Rachael Nikolay

HAZEL -

"Hazel darling, just please relax." Leila squeezes my hand reassuringly as a bright flash nearly blinds me.

The cameraman is at it again, Hasn't he already snapped enough pics of me from this angle? We are reclining on a silk couch atop a one-foot-tall mini-stage. It's my wedding day. It is almost over and the nikkah ceremony has been completed. I'm officially Mrs. Hazel Imran Mirza.

"How can I when everyone is looking at me !?" I whisper tensely as my gaze sweeps over the attendants in the banquet hall. All of Baba's (dad's) and Mirza's relatives and friends are reclining on plush seats at round tables laden with food and drink.

It was a decent banquet hall, simple yet elegant, and paid for by Mr. Anwar Mirza since he insisted that his one and only son was to be married. I catch sight of my reflection in the compact mirror Leila briefly holds out to me. I looked pretty for my wedding. I had many of my mother's features.

I was inwardly grateful to have inherited her features. From the almond-shaped eyes adorned by thick lashes that swept the apples of my cheek to a straightly narrow medium-length nose. Then there was my skin tone, sun-kissed throughout the shifting seasons. All of this is set on a rounded neotenous face adorned by a head full of glossy and voluminous dark hair.

All for the exception of my eyes which were a dark chocolate brown with hints of mauve while hers were explicitly light hazel. Yet for some reason, I never thought I was as beautiful as her, or beautiful at all for that matter.

"Quit the paranoia, you will end up a sweaty mess and that'll only ruin your makeup!" Leila rebukes me as she proceeds to dab the corner of my eye with a napkin she has pulled out of her glittery pink clutch.

She's dressed stylishly in a pink sequinned gown and there are rows of silvery swirl designs on her hijab, a sequinned flower pinned above her ear. She's caked with makeup just as I am. My make-up matches my red embroidered wedding dress. The hijab I'm wearing has small simple red flowers bordering my forehead.

"Well then, you shouldn't have forced me into wearing make-up in the first place!" I huff, not bothering to conceal my irritation. Oh my Allah, I hope I don't look like a sweaty slimed goo ball.

Damn it, Leila why did you have to pressure me into getting make-up done?!

"You're only acting like this because my brother-in-law is sitting so close to you, huh?" Leila's eyes spark with mischief as she gives me a playful nudge.

"Shut up!" I whisper dreadfully and pinch the skin of her hand.

Yes, she's right, it's the exact reason why I'm feeling so nervous.He's sitting this close and he will hear Leila's stupid nagging. She's trying to play her silly little games. I risk a quick side glance at the brooding young man I'm married to now, seated to my right.

His name is Imran Mirza. That is the main detail I remember about him since his last introduction by his parents. It was when baba and Naheed had invited them over for dinner to discuss our arranged marriage prospects.

Imran did not appear pleased then as he certainly isn't now. His mother, Razia Mirza had goaded him reassuringly before my eyes. And he had agreed upon marrying me anyway. And now here we were, husband and wife.

"Don't embarrass me !" I plead to Leila.

She shakes her head knowingly and smiles. "Well, then I'll leave you here for now."

"No! Leila stay !" I implore regretfully.

She steps down from the stage before turning around halfway and patting her tummy. "Can't this pregnant woman eat? You just sit there and look pretty."

I roll my eyes and refrain from answering. She weaves her way to an empty seat at a table and begins stuffing her mouth.

"Dear just look up to the left and then look straight ahead but tilt your head down as well, come on dear these moments don't return. Once in a lifetime dear .." The annoying cameraman won't quit ordering me to pose for pics. I feel like snatching that camera out of his hands.

"Camera uncle, please it's enough pictures." I heave a sigh.

Go away or you'll blind me for life. I sneak another peek at Imran, he's looking handsome in his traditional Afghan wedding attire. A long velvet embroidered black kameez and trousers. He seems to sport a monotonous expression. I ponder back to what Mrs. Razia Mirza confessed earlier, Imran had Supposedly fallen for me or was taken by me that I was the only one he'd marry.

Why doesn't he seem the least bit interested then?

I'm brought back from my thoughts by my father-in-law's master Anwar Mirza's merry voice. "Hazel, meet my very good friend Rachael Nikolay, headmistress of Griffith University where I teach!"

That name?!

My eyes widen as I look up at the tall blonde woman I had met two days ago. She's just as astonished to see me. Mister Mirza gestures for her r to take the empty seat next to mine. He makes the cameraman leave.

"Princess jassssmiiiine!!" There running towards me excitedly is Arielle. She skips over the stage and hastily climbs up my lap, making herself comfortable. Recovering from my surprise, I feel a bit awkward, embarrassed, and flattered altogether.

"Arielle, that is rude! Get down!" Rachael chides her daughter, breaking eye contact with mine. "Or I'll call over Grigori to take you back to the limo."

Arielle shakes her head in refusal, only impelling Rachael to beckon someone over with her hand from the crowd of attendees. My gaze trails after her gesture.

I'm extremely appalled as I glimpse one of those familiar young dark-haired guys from the pageant. He's trekking towards us. I was particularly overtaken by shock to see him. He was meant to be in prison right now since there was footage of his participation in a gunfight forty-eight hours ago.

As his gaze aligns with mine, he aims me a scowl. With quick strides into the stage, he hauls Arielle up into his arms.

She gives out a loud shriek. "Grigori let go of me!"

"It's alright, let her stay" I manage to say to Rachael albeit in a shaky voice.

"Are you sure?" Rachael asks. "Arielle is a handful, I wouldn't want her to ruin your night."

"It's fine," I answered reassuringly.

"Grig, let her go." Rachael orders.

The guy named Grigori eyes me with suspicion. I'm uncertain if there's a hint of disdain. He frees Arielle and steps down from the stage. As he stands facing the crowd, he slips one of his hands into his pants pocket.

My eyes widen when I notice briefly a gun holstered near his belt as his hand shifts the flaps of his jacket. Unease starts clawing at my mind.

Is he a bodyguard?

That could be the only reason why he's armed and dressed in a suit.

"Ah! I see you've met before?" Mister Mirza raises a brow inquisitively at both Rachael and me.

"Yes something like that" Rachael smiles warmly at me before adding "Congratulations, you look gorgeous."

"Thank you." I reply shyly before curiosity finally gets the best of me. "How's um...how's Katie?"

Her smile vanishes at the mention of her younger sister's name. She reluctantly answers. "Katie, she was discharged from the hospital Saturday morning...thank you for asking."