Forbidden by Destiny

Book 2: Forbidden Love

by Negeen Papehn

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance

Synopsis

The author of Forbidden by Faith delivers “a very touching story . . . [of] Iranian culture and family dynamics . . . completely relatable” (InD’tale Magazine).

When Leyla’s best friend Sara goes through a complicated breakup, Leyla reluctantly agrees to pick up Sara’s things from her boyfriend Ben’s home. She thinks she is doing what any good friend would do, until she finds Ben completely shattered. His pain speaks to Leyla’s heart, and she suddenly finds herself feeling what it’s like to fall in love for the first time ever.

An afternoon of an innocent lunch and a walk on the beach to cheer him up turns into fireworks—and Leyla can’t get Ben out of her head. Pushed to her limits, fighting for a love she’s always dreamed of, and against a demon she never knew existed, Leyla must ultimately make a choice. Her decision will come down to loyalty to her best friend, the expectations of her family, or the desires of her wanting heart . . .

Praise for the Forbidden Love series

“Forbidden by Faith shows how family, love, and faith can collide, even in this modern age.”—A. K. Leigh, author of See Her Run

“A heartfelt immigrant love story.”—Publishers Weekly

“Ms. Papehn is a wonderful storyteller! I was immediately caught up in the lives of her characters. In Forbidden by Destiny, the heroine, Leyla, might be of Iranian descent but her story belongs to all women.”—Carrie Nichols, author of the Small-town Sweethearts series

Release date: February 19, 2019

Publisher: City Owl Press

Print pages: 260

Sample

                  CHAPTER ONE

I bounce back and forth on my toes. I have no idea what’s taking him so long, but I wish he’d hurry up. I just want to get this over with.

I fidget uncomfortably before the steel gray door. It’s a sunny day, a light breeze bustling through the neighboring trees. I’m on the second floor of the apartment building, which gives me a direct view of the leaves. They’re bright green against the backdrop of the blue sky. A squirrel jumps across the branches, an unidentifiable seed between his teeth.

It’s cool out, despite the sun, and I pull my sweater in a bit tighter around my waist. I push my red hair off my shoulder, annoyed at how it clashes against the dark blue material, making it look more orange than usual. I worry that my proximity to the ocean is turning the curls into a frizzy poof as I stand here. The dreaded Persian girl hair—never a dull moment.

Why am I so nervous? I didn’t break up with him—Sara did.

When Sara asked me to get her things from the apartment, I couldn’t say no. She’s been in the hospital with Maziar every day since the accident. She claims she can’t leave him, but I know she just doesn’t want to face Ben. She’s not good at confrontation, especially when she’s just torn his heart out from his chest after promising him forever. I don’t blame Ben for hating her. I just hope I don’t get stuck in the crossfire.

I’m standing in front of his door after a two-hour drive, wondering why I agreed to do this. I should have told her to send her brother. I imagine that exchange would at least be quick, if not painless.

2

The metal apartment numbers are gold, clashing against the gray. What an odd color choice. The paint’s chipping off, no doubt from the dampness of the ocean breeze and longtime sun exposure. I have the urge to reach out and flick off a dried piece, when the door swings open.

Ben stands towering in the frame. His six feet dwarfs my small five-foot-two stature. The sun is glaring in his direction, reflecting a strange haze around him, almost as if he’s glowing. For a moment, he reminds me of an angel painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. His crystal blue eyes sharpen the image. Wrinkles fan out prominently from their edges as he scowls at me. There are dark circles framing his lids. He looks exhausted and there’s an edge to him, like he’s ready for a fight. I don’t blame him for directing it at me. Currently, I’m Sara’s stand-in.

“Hey, Ben.”
“Hey, Leyla.” We stand frozen in an awkward staring contest. “Come in,” he finally says. He pushes the door wider, taking a step back, giving me space to enter. I can smell his

aftershave, it’s mingled with the scent of soap, and his hair’s wet. He’s in a pair of blue sweats and a crisp white T-shirt. His phoenix tattoo is visible on his arm, the outline of its tail and wings stark against his golden skin. I’ve always loved that tattoo.

The warmth of his gaze warns me that I’m staring. He’s watching me closely. A puzzled expression transforms into a pull at the corner of his lips as he suppresses a smile. What am I doing? I shake my head, trying to dislodge my thoughts. I’m here to get my best friend’s things not gawk at her ex-boyfriend.

