Beau Monde ✅

Chapter 2

Nailah Zayed.

Maroudi, Nigeria.

How do you take a turn from being one person to another overnight?

Stick around, and you'll find out.

Some might find it fascinating how I morph from one situation to another. To others, it may seem weird, and tough. Trust me though, I've been through harder situations.

At this point, it is the new normal for me. However you choose to classify the word, 'normal' is up to you though. My definition might not fit into your category, but who cares? Definitely not me.

"Where is your husband?"

I blinked, flicking my eyes up from the document in front of me so it'll fall on the man who's the root cause of who and where I am right now. Actually, I would be the seed and he would be the gardener—who planted, and groomed me into who I am.

My expression remained carefully guarded as always, and almost seamlessly, I blew out a small, barely noticeable breath before giving him my answer. "He'll be here in a few." I knew he would. "He just had a few things he needed to take care of first." What are those things? I don't know.

It could be work, or whatever. I don't bother to dig into it. Never had, never will.

And besides, the most rational excuse they want to hear from me now is why he's late, considering we are supposed to come together as we are 'married'. That means, we live under the same roof and considering this meet-up has been announced days prior, we are supposed to be here together.

But here I am, all alone with no sight of my husband whom I've sent out last night. I can't possibly tell them that though—because that isn't who we are in the eyes of the others.

My only, and best excuse is that he had work to handle, hence why I arrived before him.

Of course, that won't be easy to believe—especially not to the man who stared at me for a couple of seconds longer having heard my answer. My father, Ahmed Zayed stared at me with calculating eyes—one that I knew what they meant from a simple glance.

He was slowly unraveling, piece by piece to see what it is I'm hiding. Why though? I want to question too because I'm certain he knows the answer. He knows everything. He always does.

So, why does he need to question me?

Only a few seconds longer than I would like, he pressed his lips together, and spared me one last glance that screamed we would have a private talk later before he shifted his gaze back to the Newspaper in his hand wordlessly.

He wouldn't prod further. At least, not in the presence of our current guests.

The sound of someone clearing their throat had me shifting my gaze from my father to the woman seated opposite me—the cause of numerous problems in my life, and the one who never hid her distaste towards me.

Her crimson painted acrylic fingers extended to pick up her tea cup, before gracefully bringing it to her nude colored lips. The way she pulled up the entire action, and from her posture, everything screams perfection. If there's one person who holds up the 'perfect' life more than me, then it's my beloved mother-in-law, Inaya Hadi. Or, Ma, as I call her.

If not that we appear in the eyes of the public a lot, I'm certain she would never allow me to call her that. I would've probably stuck to 'Mrs. Hadi' all the time. Calling her Ma feels like an insult. Her words, not mine.

And don't ask her reason for hating me. Frankly speaking, I don't know and I never bothered to find out.

"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Hadi?" I voiced out, the minute I saw her place back the tea cup where it belongs. Did I mention that I don't call her 'Ma' in private either? I could, if I was looking for favors but I'm not.