I look at my brother expectantly. He picks up on my cue and begins to explain.
“Ardeshir was bugging Neda all night. He kept trying to hit on her but she wasn’t interested. He wouldn’t take the hint. I came out to get a drink and walked in on them. She was yelling and he wouldn’t let go of her arm. I was trying to defuse the situation. I told him to leave her alone,” Nima said, shaking his head. “He started spewing nonsense. He was drunk and it turned into more than it should have. We ended up in a fight. Next thing I know, Amoo is there, so is Dad, and they’re about get into it. If it weren’t for Dad’s friends, they would’ve fought too. Everyone got caught in the crossfire.” He watched me apologetically as he continued. “He started to say some really offensive stuff, Sara.”
I could see the pleading look in my brother’s eyes begging me not to make him repeat it. I suddenly realize Ardeshir turned it religious.
“Oh no,” I say, mortified. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” Nima confirms sadly.
“Where is he? I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!” I turn to head back inside, but Maziar reaches out and stops me.
“He’s already gone. Your uncle left with him a while ago. He was ashamed and embarrassed by his son’s behavior and apologized profusely to my father and me on the way out. Besides, Nima already took care of it,” he replies, grinning.
I turn to my brother.
“Tell me he looks worse than you.”
“He had a black eye by the time he walked out,” Maziar says, laughing.
“Good! I didn’t get a good look at him, but if I’d known, I would have punched him in the other eye,” I admit angrily.
We walk back into the foyer to find it’s almost empty. The clock now reads two in the morning and the guest have all gone home. My friends are still there, helping Mom and Naghmeh grab the remaining centerpieces and gather all the gifts. Leyla looks at me as I walk up to them.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” I give her a weary smile, suddenly feeling drained from the emotional roller coaster of the evening.
Mom comes up behind me and kisses my head. “We’re all tired. It’s been a long day,” she says.
Naghmeh is beside me. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Long but perfect,” she adds, letting me know that the events of the night haven’t altered anything between us. “You and Maziar go home. We can handle it from here.”
Maziar comes up from behind and wraps his arms around my waist. “The limo is waiting downstairs to take us home,” he informs me.
I look at both mothers as they shoo us away.
“Are you sure?” I ask, feeling guilty leaving them with the mess.
“We got this. You guys go,” Leyla says.
I smile at the women surrounding me, so fiercely grateful for their presence in my life.
“Okay. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning?” I ask. Mom’s having an after-wedding brunch.
“Yes,” they reply in unison.
“Love you guys,” I say as Maziar and I turn and walk away.
I lie next to my husband in the early hours of the morning. My body is wrapped around his and I’m lulled into a dreamlike state by the rising and falling of his chest as he breathes.
We arrived at the apartment, both giddy that we were “home.” He lifted me up into his arms and carried me through the door. He had spread arrangements throughout the apartment, creating a flower-like haven around us. He took me straight to the bedroom where we slowly undressed each other and indulged in the first night of being husband and wife.
As I rest my head against his chest, the idea of being married still swirls around my mind. I’m in disbelief that we’ve actually made it. I realize I never really believed it would happen. I’d convinced myself years ago that I would always love Maziar, but we were destined to be pieces of a past we desperately wanted but couldn’t have. After some time, I wouldn’t allow myself to even toy with the idea of a miracle happening to bring us back together, allowing for us to now be spending our lives together.
I know in the deepest parts of me that none of this would have happened if not for the intensity of Maziar’s love. Despite all our obstacles, it had no limits, and he kept pushing against the traditions that held us apart. If I allowed myself to remember the years that fell between us, I would be overwhelmed with the sadness that seemed to have loomed in the corners of my life. To love him, but know I couldn’t be with him, was devastating.
I’m grateful for the man lying beside me, for his perseverance, refusing to admit defeat. If his love did not encompass the eternity of strength that he’d shown, I would be lying in my own bed tonight alone.
I curl up closer to him, drinking in the warmth of his body. I indulge in the idea that he is now mine forever. He instinctively holds me tighter as he feels my chest up against him. He turns and lays a kiss on the top of my head, and I know I’ve finally found my way home.