“You want something to drink?” he asks, catching me off-guard.

“Um, sure.” I stumble over my words, having expected him to throw the boxes, and me, out of the door instantly.

“I have Coke or water.”

3

“I’ll take a Coke, please.”
“Coming right up.” I catch him laugh as he turns toward the kitchen door.
I’m mortified. How long was I checking him out? And why does he seem to find that

amusing? Thank goodness there’s a wall separating us so he can’t see the red I’m sure is creeping up my neck. These are the times I wish I had the classic Iranian olive tone instead of my strange milky white skin. I’m a real Persian anomaly. My sister likes to tell me I’m adopted.

When he comes back to the living room, I’m sitting on his dark gray couch drawing circles with the edge of my fingertip into the fabric, waiting. I can hear the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass when he hands me the cup. He crosses the room and takes a seat. The plush blue chair he’s sitting in makes his already intense eyes glow. I fidget beneath his gaze.

“Is there a lot of stuff I have to take back?” I ask, trying to cut through the silence. I can’t take it.

I feel his energy shift at the indirect mention of Sara. His expression becomes somber with the weight of the past few weeks. It pushes down on us, suffocating me with its heavy and desperate make up as it sucks the air out of the room. Despite not mentioning her name, the damage is done. I instantly regret speaking, wishing I were content to stay in the awkward quiet of a few moments ago.

“There’s a bit,” he says, pointing with his chin toward the front door.

His eyebrows are pinched together in thought. I can imagine how difficult the past week has been for him. He’d thought he was going to start a life with Sara; they were practically engaged. But instead, she dropped him at the first sight of her past. That’s rough.

4

By the door, there’s a stack of about ten large cardboard boxes with Sara’s name written on them. Each letter is carefully shaped with his impeccable penmanship, the only order in the sea of chaos.

“Oh. That’s more than I expected,” I mumble.
“I’ll help you get them into your car.” Always the gentleman.

He exhales slowly, and it becomes obvious the fight has left him. I can see it in the way his shoulders are hunched forward, the way his elbows rest limply on the armrests. I can see how tired he is in the droopiness of his eyes. When he looks back toward me, the blue of his irises has dulled. I imagine when I leave with Sara’s belongings, it somehow solidifies the end of their relationship.

Suddenly the heat of irritation courses through my veins. Unexpectedly, it’s directed toward Sara and the state she’s reduced him to. He doesn’t deserve this.

Ben and I were friends. It was inevitable with all the time we spent together in Sara’s presence. When she broke up with him, I dropped him without a second thought. The situation was complicated and convoluted and I took the easy way out. Now, as I watch this broken man before me, I wish I had been a better friend to him.

“Have you had lunch yet?” I ask. He looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language. “You know, have you had any food?” I jokingly make the gesture of putting something into my mouth. He smiles and it feels like a little win.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been dealing with boxes all day.”

“Let’s go get some food,” I say. “It’s beautiful outside. The sunshine will do us some good.”

5

He looks at me thoughtfully, not quick to agree to this sudden outing. I’m sure he’s sizing me up, trying to figure out if I’m friend or foe. After how I treated him, how could he possibly think I’m safe? Plus, Sara’s my best friend, making me guilty by association.

“Come on,” I insist.

I don’t really know what I’m doing exactly, just that I can’t take the idea that he’s so hurt. He’s nothing like the fun, carefree Ben I’m used to. This fractured version of him is depressing, and I suddenly have the urge to save him.

“Okay, let me change,” he finally consents. Then he gets up and leaves the room

My nerves are on edge, making me feel sick. Am I betraying Sara by spending time with Ben? It’s not like she hates him. She just doesn’t love him like she loves Maziar. Would she be upset if we get some food? I mean, we both need to eat. And it’s not like we’re going out on a date or anything.

Ben steps back into the living room five minutes later. He’s changed out of his sweats into a pair of khaki shorts to go with his white T-shirt. He’s thrown on a baseball cap, Stanford written across the front for his alma mater. Wisps of his dirty blond hair curl out from beneath the edges like the hair on a little boy’s head. I find it endearing.

“Ready?” he asks, grabbing his keys. “I’ll drive.”

