by Leslie North
Melanie wrinkled her nose. “We haven’t settled anything yet, and I am not just marrying you because it’s your child. But…well, good luck with your dad.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and headed for her room.
Outside his father’s office, the security guards gave Ahmed brief nods. His father’s door stood open, and Ahmed stepped in. He saw no need to delay what was necessary, so he simply said, “Father, I am not marrying Nasiji. I am marrying the woman who carries my child.”
The sultan looked up from his paperwork and sat back in his chair. “Are you drunk this early in the day?”
Ahmed stepped in and shut the door behind him. “You told Khalid he had to choose his own wife. Why are you so determined to dictate who I’m to marry?”
“Yes, I told your oldest brother to find his own bride, and you see the mess his American reporter made of that.”
“What I saw were not two, but four people, whose lives would have been ruined if you had not agreed to their union.” Ahmed leaned his palms on his father’s desk. “I only wish to now follow in my brother’s footsteps.”
His father let out a long breath. “I will not allow a repeat of that embarrassment. You will not bring dishonor to our family. You will marry Nasiji Yafassa.”
“I don’t love her. I am in love with my American.”
“You’re what?” The sultan stood. He was a towering man, and Ahmed suddenly felt as he had as a child.
His father strode out from behind the desk. “I will not allow this.”
“You mistake me, Father. I am not asking your blessing. I am doing you the courtesy of telling you my plans.” His heart was beating in heavy thuds. He was aware of Nasiji and how she needed time to get to Jamul’s yacht. If he did not delay his father, the sultan was all too able to send guards down to the docks and might well have Nasiji brought back here by force. Jamul, of course, would be jailed and might even face a death sentence for treason.
Ahmed could not allow that.
He began a long explanation of the circumstances of how he had met Melanie and fallen in love with her. As he spoke, he realized all of it was true. He wanted to marry her not just because she carried his child. He had fallen in love with her from the very first—with her bright eyes and her sweetness and her love of food and life. She was what he needed. If any woman could give him the life he needed, it was her. He had spoken more truly than he had known. They fit together.
His father’s face darkened. The man’s jaw tightened, and he started to shake his head. He sliced a hand though the air suddenly and shouted, “Guards!”
The security men stepped into the room.
Ahmed stiffened. “Father, I am not ten and to be sent to my room. You wanted me to grow up—well, I have. I know what I want.”
His father stepped closer. “You know nothing. You have been warned time and time again to behave in a manner appropriate to your position, but you have chosen to ignore my pleas to the point of causing considerable embarrassment to the family. You will stop this foolishness over another woman and marry Nasiji. She is from a worthy family and will give you strong sons. Do you understand me?”
Ahmed swallowed hard. “What I understand is that I will never have your respect, will I? That is all I have wanted. But no, you must treat me as a child. You tell me to grow up, but what you really mean is that you want me to do as you wish. Well, I won’t.”
The sultan gave a low growl, then turned to the security guards. “See that the American catering staff is put on the next flight back to New York. Find Nasiji and bring her to me now.” He faced Ahmed again. “If you do not do as I tell you, you will never see anything outside these palace walls again. You will never leave here. You will never have a life. I vow this. And Nasiji will be whipped and sent back to her father in disgrace.”
Ahmed allowed his shoulders to slump. It was time for plan B, since the first plan had gone so poorly. “Very well, Father. I will fetch Nasiji and marry her. But we will do so now. In the garden. With my brothers there to witness. And then I am leaving the country for a good, long time. For I do not wish to see a father who would think so little of his son’s happiness.”
The sultan shook his head. “I do think of it, Ahmed. That is the trouble. And I think if you do not marry, you will waste your life in nothing but empty pleasure. Go. Fetch your bride. If I can only have you married at once, then it will be at once.” The sultan turned to the guards. “You will still see those American caterers leave the country.”
