren’t completely disturbing. My family was twisted. Sick. What terrified me more than the arrangement itself was how calm I’d been about it. I should’ve been screaming, rebelling, doing something . But I wasn’t built like that—I wasn’t defiant. I was soft. Passive. A people-pleaser. And she knew that. De...