A smile spreads across my face as he holds the door open for me. My stomach flips in response, throwing me off balance. I’m not supposed to feel this giddy, but I try to ignore it, telling myself that I’m just being nice and finding a way to take his mind off of the break-up. Any decent person would do the same. Nonetheless, when he places his hand on the small of my back turning me toward his car, a shiver runs through my body, leaving a cluster of goosebumps in its wake.

6

Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking across State Street looking for a place to eat. The options are plentiful, so we’ve decided to make a lap before we commit to a location. He’s standing a few inches away from me. Our fingers accidently brush against each other when I take a step too close. A current rushes up my arm at the contact. He doesn’t mention it, just takes a half-step further away, breaking the connection. The disappointment that follows is jarring. What an odd reaction; I’m not supposed to care.

I’m making small talk, asking about the food at one place and the beer at another. As I continue to ramble, the tension eases out of Ben’s shoulders and his gait becomes more casual. He’s smiling more readily now; It reaches the edges of his eyes and sets his dimples deep on either side of his face. He even manages to laugh, the sound fanning out from the center of his chest like a blooming flower. It’s infectious, causing a flutter beneath my ribcage.

We settle on a small deli, taking a table in the far corner. The seats are white and plastic, the tablecloth checkered like we’re at a picnic. He takes my order, then steps up to the counter to place it while I hold our spot. I can’t help but notice the outline of his back, the muscles tight and taught beneath his shirt. I can distinctly see their shapes, tracing them with my eyes. I know I shouldn’t be looking at Ben this way—he’s Sara’s ex—but I can’t help it. He’s a handsome man. I’ve always thought so.

I’m still staring when he turns back toward our table, a plastic number on the end of a metal rod in his hand. Our eyes lock and I suddenly can’t breathe. I have to look away as he makes his way over, worried he can see the strange effect he’s having on me. When he sits down, I notice the receipt in his hand.

“Did you pay already?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says.

7

“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” he replies.
“You didn’t need to pay for me, Ben,” I protest.
“I know.”
There’s a confidence about his chivalry that’s so attractive. He isn’t flirting with me. It’s

obvious that in his world, paying when he’s with a girl is just the way things are. He seems clueless to how much of a gentleman he actually is, making it that much more appealing.

He’s staring at me funny, then reaches his hand out and grabs one of my curls. His fingertips brush my cheek and a wave of something I can’t name spreads through my body. He’s caught me off guard, but he doesn’t seem to notice, twisting the tendril of hair between his fingers.

“How did you end up with this color?” he asks, bewildered.

“My mom’s great grandfather had red hair and blue eyes actually. He has some European somewhere down his ancestral line. It’s either that or I’m adopted,” I say, laughing.

“I’d guess adoption because it’s entirely too weird,” he teases.
“Gee, thanks.”
He let’s go of my hair and leans back in his chair. “Either way, I like it. It’s different.”
I smile and have to look away, pretending he didn’t just make me swoon.
When lunch is done, I find myself not wanting the encounter to end. It isn’t because I’m

hoping something will come out of this. I know that isn’t possible. Had I met Ben first, maybe things would have gone differently, but that wasn’t the case. He doesn’t even look at me that way, his vision too cluttered by images of Sara.

I just like being around him.

8

I like the way he laughs, the way his smile stretches across his face exposing his crooked bottom teeth. How he has these amazing dimples that make his face appear kinder somehow. I like how he’s easy to talk to and that the conversation flows naturally between us. How he puts all his attention on me when I speak as if there isn’t another person in the room. I love how he makes me feel important.

When he suggests we take a walk along the beach, I hear myself agree instantly. I try not to think too deeply about the giddiness I feel or the swirl in my stomach. Sara may not like it. Maybe it’s wrong to prolong the afternoon with him, but the truth is, at this moment, I don’t really care.

The breeze is blowing harder along the shore. The sun is still out, but a chill settles into my bones as the wind rushes across my bare arms. I left my sweater in Ben’s car. There’s a flock of seagulls overhead, squawking as they fly in a circle above us. I pray one of them doesn’t poop on my now wild, unruly hair. That would be lovely.

