Secrets of Us A Forbidden Love Romance (Alina) novel Chapter 67

Three

I regret looking at him almost immediately.

I’m suffocating. Heating up.

Zaid’s dark eyes meet mine, smoldering with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. There’s hunger there, a desire that wraps around me, tightening like a coil. It’s so intense that I wonder if any other man on this earth ever truly found me beautiful.

None had ever looked at me the way he does.

“You look beautiful,” Zaid murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

A flush creeps up my neck, and I struggle to steady my breathing. I lay my hand on my

neck, where it meets my chest, but it does little to help.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I try to find something else

to focus on.

But Aiden is distracted with a conversation, and I am left to fend for myself.

The weight of Zaid’s gaze pins me in place. His fingers brush lightly against my arm, sending a shiver skittering down my spine. The touch is gentle, almost absent–minded,

but it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

Does he know how much this makes me feel?

“We should talk about last night,” Zaid says, his voice like velvet. The heat in my cheeks worsens. I can’t breathe. I have to blink to stop the images from last night from

bombarding my brain.

“No,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “We don’t need to talk about that at all.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. There’s a wild, desperate edge to his expression, like he’s fighting a losing battle with himself. I stop breathing, caught in the tension, my body leaning forward ever so slightly, when the first notes of the piano cut through the air, signaling my mother’s entrance.

Zaid pulls away, jaw clenching. His eyes lift to mine, like he’s sorry our moment was

1/4

Three

broken.

The guests stand, and I use the distraction to pull myself together. My mother appears at the end of the aisle, radiant in her lace gown. It hugs her frame, each detail perfectly chosen to highlight her beauty.

Because regardless of our relationship, my mother is beautiful.

She walks with grace, her bouquet trembling ever so slightly in her hands, and I feel the familiar sting of tears in my eyes.

I can’t look at her for long. The memories hit me too hard.

Old wedding photos of her and my dad, his hand around her waist, her glowing smile so full of hope. Her dress with puffy sleeves and my brother in her arms.

In every picture, she was smiling like the world was before her.

1. me.