Epilogue
The pain reeling through me is excruciating, tearing through my insides, surely taking me to my death. I stare up at the florescent lights flashing above my head as the wheels beneath me spin rapidly. Maziar is beside me, the look of concern on his face only adding to the ever-building anxiety within me.
I woke up a few hours ago to a sharp pain swimming around my lower back. This had happened before and resulted in an unnecessary trip to the emergency room, only to find out I was experiencing false labor.
When I woke up early this morning, I thought it was the same thing. I stood up, drank a glass of water, and paced around the living room for a little while waiting for it to subside. Maziar woke up an hour later and joined me, walking with me while he held hand. The pain only got worse, and in his panic, he decided to wake the doctor at four in the morning despite my protests.
She advised us that this could be the real thing. Assuring me I had time, with the contractions still fifteen minutes apart, she told me to gather my things and meet her at the hospital. Somewhere between the phone call and the hospital my contractions sped up and I began what I presumed meant I was dying. Maziar nearly had a heart attack.
I lie curled up on the labor and delivery bed clutching my stomach, praying the anesthesiologist shows up soon. They tell me I’m already six centimeters dilated and quickly increasing, my window for an epidural rapidly closing. I silently curse the woman having a C-section down the hall, occupying my only chance at relief. I’m in so much pain that the tears are mingling with my sweat.
Maziar, unsure of what to do, is diligently rubbing my back and murmuring encouraging words, trying to pass his strength telepathically. I don’t have the heart to tell him he isn’t helping, so I try to focus on the repetitive motion of his hand while I breathe like they taught me in Lamaze class.
Mom stands on the other side, rubbing my shoulders, Naghmeh at the edge of the bed with Bita, hands idly lying on my legs. So many people are touching me that I want to scream, but I’m too exhausted to do anything about it. The fathers come in and out of the room, lost and useless. Nima isn’t coming near me, out in the hall waiting in the safety of its confines.
Another surge of pain runs through my body and I scream out in desperation. I look up at Mom, sobbing.
“I’m going to die,” I cry as she brushes the hair out of my face.
“Oh baby,” Maziar whispers, his face crumbling.
The doctor walks in, cheery and peppy. I get the sudden urge to kick her as she moves Bita and my mother-in-law out of the way so she can check how dilated I am. They both go outside, giving me some privacy.
“I need an epidural,” I plead. “Is the anesthesiologist coming?” I desperately look at my doctor as her arm is God-knows-how-deep inside me. She looks at me sympathetically.
“Sorry, honey. Looks like we’re doing this the old-fashioned way. He’s coming.”
I hear Mom quietly sob with excitement, feel Maziar falter beside me beneath his mountain of fear. I look at the doctor and think
, I’m going to die, and now I have to do it in excruciating pain. I’m suddenly angry.
“What do you mean? I don’t want to do this naturally. I want an epidural!” I scream.
Bita and Naghmeh pop their heads back in at the sudden rise of my voice, both looking terrified.
“I know you didn’t plan on doing it like this, Sara. I understand you’re tired and it hurts, but we have no choice. He’s coming. I can already feel his head.” She smiles but I don’t find it comforting. “You have no choice now, mama. You have to push.” She calls out a few directions to the nurses and gets geared up.
Maziar is stroking my head and I turn to him, crying. He meets me with his own tears.
“You can do this, baby. You got this.”
I just sob, the pain tearing through me only getting worse. “I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Yes, you can, Sara,” Mom encourages.
The nurses usher my in-laws out into the hall and shut the door. The doctor places herself between my legs; I scoot up on the bed. I look back and forth between my husband and Mom, grab hold of their hands, and begin to push.
Moments or hours later, all having turned into a blur of pain, they place an amazing pink baby on my chest. He’s got thick dark hair on his head and glowing hazel eyes like his father. He’s covered in a layer of mucous, but he stares up at me wailing, unbelievably beautiful.
Maziar is pulled in close, running his finger across the baby’s cheek, tears flowing down his face. Mom has his foot in her hand, marveling at his tiny toes. Maziar is pulled over to cut the cord.
The nurses whisk the baby away, cleaning, weighing, and testing him. Maziar goes to the end of the room with him, already so protective of our little addition. I can feel Mom’s need to follow, but she decides to stay beside me as the doctor finishes. She strokes my head and the two of us whisper with excitement about my son.