Ben makes his way over to a patch of smooth sand and plops down. I follow, sitting beside him, digging my feet beneath the warm grains. We stare at the horizon, neither of us saying anything. The sound of the crashing waves hum like a lullaby. I slowly start to relax, my muscles loosening as I sink further into the beach.

“Isn’t it peaceful?” he asks.
“Yes, it’s beautiful.”
“It was one of our favorite parts of the city,” he says. “It’s why we agreed to take jobs out

here.”
“I can see how it would be a deciding factor.” I wait for him to continue, silently urging

him to unload his burden.

9

“I still can’t believe it.”

Something about the sadness in his voice pulls my gaze to him. He’s staring out into the ocean, lost in his thoughts. I don’t know what to say to help lessen this blow, to take away the pain that is so obviously written across his face. I’m angry with Sara for doing this to him. No one deserves to have their heart crushed like this. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t betray her, even if I don’t support her actions. We’ve been friends since we were babies, and no matter what she’s done to him, my loyalties lie with her.

So instead, I just say, “I’m sorry, Ben.”

He tries his best to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. I can see him struggling beneath the surface of his calm exterior, trying desperately to keep it under control. My heart constricts at the demons he’s battling behind those beautiful eyes.

“Thanks,” he says. “It sucks. You know?”
“I do,” I offer, but I don’t. I’ve never been in love.
“I really thought we were going to have this amazing life together. That Santa Barbara

was just the first big leap for us. I don’t understand how she could walk away so easily. I mean, we were talking about marriage,” he says, facing me.

He looks at me expectantly, as if I hold the answers to why my best friend did what she did. I don’t know how to fix this, or what to say to help him understand how easily she left him behind. I don’t even understand it enough myself to make it clearer for him. How do I explain to him that Maziar was her one true love and he just wasn’t? How do I make him see that it had nothing to do with him, not really. No one was ever going to be Maziar for her. He should be thankful it happened two years in and not ten. Sara and Maziar were inevitable—it was just a matter of time. I’ve never known people more meant for each other.

10

I can’t tell him any of that though without breaking his heart further. I turn back to face the water, unable to look him in the eyes when I deliver my explanation. I’m grabbing at straws, trying to find a way to make the excuse sufficient enough for him that he can find some relief in my words. I don’t want him to see that I’m improvising.

“Honestly, it wasn’t easy for her to make that choice. She loved you, she did. But sometimes that isn’t enough. She has a lot of history with Maziar. And I just think the accident terrified her enough to realize that she hadn’t completely gotten over him. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but she was trying to be fair to you.” I turn back toward him when I say the only truth I’m certain of. “You deserve someone who only loves you.”

He looks at me silently, running his gaze along the length of my face. My nose, my lips, sweeping across my neck, settling on a curl lying against my collar bone. He lingers there for only a moment, then returns to my eyes. I don’t have the answers he seeks, no one does other than Sara, and she’s not available to ask. She may never be. But he gives me his crooked smile anyway.

“Thanks,” he says.

He suddenly gets up and reaches out his hand to me. I look at him confused at the gesture.

“The water looks amazing, don’t you think?” he asks. “Let’s go get our feet wet.”

I laugh as I put my hand in his. We run toward the receding ocean’s edge and dig our toes into the wet earth beneath us. As the tide comes rushing back, the cool water splashes along our feet. He sets out in a slow jog, kicking droplets playfully toward me.

“You’re going to get me all wet!” I protest, giggling. “And?”

11

“And, I’m Persian. This,” I say, grabbing a strand of my hair, “does not mix well with sea water. It’s like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.” I’m failing miserably at being serious, a ridiculous smile stretched across my face.

Ben bends down toward the tide, peering up at me with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t you dare do it!” I warn.
When he splashes me, I squeal, despite being ready for it. He winks, then takes two big

strides further away as I kick water up at him in retaliation.
I’m so elated at the mood change in Ben’s demeanor that I’m not paying attention,

making my way into the ocean further than I should. The cool rush of a wave hits the back of my pants, knocking me tumbling into him. He grabs me around the waist but loses his footing, sending us both into the crashing surf. I can feel his muscles pressed hard against my chest as the ocean floor meets us. I almost forget where we are until another wave comes crashing over us, pulling him away from me. I come up coughing and laughing hysterically. The happiness issettled back in Ben’s eyes as he pulls me up. I’m sure I look like a wet dog, but he’s so close to me now, I can’t think. There’s an expression in his eyes I haven’t seen before and it stops the air from passing through my lungs. It doesn’t linger, gone as quickly as it came, making me wonder if I imagined it.

