Forbidden by Faith

Book 1: Forbidden Love

by Negeen Papehn

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance

Synopsis

One woman is torn between faith, family, and passion in this “heartfelt immigrant love story” from the author of Forbidden by Destiny and Forbidden by Time (Publishers Weekly).

Raised by her immigrant parents, Sara has been taught that a good daughter makes decisions based on her family’s approval, and she’s spent most of her life in their good graces. Until she meets Maziar.

An instant electricity ignites between them, and their meeting seems like fate. Just as her mind begins to soar with the possibilities, he shatters her hopes. Sara is Muslim. Maziar is Jewish. Will faith tear them apart?

Despite centuries of unrest behind them, Sara and Maziar embark on a forbidden love affair, attempting to navigate through cultural and religious prejudices. Deep within the trenches of their battle, Sara finds herself more empowered and careless than ever before, but will her love and newfound life be worth the ultimate cost—her family?

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 strong message about family and protecting those you love.”—InD’tale

“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 20, 2018

Publisher: City Owl Press

Print pages: 386

Sample

                    PROLOGUE

I push through the doors of the foyer and am hit by the scene unfolding before me. I’m unable to breathe, the air having left my lungs. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. There’s a bar fight at my wedding. I can hear the words in my mind, but I can’t comprehend their meaning. I’m standing still while everything moves in slow motion.

I see a table fallen over on its side, glass decorating its edges, remnants of wine creating swirling patterns on the floor. I’m vaguely reminded of a painting I’ve seen before, but the title escapes me. A flower arrangement has been knocked over, purple petals splattered on the tiles, its beauty now just a memory. Little groups of guests are scattered around, worried looks on their faces. I see them look at me, lean in toward each other, whispering. Some look with sympathy, others with disdain. Directly in front of me, I see a larger crowd. I can’t see my way through, but the group is composed of my family. The groom is nowhere to be found.

I hear someone mention my cousin’s name, something about a fight. I stand for a moment, baffled, wondering how one person could leave such havoc in his wake. I breathe. I take one more look around, pick up my dress, and head in for battle. I push my way through. The sight of my princess dress in tow parts the crowd like Moses parting the sea. I shove my way in until I am standing directly in front of him.

“What are you doing?” I shout. “What is wrong with you?”

My uncle comes up beside me and yells something at his son that I can’t comprehend behind the rush of adrenaline and savage anger coursing through my veins. I turn my attention to him.

“Amoo, get him out of here!” I demand. Then, I just keep screaming.

Before I know it, I’m yelling in Farsi. Words my grandmother used when we were kids that I’d forgotten I knew. All I’m aware of is the electric burn of anger that’s invaded my body. And just like that, I become airborne. I don’t see it coming. I feel two hands circling my

waist, whisking me away into the air, through the crowd. I feel the air rustle the edges of my

dress as if I’m floating. I’m gently placed on my feet. I look up to see Thomas standing in front of me. It takes me a moment to understand his presence.

He looks at me, kindness filling his eyes when he says, “You’re not helping.” I reach out for him, but it’s too late. He turns, disappearing into the crowd.

There’s so much noise, but I don’t hear any of it. I can only hear the deafening silence surrounding my shattering heart. I start to cry. What I want to do is get up on a table and scream into the crowd, Don’t you know what I had to go through to get here? Don’t you know there are people in this very crowd thinking to themselves that they were right all along? That we were doomed from the start? But my voice is lost before my thoughts can form around the words. All I keep thinking is, How can this be happening?

ONE

I hang up the phone. I really don’t feel like getting ready to go to this party, but I already promised Leyla I would, so now I have no choice. She’s been dying to introduce me to some of her new UCLA friends. I get dressed in some jeans and a low-cut yellow top, my dark brown waves bouncing against my bare back as I run down the hall.

“I’ll be home late, Mom,” I yell over my shoulder as I rush out the door.

I make the fifteen-minute drive to Leyla’s, trying to work myself into the mood. Shouldn’t a single twenty-four-year-old want to go out on a Saturday night? Especially to UCLA, where there would be a prime crop of Persian boys.

Leyla comes running out before I’ve fully pulled up and jumps into the front seat, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“We’re going to have so much fun,” she says, beaming at me. “You’re going to love these girls.” I try to smile at her as we make our way over to the west side.

