Free A Bitter Veil by Libby Fischer Hellmann

different rooms. She was surprised they were staying here at all. “I thought we were going to the apartment.”
    “My father says it is not quite ready. They are painting and cleaning. We will see it tomorrow.”
    “How long will we be staying here?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “But…” She stopped. She’d only just arrived. She didn’t want to be difficult. She looked around. “Nouri, why are we in separate rooms? We’re married.”
    Nouri looked at the floor. He didn’t answer.
    “Nouri…” She crossed her arms.
    When Nouri finally looked up his neck was flushed. “I haven’t told them.”
    She stepped back. “You didn’t tell them we got married?”
    “Maman is so excited to be planning the wedding. For us, weddings are the most important event in a family’s life. I didn’t know how to break it to her.”
    “Nouri, we have to tell them. We shouldn’t have to maintain a…fiction.”
    Nouri’s voice took on a placating, almost whining tone. “Please, Anna. It’s only for a few days.” He eyed her sheepishly. “I will join you here. After everyone is in bed.”
    “What about when we move into the apartment? The wedding’s not for another month. Do they expect us to sleep in separate rooms there, too?”
    “You know how parents are.” He waved a hand. “They’ll ignore it. Appearances are what’s important. Saving face.”
    Nouri had told her it was not unusual for couples of different nationalities or religions to be married twice, once in the States and once in Iran. In fact, Islamic law required that a Muslim ceremony be performed. So why was Nouri keeping their American marriage a secret? Anna felt just the tiniest bit betrayed. And excluded. Exhausted from traveling, her patience strained, she nearly told him exactly how she felt. But Nouri’s mother was watching, a curious expression on her face. With a great effort Anna controlled herself. She was about to say they would talk later when Nouri’s sixteen-year-old sister bounced into the room.
    Laleh had Nouri’s eyes, precise features, and dark, lustrous hair, but in a smaller, more feminine version. In fact, with her tight jeans, skimpy t-shirt, and artfully applied makeup, she was stunning. Even though she was five years older, Anna promptly felt intimidated; Laleh’s beauty was coupled with the self-confidence that her entrances would always be noticed.
    Laleh immediately went to Anna and gave her a hug. “I am so excited you are here, Anna. I can’t wait to show you around Tehran.” Her English was almost as good as Nouri’s. “We shall be best friends, as well as sisters.” She flashed Anna a dazzling smile.
    Anna managed a wan one in return.
    Nouri beamed proudly. Then his mother said something in Farsi, and Nouri nodded. “Anna, let the servant finish unpacking. We will go down for tea.”
    Anna would have preferred to unpack herself. But this was not her home, and she reminded herself to be a good guest. She threw a grateful look at the servant who was busy putting her things in the bureau, and followed the family downstairs. She was annoyed at Nouri.
    From the living room, Anna heard the clink of plates and cups in the kitchen. A moment later, another servant—how many did they have? she wondered—carried in a tray bearing a slender teapot, five narrow glasses, and a plate of sliced fruit. Iranians drank their tea in glasses, Anna remembered, sometimes with a cube of sugar between their teeth. Nouri patted the upholstered sofa next to him.
    Nouri’s father entered and sat in what was obviously his chair next to the sofa. He had only recently arrived home from his office. Bijan was light-skinned, tall, and slim. Nouri had inherited his shape. His hair was grayer than his wife’s, and his almond-shaped eyes looked jade green. He sported a well-trimmed mustache, and wore a tailored, expensive looking suit, silk tie, and cuff links.
    Parvin sat in a chair across from her husband and poured tea. Laleh slumped on a