“Might as well enjoy the water now,” he says, pointing at his wet clothes.

He pulls me gently behind him as we play in the ocean for a few more minutes. Then we head back to his car, where he gives me a spare sweatshirt he has in his backseat. It smells of all things Ben, and I stop myself before I bury my face in it.

What is wrong with me?

12

Once we get to Ben’s apartment, he gives me a pair of sweats and a T-shirt to change into, along with a towel to dry out my hair. He makes a fresh pot of coffee to help warm my insides and sets to the business of packing my trunk with boxes.

“This was fun,” he says, as he walks me to my car.

He steps over to the driver’s side door and opens it, allowing me to take my seat. Leaning against the door frame looking down at me, the sun setting behind him creates a hazy backdrop. The perfect romance novel scene. If we were characters in a story, he’d lean down and kiss me right now. For an instant, I wish there could be a different reality between us. Sadly, there isn’t, and this reality is all we’ve got. I look up at him, confused by the misplaced sadness I feel.

“It was,” I say, trying to hide it behind a smile.
“Let me know if you’re ever back up this way, Leyla. Maybe we could hang out again?” “Okay.”
He gently shuts the door and takes a step away from the car. He waves one more time, a

sheepish grin stretched across his lips, then steps onto the curb watching me pull away. I can see him standing on the sidewalk until I’m well down the block before heading back inside.

The entire ride home I think of Ben, despite how wrong it is.

***

“How did it go?” Sara asks, as she helps me unload my car. “It went okay,” I say.
“Was he really upset?”

13

There’s worry in her eyes, and it bothers me. I know she’s genuinely concerned about Ben, but there’s a protectiveness I suddenly feel that makes me want to reach out and shove her. She should have thought of him before this entire mess began. I swallow my need to tell her off. It isn’t my place. Ben’s a great guy, but even great guys get their hearts broken. Shit happens.

“At first.”

She stops midway to the front door and stares at me. I’m balancing a box beneath my arm a few steps below her on the porch, waiting. She doesn’t say anything.

“What?” I ask.

“What is up with you?” she says, making my heart drop into my chest. “Why are you giving me these one-word, snippy answers?”

She isn’t irritated, she’s confused. I can hear it in her voice. After a lifetime of friendship, it’s easy to read each other. Something I’ve obviously forgotten.

“Am I?” I reply, playing innocent. Why do I feel like I’ve done something terribly wrong and need to hide it? “I’m just tired. It was a long drive.”

I stopped at home first to change out of Ben’s clothes. I couldn’t think of a viable excuse to explain why I was wearing them, other than telling the truth, and for some odd reason, I don’t want to. I’m not sure why. I want to keep the details of the day to myself. It’s not like Sara is going to find out anyway. Ben’s in Santa Barbara and she’s here. He’s broken hearted and she’s with Maziar. I highly doubt they will have a conversation any time soon. And if they do, I don’t think I’ll be the primary topic. Besides, she’s his ex, but he’s my friend. Does one cancel out the other? I’m going with no.

“Well, how was he? Give me details.”

14

Why do you care? “He was upset, obviously. But you know Ben, he does his best to keep it positive.”

“Did he say anything?”
“He was mad at what you did and he’s confused about it all.”
“He told you that? That he was confused?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you say?”
“What could I say? I just told him I was sorry he was feeling that way.”
Frustration boils inside me like hot molten lava at her inquisition. I try to swallow it

down, needing to keep my head. My moment to tell her I spent the entire day with him, much of which had nothing to do with her, is gone. And I certainly don’t want to explore the confusing emotions I experienced either. The more she asks me questions, the more I fear I’ll get twisted up and expose myself. I just want her to stop.

She stares for a few more moments, reading me. I try my best to keep my face passive, devoid of the emotions I shouldn’t be feeling. Then I nudge toward the door.

“This is getting heavy,” I say, urging her up the steps.
She takes another moment, then smiles.
“Okay,” she laughs. “My mom just made nazook, Let’s go have some chayee.” Pastries

and tea.

I exhale as I follow her inside, relieved that I made it through the interrogation unscathed.