Once we arrive, Leyla grabs my hand and drags me around the room, introducing me to everyone she knows. Maya, the host, pushes two solo cups full of some fruity concoction into our hands. I can smell the sterile tang of vodka as it touches my lips, feel the familiar burn as it makes its way down my throat. After a few more sips, I begin to feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips, signaling the start of a warm buzz. I smile at the feel of it.

That’s when I see him. Out of the corner of my eye, his blue shirt catches my attention. I turn to get a better glimpse. He’s beautiful. He’s tall, with dark brown hair and a chiseled face. His hazel eyes are the warm color of honey, with flecks of green decorating his pupils.

I discreetly watch him as he makes his way around the room, engaging in one conversation after the next. I notice the gait of his walk, the way he subtly favors his left, the bounce in his step. I watch him run his fingers carelessly through his hair, hear his laugh bellowing from the bottom of his belly, watch the sparkle in his eye as he speaks.

Then, he suddenly turns as if he can feel the weight of my gaze. He looks at me, stalling for only a second, before he smiles. It’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

I can’t help but smile back, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before I have to look away. I can’t meet the intensity of his gaze, feeling a blush creeping up my neck. My heart begins to race, Leyla’s words becoming a blur I can’t keep up with.

I turn to look at him again, but he’s gone. I try to discreetly search for him in the crowd but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s almost like he’s disappeared and I wonder for a moment if I’ve just dreamed him up. The disappointment hits me like a wave, but I try to hide it, currently locked in a conversation with Leyla and a few other girls I don’t really know.

The music begins blaring as the DJ turns up the volume. The girls squeal and Leyla drags me toward the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room. I notice the discoloration of the wood where the furniture used to be sitting as I’m swallowed into the crowd of moving bodies.

I don’t see the handsome boy anywhere and begin to lose hope. Maybe he’s already left the party. The thought disappoints me further, but I brush it off. The night moves on and soon I’m carelessly whirling around to the beat of the song, enveloped in the blanket of my intoxication.

Suddenly, I feel the weight of someone’s gaze resting on my shoulders. I look up and find him across the room, staring at me. His head’s cocked to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face as he studies me. The room falls silent, the rush of blood through my ears the only thing I can hear. My nerves twist into a knot in the pit of my stomach.

Then, he smiles, that irresistible smile, and just like that, it all melts away. Before I know what I’m doing, I tilt my head, motioning for him to come join me. I’m relieved when he does. He doesn’t say a word, just begins to dance. He’s so close, I can feel his breath on my hair, the heat radiating off of his skin. I can hardly breathe.

This handsome stranger in front of me could be anyone. I don’t know his name, or who he is, but I do know that every time his arm brushes against my body, a surge of electricity runs up my side that nearly knocks me over. I’m mesmerized.

I don’t know how many songs we dance to before he asks me if I want to go outside. I can’t speak, just nod and follow, locked in his trance. My heart’s beating uncontrollably against my chest, making me dizzy. Leyla winks her approval at me as I pass her, but I barely notice. Outside, he finds a quiet spot under a tree and turns to face me.

“Hi, I’m Maziar,” he says.

ADVANCED READER COPY

“I’m Sara.”

“Nice to meet you, Sara,” he replies, pronouncing my name with the soft “A” sound like it should be. Although Sara is a traditional Iranian name, even my friends pronounce it the English way. It makes me smile.

He’s twenty-four, like myself, about to start his second year of law school. My first thought is, Mom is going to love that. He confirms my suspicions that he’s also Iranian, and for a brief second I feel a rush of pleasure course through me—he’s Persian and a lawyer. But before I can get too excited, I take a deep breath and ask the ever-dreaded question for a Persian girl, “What religion are you?”

To many people, this may seem like a strange thing to ask when you first meet someone. But to an Iranian girl, his answer will dictate whether I ever see him again.

He looks at me, head tilted, eyes crinkled in thought. He’s not sure if I’m serious. When I give no indication that I’m joking, he utters the words I so desperately don’t want him to say.

“I’m Jewish.”

Again, the wave of disappointment hits me like a ton of bricks. I put out my hand to shake his. “It was very nice meeting you,” I say, and get ready to walk away...

                          ONE

I hang up the phone. I really don’t feel like getting ready to go to this party, but I already promised Leyla I would, so now I have no choice. She’s been dying to introduce me to some of her new UCLA friends. I get dressed in some jeans and a low-cut yellow top, my dark brown waves bouncing against my bare back as I run down the hall.

“I’ll be home late, Mom,” I yell over my shoulder as I rush out the door.

