Aunt Anjali’s voice boomed through the suite before the door had even closed.
“Zahra! Your wedding gown has arrived!”
I laughed, calling back from the balcony. “Come join us! We’re out here.”
Amir had insisted on ordering a brunch platter, and I couldn’t have agreed more. The morning sun spilled across the balcony, gilding the plates of fruit and cheese, the fresh bread, and the carafe of coffee. The Persian Gulf stretched out before us, its turquoise waves kissing the pale sand. It was the kind of view that made you forget the world beyond it.
The s*x that followed afterwards was even more amazing. Looks like it was actually becoming a part of our morning routine.
We lounged in hotel robes, books in hand. Amir was buried in the local newspaper, brow furrowed in concentration, while
