“Regardless,” the Sheikh said. “The lawyer has done his homework. By the laws of Johaar, I cannot void a marriage if the husband expresses genuine remorse for his transgressions and vows to be faithful if he is given a second chance.”
“That’s the most ridiculous law I’ve ever heard,” Lora snapped. “It’s misogynistic, archaic, and downright illegal. You can’t force a woman to stay married to a man who’s cheated on her.”
The Sheikh put down his glass of lemon-water, and Lora watched the beads of moisture roll down the sides of the tall crystal glass. Why was it so humid here, she wondered. Wasn’t this a desert? A dry heat? Was that even relevant?
“There is a way out,” the Sheikh said slowly, and his green eyes flashed as he glanced at Lora and then at Damascus in her arms. “And your husband’s lawyer knows it.”
“What’s the way out?” Lora said, frowning at the way Amir had glanced at Damascus and her.
“Because I invoked Sheikh’s Privilege three years ago and stated that I disapproved of the marriage, I can invoke it again at this point.”
“What does that mean: Invoke it again?”
The Sheikh blinked. “It means that I can hold to the strict tradition of Sheikh’s Privilege, which makes me responsible for any woman in my kingdom whose husband has died or left her . . . or betrayed her. In fact, since I invoked the law three years ago, the strict form of the tradition states that I must follow through. And your husband’s lawyer has made it quite clear he knows that.”
“What does that mean?” Lora said again, but she could barely say the words.
“You know what it means,” Amir said quietly. “It means that if I choose to follow the strictest interpretation of Sheikh's Privilege, I must take you as my wife. And that act will overrule the right Mark has to be given a second chance.”
Lora felt the pillars of the gazebo closing in on her, and she held Damascus tight against her body so she wouldn’t drop him if she passed out. She’d read about the tradition; she knew what it had meant in the old days. But to hear Amir say it in plain English, sitting next to her . . . and after what had happened last night . . . oh, God, what if . . .
“But why?” she asked, refusing to let the madness of what he’d said take over. “Why would Mark go through all of this? How does he expect to get anything from you? The way I understand it, you can end the marriage if you . . . I mean if we . . . um . . . get married.” Lora touched her hair and swallowed. “But then Mark doesn’t have any leverage. We could even fake a marriage if we had to. So why would he even—”
Amir shook his head, glancing at Damascus and then back at her. “Mark does have leverage, Lora. His son is the leverage.”
“No,” said Lora, shaking her head wildly and pulling Damascus closer. “What do you mean?”
“According to Johaari law, even the Sheikh cannot take a man’s son from him,” Amir said softly. “Which means that even if the two of us marry, Mark can choose custody of Damascus.” He smiled. “But by marrying you and invoking Sheikh’s Privilege, I am still responsible for your son, even if Mark has custody. Which means that Mark will receive monthly payments from me for the next two decades, until Damascus is twenty-one. In effect, I will pay him millions of dollars in child support if he gets custody.”
“That son of a bitch,” Lora whispered, shaking her head as she processed Mark’s scheme. “He’s going to use his own son as a hostage! No way. There’s no way.” But the chill that had started at the base of her spine was now taking over her body, making her shiver with both fear and rage as she thought through the game Mark and his lawyer were playing.
“As you may have worked out by now,” said the Sheikh after a pause. “Mark has made me an offer. I can choose to invoke Sheikh’s Privilege, marry you, and write him a check for twenty-one million dollars for custody of Damascus. Or—like you said—I can walk away from the tradition, waving it off as an outdated law. Which means, of course, that I cannot void your marriage, and you would be at the mercy of U.S. law.”
Lora blinked hard, her jaw tightening. She’d never even considered having to fight Mark for custody of Damascus. American law when it came to custody was very much in favor of the mother, and it certainly wouldn’t matter if she was officially married to Mark or not in the eyes of a U.S. family court. Still, something about the situation bothered her—and not just the thought of Mark using his own son in some hare-brained scheme to extract cash from an Arabian billionaire.
“Why did you say it that way? At the mercy of U.S. law?” Lora asked, her frown deepening to where she was sure she’d have new lines on her forehead by the end of the day.
Amir blinked, his handsome face showing a frown of his own. “You did not speak with your husband or his lawyer about this?”
“About what? I mean, I got an email from the lawyer about how the marriage was technically a Johaari affair and not covered by U.S. law and so would need to be ended according to Johaari law. But there was nothing about . . . about . . .” She hugged Damascus and shook her head. “That bastard. That unbelievable, sick, twisted bastard!”
“On that I will agree,” said the Sheikh, reaching for his phone and tapping on it. “And clearly you either did not get the second email or else it was sent only to me. Why, I do not know. Here. Take a look.”
Lora grabbed the phone and read the email. She read it again, and it was all she could do to not hurl the Sheikh’s gold-plated iPhone into one of the four fountains surrounding the gazebo.
“He’s saying that if I tried to fight him in U.S. family court, he’d present photographs of the two of us kissing: three years ago as well as . . . yesterday! His lawyer will argue that I’m a cheater as much as he is, and so that can’t be an argument to award custody of Damascus to me. Then he’s going to say that my job at the university has been phased out, and my degree in library science is mostly worthless in today’s world.” She gulped as she read the last paragraph again. “Finally, they’d argue that I’m unhinged and impulsive, and use this trip to Johaar as proof that I don’t care how I spend money, and I’m selfish and think of nothing but my own gratification! Oh, God, I’m going to kill him. Ohmygod, I want to kill him!”