Palms sweaty, Ahmed hurried from the room. He had to reach Melanie before security headed to her room. He prayed she would not be difficult with this, that she would not protest. He feared this might be the only future for them.
He found Melanie standing by her open window. He stopped in the doorway, aware of her as he had not been before—how her skin seemed to glow, how her eyes warmed when she looked at him. She was the woman he truly wanted to marry. And not just because she was the mother of his child.
Stepping into the room, he locked the door and strode to where Nasiji’s case sat on the bed. “Melanie, this will not be the wedding you may wish, but I ask you—no, I beg you—will you put on Nasiji’s burka and be her and marry me in her place?”
Melanie’s eyes welled with tears. “You want me to be in a fake wedding?”
“No.” He took out the burka and walked to her side. “I want this to be a very real wedding between us. Khalid’s wife came to him in circumstances that were almost too much for my father. She is an American, too, and now Father is adamant there will never be a repeat of such a thing. I will not bother you with Father’s threats, but I also will not be without you. And I will not leave our child without a father. If this is what it takes to marry you, I will do what we must.”
Melanie glanced down at the burka. “What happens if I say no? Bad things? Will Nasiji be dragged back here to marry you?”
He could not lie to her. Not about this. “My father is sultan—he rules this country. His will is law. But once we are married, you and I can leave his power. Will you help me? Will you marry me?”
She looked up from the burka. The corner of her mouth lifted. “It’s not the most romantic proposal, but I guess it’s for a good cause. But don’t think this means I’m becoming your property—and…well, what’s happening to my staff?”
“They are being sent back to New York. I will have us on a flight there as soon as the wedding is done.” He stared at her, his chest tight. She took the burka from him.
He had to help her into it and help her with the veil. All too soon, she was covered, so that only her green eyes—so much more vibrant and vivid than Nasiji’s—shone out from behind the back veils. He gave her a nod. It was less than honorable that he must start his life with her with this deception, but he was determined that no matter what happened, he was going to keep Melanie and their child with him. They were going to be the center of his world.
He led her out of the room. Her hand was shaking. He squeezed her fingers and told her the words she must say, making her repeat them over and over so she would know the Arabic.
Leaning close to her, he whispered, “Courage, habibti.”
She squeezed his hand. “This had better not end up with both of us in a dungeon. I hate when fairy tales go that way.”
He gave a small laugh. “After we are married, a magic carpet will fly us away. I promise you that, habibti.”
From under the veil, she looked at him. “And just what does that mean.”
“It means my love.”
13
Melanie sucked in a breath. My love. Habibti. Of course. He said it so casually. Her heart gave a jerk, and she had to steady herself with a breath. Did he mean that? Or was he saying what she wanted to hear? Those stupid tears that seemed to be hovering close these days threatened to spill. She tried to blink them away, and then decided Nasiji might well be crying at her own wedding. And what man ever wanted to deal with a crying woman. She gave a sniff
le, and felt Ahmed stiffen next to her.
Great—the tears would help cover any mangling of the wedding vows she managed.
Oh, what was she thinking, getting married like this?
I’m thinking about giving the baby a father—and a future.
She swallowed hard. She was also thinking that it was more than wonderful to have Ahmed’s arm to lean on right now.
This whole thing had become a mess. The wedding was going to be a rush job; she wasn’t going to get the hundred thousand Jamul had promised her. At least she was helping Nasiji to get away with her guy—and this would let Ahmed get out of the country. She had a feeling the sultan was more than able to pen up any of his family in the palace. Or the palace dungeons, if such a thing existed. She shivered. When she got back to New York, it was going to be a long, long time before she stepped out of the country again. And she’d figure out then what she was going to do about Ahmed.
She could always file for a divorce.
They stepped into the garden to find Ahmed’s brothers waiting, along with the sultan and a man who had to be a cleric of some kind. He, at least, had a kindly face. Everyone else looked as grim as if this was a funeral.
Madam Zolest must be having fits that all her plans were being thrown away.
