3- Family Fondness

                                    

                                          
Author's Note: ^ Picture of Iniya.
                          
NUMBER SIXTEEN?? WHOA PEOPLE!! I can't believe it! You got me to number sixteen *tosses cookies and teddy bears around* JAZAKAMULLAHU KHAIRAN KATHEERA!!
                          
Oh and thanks for the many reads again :D I think we'll be catching up to the chapters pretty soon! This chapter goes to @booohh because she's awesome! And she wrote like one of the best stories out there! Thanks for reading and enjoying my story, sugar :D
                          
This chapter is a bit of a filler. It's just a really fluffy, cute little chapter where you find out how the women react when they find out about Myeesha. I know a few of you who were anticipating that so enjoy!



                          
Chapter 3- Family Fondness



                          
The next morning, Za'yaal got ready to deliver the news to the rest of the females. He had gone out the night before to check the Manor seeing as Midas and Musa were off partying. It was looking great and he was relieved. He wanted everything to be perfect.
                          
On Saturday, Za'yaal decided to see the women and break it to them. Six of them were left so hopefully it would go better than he thought. Worst-case scenario, Irsa would chuck a heel at his head. He would duck at the right moment and avoid that. Yep. He was ready.
                          
He wore a black suit with a black button-down. His tattoo was well-covered and his light beard made his cheekbones stand out. Midas pretended to swoon when he saw him.
                          
"Za'yaal, baby, run away with me," Midas cooed.
                          
"In your dreams," Za'yaal retorted and ran a hand through his hair. "Where's Myeesha?"
                          
"Right behind you."
                          
Za'yaal grinned when he saw her, looking as modest as ever in a peach-colored dress and a red sweater and scarf. Za'yaal had Tyron order new dresses for her and they had arrived early in the morning. His personal guard had taken great care in making sure all of them were loose and full-length. He also managed to order half of a hijab store not far from their building. The way Myeesha had thanked both him and his guard was definitely worth it.
                          
"Good morning and Assalam-u-Allaikum," she chirped, rocking on the heels of her feet.
                          
"Wasalam, you loon," Za'yaal replied. "Ready to face the herd of cows I nearly got married to?"
                          
"They are not cows," Myeesha scolded lightly. "They are lovely women who should not be treated this way. They really did want to marry you, Za'yaal. I could see it in the way they competed with each other. It's rather sad to know they won't even be given a chance to complete the game."
                          
"What, you want me to let them continue and marry whoever wins?"
                          
"No," Myeesha admitted honestly. "It's still horrible though. You got their hopes up. A game is no way to find a bride. Every girl has a fantasy of finding her prince and settling down. Those females actually thought they would get that."
                          
"She's right," Midas piped in. "Za'yaal, you big fat idiot, you should've just married her on the street instead of putting us all through this."
                          
Za'yaal shot him a pointed look. "Well I'm so sorry."
                          
He spun on his heel and strode out.
                          
"Oh dear. I think we upset him," Myeesha said.
                          
"Nah, he'll get over it. He hates it when people tell him he's wrong because he usually does everything for a good reason."
                          
"I'll go talk to him."
                          
"I'm rooting for you, baby girl!"
                          
Myeesha ran out after Za'yaal and found him waiting by the elevators. She quickly caught up with him, stopping right beside him.