The baby and I are finally cleaned up. Maziar carries our little burrito back over to me. I take him into my arms and for the first time feel what love truly means. The three of us are lost in our little bubble of infatuation when the rest of the family is ushered inside.
He gets passed around from person to person, with not a dry eye in the house. I sit back on the cushions, utterly exhausted, taking in the immense love filling the room. Maziar beams at his son as his mother holds him.
“What are you naming him?” Nima asks.
“Milad,” Maziar and I respond in unison.
“How fitting,” Mom says.
“Why?” Nima asks.
“Because it means, ‘new beginning.’ Our little gift,” Naghmeh says, staring into her grandson’s eyes.
I look around at the people in my room, feeling grateful for my family, as they coo at the baby. The road leading to this moment has been tedious and long, with days when it seemed impossible. Somehow, by fate and the strength of the love between Maziar and me, we created the family before us. Now we have a son, a new little person binding us together even more strongly.
What I feel at this moment for my baby, and the beautiful man holding him, knows no bounds.
THE END
Thank you for reading! Find book 2 of the FORBIDDEN LOVE novels coming soon. For more about Negeen Papehn find her across social media.
Website: www.negeenpapehn.com
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Acknowledgments
When I wrote this book, it was purely a passion project, something to do in the little time I could find between the kids, husband, and the day job. It was a way to tap into a creativity I had long ago lost sight of. I never in a million years thought I’d be writing an acknowledgment page. Trying to sum up the tribe of people that helped me get here seems impossible, but here it goes…
To all my beautiful friends that eagerly and excitedly agreed to be my betas. Alex, Azi, Teri, Allison, Ally, Eynav, Renee, Shab, Jennifer, and my dental girls. I thank you for putting up with my stalking as I pestered you to finish, for the million questions I tirelessly threw your way, and for the multiple “book club” discussions you engaged in with me. I could never have done this without you.
A special thanks to Leyla for always being the head of my fan club, Tara for being my “editor,” Pat for being my muse, James and Barry for being my “man view,” and Shoe for always believing in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself.
Ann, Margi, Magda, despite coming onto the scene after the fact, your excitement of all things in this madness of publishing and your encouragement as you rooted me on, helped me stay grounded. You three will always be my writing gurus.
To my editor Amanda, thank you for taking a chance on me. Your efforts and encouragement have shaped this book into its best version and I couldn’t have done it without you. Tina, thank you for always putting up with me and my tireless questions. My City Owl Press family, you are amazing! Thank you for helping me share my story with the world.
Mom, Dad, Nav and Oms, I don’t have words to explain how your support in this, and all things, means to me. Thank you. Nahal, thanks for always making me feel like a rock star. Jen, thanks for tearing this book apart and overwhelming me with your critique, then encouraging me to do the rewrite. It obviously paid off. I love you all.
Bijan, Minoo, and Mahsa, thank you for being nothing like the characters in my book. You are wonderful and I couldn’t have asked for a better family to marry into. I love you guys.
To my husband Mike, thank you for never letting me stop writing despite how I worried that this story may make people think this was our life. “It’s fiction” you said, and pushed me to move forward. Your encouragement is what gave me the courage to put it all on paper and see what could happen.
And last but never least, to my two amazing boys, Elijah and Noah. I did this for you. I want you to know that nothing is impossible, so always reach for the stars because you never know what you may find. The nights I felt like throwing my laptop (and my dreams) out the window, your excitement at the number of pages I’d written and the idea that your mom may actually have a book on a shelf somewhere that you could hold in your hands, kept me going.
I love you both to space and back. You are everything…
About the Author
NEGEEN PAPEHN was born and raised in southern California, where she currently lives with her husband and two rambunctious boys. She wasn’t always a writer. A graduate of USC dental school, Negeen spends half of her week with patients and the other half in front of her laptop. In the little time she finds in between, she loves to play with her boys, go wine tasting with her friends, throw parties, and relax with her family.
Website: www.negeenpapehn.com
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Twitter: twitter.com/NegeenPapehn
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Facebook: www.facebook.com/NegeenPapehn/
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About the Publisher
City Owl Press is a cutting edge indie publishing company, bringing the world of romance and speculative fiction to discerning readers.
www.cityowlpress.com
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Forbidden by Faith Page 32