Ahmed and Nasiji had been meant to have a very modern wedding with touches of tradition, held in a huge tent with gold and brightly glowing chandeliers—Melanie had seen the drawings of it. Six hundred guests, round dining tables, silk-covered chairs, white with gold everywhere and henna adorning the bride and her attendants, while the groom wore a white suit and a white robe over that.
She glanced up at Ahmed. He at least looked calm and his eyes seemed clear. A band tightened around Melanie’s chest. She wanted this ceremony to be for real—for Ahmed to be marrying her for love.
Habibti he had called her. But was that just because of the child? Or because she was getting him out of a tight spot? Would he marry her and then walk away?
She put her shoulders back.
It didn’t matter if he did. He was here with her today—her child would have a dad of some kind. And everything else she’d worry about tomorrow.
Then she remembered she was supposed to be Nasiji and marrying a guy she didn’t love.
She slumped a little.
She knew there was supposed to be something called a zaffar—a wedding march with drums and flaming swords and music to announce the marriage was about to begin. It seemed that Ahmed’s brother, Khalid, had thought of this, for he had a boom box playing Arabian music, which stopped when she and Ahmed stood in front of the cleric. Nasiji should have been in a huge, white gown with hands painted in intricate henna designs. Melanie kept her own shaking hands hidden within the black burka. She must look like a crow. She also kept her head down and struggled to remember the Arabic Ahmed had taught her.
Qabul—I accept.
She was supposed to say it three times, and Ahmed had said he would nudge her when it was time to speak. Her mouth was dry at the thought of having to say anything. She was certain the sultan or one of Ahmed’s brothers was going to step forward, yank off her veil and denounce her as an imposter.
The cleric, or whoever he was, started to speak, but Ahmed interrupted. “This is my wedding. I will ask it be in English as well, for it is my intent to live in New York after this with my bride.”
The cleric—an older man with a long, graying beard—turned a worried look to the sultan. Ahmed met his father’s stare. The old man’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a nod and a wave of his hand. Melanie wanted to pull off the burka herself and run away into the night. Instead, she kept her head bowed, thought of the most miserable things she could and let the tears flow.
That at least had the sultan shifting on his feet and Ahmed’s brothers swapped uneasy stares, but the ceremony went on.
The ceremony was more about what the groom would give the bride. It was mostly a formality, but was meant to ensure the bride’s security. The most important thing was to sign the contract. The cleric or whoever he was gave a speech, droning on about honoring women. Nasiji’s father was supposed to be here. A table had been set out with the marriage contract. The sultan signed first on behalf of Nasiji’s father, then Ahmed signed. Melanie’s hands were shaking when she was supposed to sign and she scrawled her name. After she had, Ahmed’s brother, Zaid, shot a worried look at her and then at Ahmed.
The two swapped hard stares.
Suddenly, it all seemed to be over. Ahmed took her hand and pulled her with him. Now there was supposed to be a party and guests and food and drink and music. Instead, Ahmed would be running away with her.
She glanced back, saw Ahmed’s brothers shaking their heads and Ahmed’s father—for once, he looked like a worried old man. But he pushed back his shoulders, turned and walked away.
She glanced at Ahmed and muttered, “What now?”
14
Ahmed could not believe he had done it—he had married his sensual American.
In Sharjah, as in much of the Arab world, the wedding wasn’t just one rigid ceremony where the bride and groom stood for a few minutes and recited vows they were expected to memorize. The wedding usually started with the official announcement of the proposal, and then there were meant to be parties, similar to the bachelor parties he had been to in America and the bachelorette parties he had heard of. The ceremony was almost an overlooked technicality, an excuse for food and wine and gifts.
He’d just done away with all that.
But did Melanie believe she was his wife in truth—and in his heart?
He could not stop to find out. They needed to leave. He did not want his father to discover this trick. The sultan would be insulted and furious, and Ahmed did not want Melanie to face such a thing.
