He glanced down at himself with a self-deprecating laugh. "It's Ingrid's doing."
"Ingrid? Why?" Arezoo asked.
He set down his plate and took a sip of wine before answering. "She said that I needed to elevate my appearance. I didn't even know that there was anything wrong with it, but she pointed out the ill-fitting clothing that had seen better days, the simple haircut that did nothing for my face, and my terrible posture. She offered to help me change all that, and I gratefully accepted her help."
"Good for you." Arezoo tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "My sister Laleh did the same for me. She did my hair and makeup and helped me select the outfit."
He chuckled. "I'm glad that I wasn't the only one who needed help to prepare for courtship."
"Courtship?" Arezoo repeated.
"I'm sorry, that's such an old-fashioned word. I didn't mean to presume?—"
"Ruvon." She waited until he looked at her. "It's okay. I'm fine with you courting me."
When his eyes widened with hope, she held up a hand.
"As long as you understand that I'm not like other girls you might have dated. I grew up very sheltered, and then..." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to say the words she'd kept locked inside for so long. "I was also kidnapped and abused, andI'm still recovering from that trauma. I'm not ready for anything other than talking."
The confession hung between them in the evening air. It was the first time Arezoo had given voice to what had happened to her, acknowledging it outside of her own head. She didn't talk about the kidnapping, about what had been done to her and her sisters, and cousin. It was easier to forget, to move on, to pretend it was just a nightmare that had ended.
But that was hard to do when she still woke up gasping from dreams where she was back in that place, drugged and helpless. The memories were hazy, mercifully dulled by whatever they'd given her, but they were there, buried in her subconscious mind and emerging when her defenses were down.
"Arezoo," Ruvon said softly, and she realized that her hands were trembling. He reached out as if to take them, then stopped.
"I have no expectations," he said, his voice fierce with sincerity. "You're completely in charge here. You make the rules. I'm just grateful you're giving me a chance to spend time with you."
The statement stunned her. Where she came from, women had no power, no agency. Men made the decisions and set the rules. And Ruvon wasn't a product of the Western world, where women's rights were at least acknowledged, even if not always respected. He came from the same oppressive background she did, maybe worse.
Yet here he was, handing her all the power, and it was like a weight she didn't know she'd been carrying suddenly lifted from her shoulders.
"You really mean that," she said, and it wasn't a question.
"I do." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I know what it's like to have your choices taken away, to be trapped in a situation where you have no control. It has been a long time since I was in that situation, so I've had time to recover. You are still healing."
That was such a deep level of understanding, so unexpected, that it hit her like a kick to the gut.
When a tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, she pulled her hand free to wipe it away, embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"
"Don't apologize," he said. "Not for this. Not to me."
She looked at him then and saw what had been in front of her the entire time but hadn't fully registered. Ruvon had escaped from the Brotherhood, from the same organization that had harbored her abuser, and it occurred to her that he had been abused as well. He'd risked everything to get away, to find freedom and a new life. He was like her—a survivor who'd clawed his way out of darkness.
She was still clawing.
That was why he understood, why he could offer her control without making it seem like a gift or a favor, but simply the natural order of things.
"We should eat," she said finally, taking a deep breath. "Atzil's feast shouldn't go to waste."
They returned to their plates, the atmosphere lighter somehow, as if her confession had cleared the air between them. The food was incredible—each bite perfectly seasoned and prepared with obvious care.
"This hummus is amazing." Arezoo spread more on a piece of bread. "I've tried to make it myself, but it never turns out this smooth."
"The secret is probably some impossible technique that takes years to master," Ruvon said. "Like removing each chickpea skin individually while chanting ancient culinary spells."
She laughed, nearly choking on her bread. "Ancient culinary spells?"