I make the fifteen-minute drive to Leyla’s, trying to work myself into the mood. Shouldn’t a single twenty-four-year-old want to go out on a Saturday night? Especially to UCLA, where there would be a prime crop of Persian boys.

Leyla comes running out before I’ve fully pulled up and jumps into the front seat, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“We’re going to have so much fun,” she says, beaming at me. “You’re going to love these girls.” I try to smile at her as we make our way over to the west side.

Once we arrive, Leyla grabs my hand and drags me around the room, introducing me to everyone she knows. Maya, the host, pushes two solo cups full of some fruity concoction into our hands. I can smell the sterile tang of vodka as it touches my lips, feel the familiar burn as it makes its way down my throat. After a few more sips, I begin to feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips, signaling the start of a warm buzz. I smile at the feel of it.

That’s when I see him. Out of the corner of my eye, his blue shirt catches my attention. I turn to get a better glimpse. He’s beautiful. He’s tall, with dark brown hair and a chiseled face. His hazel eyes are the warm color of honey, with flecks of green decorating his pupils.

I discreetly watch him as he makes his way around the room, engaging in one conversation after the next. I notice the gait of his walk, the way he subtly favors his left, the bounce in his step. I watch him run his fingers carelessly through his hair, hear his laugh bellowing from the bottom of his belly, watch the sparkle in his eye as he speaks.

Then, he suddenly turns as if he can feel the weight of my gaze. He looks at me, stalling for only a second, before he smiles. It’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

I can’t help but smile back, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before I have to look away. I can’t meet the intensity of his gaze, feeling a blush creeping up my neck. My heart begins to race, Leyla’s words becoming a blur I can’t keep up with.

I turn to look at him again, but he’s gone. I try to discreetly search for him in the crowd but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s almost like he’s disappeared and I wonder for a moment if I’ve just dreamed him up. The disappointment hits me like a wave, but I try to hide it, currently locked in a conversation with Leyla and a few other girls I don’t really know.

The music begins blaring as the DJ turns up the volume. The girls squeal and Leyla drags me toward the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room. I notice the discoloration of the wood where the furniture used to be sitting as I’m swallowed into the crowd of moving bodies.

I don’t see the handsome boy anywhere and begin to lose hope. Maybe he’s already left the party. The thought disappoints me further, but I brush it off. The night moves on and soon I’m carelessly whirling around to the beat of the song, enveloped in the blanket of my intoxication.

Suddenly, I feel the weight of someone’s gaze resting on my shoulders. I look up and find him across the room, staring at me. His head’s cocked to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face as he studies me. The room falls silent, the rush of blood through my ears the only thing I can hear. My nerves twist into a knot in the pit of my stomach.

Then, he smiles, that irresistible smile, and just like that, it all melts away. Before I know what I’m doing, I tilt my head, motioning for him to come join me. I’m relieved when he does. He doesn’t say a word, just begins to dance. He’s so close, I can feel his breath on my hair, the heat radiating off of his skin. I can hardly breathe.

This handsome stranger in front of me could be anyone. I don’t know his name, or who he is, but I do know that every time his arm brushes against my body, a surge of electricity runs up my side that nearly knocks me over. I’m mesmerized.

I don’t know how many songs we dance to before he asks me if I want to go outside. I can’t speak, just nod and follow, locked in his trance. My heart’s beating uncontrollably against my chest, making me dizzy. Leyla winks her approval at me as I pass her, but I barely notice. Outside, he finds a quiet spot under a tree and turns to face me.

“Hi, I’m Maziar,” he says.

“I’m Sara.”

“Nice to meet you, Sara,” he replies, pronouncing my name with the soft “A” sound like it should be. Although Sara is a traditional Iranian name, even my friends pronounce it the English way. It makes me smile.

He’s twenty-four, like myself, about to start his second year of law school. My first thought is, Mom is going to love that. He confirms my suspicions that he’s also Iranian, and for a brief second I feel a rush of pleasure course through me—he’s Persian and a lawyer. But before I can get too excited, I take a deep breath and ask the ever-dreaded question for a Persian girl, “What religion are you?”

To many people, this may seem like a strange thing to ask when you first meet someone. But to an Iranian girl, his answer will dictate whether I ever see him again.

He looks at me, head tilted, eyes crinkled in thought. He’s not sure if I’m serious. When I give no indication that I’m joking, he utters the words I so desperately don’t want him to say.

“I’m Jewish.”

Again, the wave of disappointment hits me like a ton of bricks. I put out my hand to shake his. “It was very nice meeting you,” I say, and get ready to walk away...