He pulled Melanie with him, up to her room. “Pack quickly,” he ordered.
She glanced at him. “What about you?”
He shook his head. “I have everything I need with me.”
Stepping into her room, she pulled off the black veil. “And a passport? Money for tickets? Or did you plan on taking the family plane or stealing it?”
He cursed. He had not thought of money. He was too accustomed to just taking whatever vehicle was close at hand. “You are right. We cannot take the sultan’s jet. It would be too easy for my father to turn it around again. Wait here.” She started to protest, but he slipped out of the room and made his way to his room.
He found his passport, slipped what jewelry he owned into his pocket—a ring, gold cufflinks, diamond and sapphire tie pins—and grabbed his wallet. He would leave all the credit cards, but he had the money from the investments he had made on his own. Trouble was, that money was in an American bank account, and he would not be able to access it until they got to New York.
Walking out of his room, he ran straight into Khalid and Zaid. Khalid put a hand on Ahmed’s shoulder. “What have you done?”
Ahmed brushed off his brother’s hand. “You mean to father’s plans?”
Zaid gave an exasperated sigh. “Ahmed, you need to fix this mistake.”
“There is nothing to fix. Melanie is not a mistake,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Khalid groaned and asked, “What happened to Nasiji?”
Glancing from Khalid to Zaid, Ahmed shook his head. “She is gone. She did not want to marry. Neither did I.”
“So you marry an American you barely know?” Khalid let out a breath. “This is worse than you kissing Congressman Ritchie’s daughter and mistaking her for a woman well over the age of eighteen.”
“It was a kiss. I didn’t rape the girl—and that congressman’s daughter knows more of the world than even I. But Nasiji and I agreed we would make each other unhappy. And Melanie—I will do everything I can to make her a good husband.”
“And when Father learns of this?” Zaid asked.
“We will be living in New York.” Ahmed glanced from one shocked face to the other.
&n
bsp; “What if Father has you kidnapped and brought home by force? Have you thought of that, Ahmed?” Zaid demanded.
Ahmed smiled. “He will not do so if he ever wishes to see the grandchild Melanie gives him—and me.”
Zaid sucked in a breath, and Khalid’s eyes widened. Khalid started to smile. “I must say you waste no time, brother. But please tell me you did not bed her when you were promised to another.”
“I met Melanie Martin in America—it was her catering company who was hired to work our business meeting.” Zaid gave a soft curse, and Ahmed laughed. “Curse all you want, brother, but I think it was fate. I used protection—but the child could not wait for us. Marrying Nasiji would be another mistake if I was to do so. The right thing is marry to my love, Melanie. She is the woman who has my heart and my affection and she is the mother of my child.”
Khalid again put a hand on Ahmed’s shoulder. “You are growing up, little brother. The child may save you as well. But for now, you are wise to put some distance between you and Father. Go. Zaid and I will do what we can to soften the news when it must come. But what of Nasiji? Is she really safe?”
With a shrug, Ahmed said, “She is with a man who seems to love her, and I would guess he is at risk more than she is. Now if you will excuse me, I have a bride who must be whisked from the country.”
Zaid reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “Take my SUV. Head to our uncle’s airport, but from there take a small plane to Cairo and then I would suggest a very fast and public jet to New York.”
Grabbing the keys, Ahmed nodded. “Thank you. We will not forget this.”
Khalid clapped his shoulder. “Go now. Zaid and I will pull Father into a discussion of politics. That will distract him, but he will be wanting you and your bride to appear at breakfast and for toasts to the future and I suggest you make certain you are in New York by then.”
Ahmed nodded. “That is a plan I am most happy to fall in with. Oh, and once Father learns I have married my American, please make sure you tell him that if he does anything to ever harm my child or the mother of my child, I will make very certain that I publicly come out in support of changing our government to a democratic one—and I will then put every effort behind his overthrow.”