Lora handed the phone back to the Sheikh, her hands trembling, her head spinning. She was so angry she couldn’t even see straight. But more than that, she felt like a fool. Some of what Mark’s lawyer had said was right, wasn’t it? At least it would play that way in family court. Sure, chances were she’d still win custody; but she’d need a damn good lawyer. And good lawyers cost good money. And she’d spent a good chunk of that severance payment on this “impulsive” and “selfish” trip.
“Why would Mark send all that to you and not to me?” Lora said, her voice unsteady as she tried to get inside her twisted husband’s head. Or his twisted lawyer’s head, rather.
“Because he is making his case to me, not you. He is negotiating with me, not you.”
“It’s my marriage. And it’s my son! What do you mean he’s negotiating with you and not me?! That’s beyond insulting!”
“Perhaps that is part of their game. To work you up, get you turned around, furious.”
“Furious enough to take these emails to an American courtroom and get Mark locked up and his lawyer disbarred for goddamn attempted child abuse! Or something!” Lora shook her head. She was so furious she was having trouble breathing. For a moment she was certain that if she could push a button and Mark would drop dead, she’d do it. Hell yes, she’d do it!
She took several deep breaths and considered her options. Yes, the emails would count against Mark in court. Certainly the email about Damascus and how they would make the case against her in family court. A judge would see that and immediately award custody to her, wouldn’t they? Why would Mark’s lawyer put all that in writing and hand over a smoking gun in evidence?
She glanced at the Sheikh, and when she lo
oked into his eyes she understood. Mark hadn’t sent her the email about custody—he’d sent it to the Sheikh. He was indeed negotiating with the Sheikh, not her. And if she wanted that email, she’d have to get it from the Sheikh.
“Forward me that email,” she said firmly, even though she was a mess inside. “Forward me that email, and I’m going to get a lawyer and destroy Mark in family court.”
“It will be complicated,” Amir said thoughtfully. “American law does recognize marriages that occur in other countries. And so if you and Mark are still married, the custody issue will be complicated. Chances are the best you can do would be joint custody. Unless the divorce or annulment is completed according to Johaari law.”
Lora took a breath and shook her head. “Joint custody isn’t an option. Mark isn’t coming near Damascus again. Not so long as I’m alive. And even if I’m dead, for that matter. I will haunt that man for eternity if I have to.”
The Sheikh laughed, and so did Damascus, who’d been watching Amir with his big brown eyes ever since Lora had brought the two of them together. Does he think Amir is his father, Lora wondered for a moment. Oh, God, wouldn’t that be . . .
But she killed the thought before it completed itself, and she steadied her breathing and looked right at Amir. “All right,” she said. “So Mark has asked you to pay twenty-one million dollars for him to walk away from me and Damascus.” She touched her hair and looked away. “Which, of course, is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” said Amir, an easy smile breaking on his dark red lips, those same lips that had . . . oh, God, stop!
“Of course it is! Twenty-one million dollars! Are you insane?”
Amir shrugged. “I could pay it. I would barely notice.” He waited a moment, his eyes moving from her to Damascus and then back to her. “But then what?” he said softly.
“Then what?” Lora said, not able to hold the eye contact with him. What was he saying?
The Sheikh shifted in his seat, stretching his arms out wide, leaning his head back and gazing up through the patterned roof of the gazebo. The sky was a startling blue, cloudless and pure like an ocean without a ripple. “Your husband has put us in an interesting position. On the one hand I could follow through on my impulsive decision three years ago to invoke Sheikh’s Privilege. In that case I am bound to you and your son by the tradition, and your husband will make me pay . . .” He paused and blinked. “Pay for the privilege.”
The Sheikh’s tone barely changed as he said the words, and a sickness rose up in Lora’s throat as she listened. Oh, God, she was a whore, wasn’t she? She’d flown here, child in arms, to be rescued by some wealthy dude who’d shown an interest in her three years ago, hadn’t she?! Could she be any more shallow? Was she chasing a fairytale or a payout? Was she a wide-eyed innocent or a devious harlot?
Maybe I’m both, she thought as she listened to the Sheikh go on. But she felt calm now, because she already knew what she’d do. The only logical thing. The only decent thing.
“The other option your husband offers,” Amir said, “is for me to walk away from all of this, in which case you will stay legally married to him in the eyes of U.S. law, which could make things complicated in a custody battle. At the very least, it will cost you significant legal fees, and the end result will still very likely be joint custody. Your husband and his lawyer are, of course, betting on the fact that I will not choose that option. That I will not walk away. That I cannot walk away.” He paused, his green eyes shining in the golden sunlight streaming through the slats in the old teakwood gazebo. “And he is betting correctly.”
Lora’s heart skipped a beat as he said the words, but she swallowed hard and steeled her resolve. Slowly she shook her head, her lips trembling as she tried to speak, her knees shaking as she tried to stand. “No,” she said softly as she rose, Damascus in her arms. “Coming here was a mistake. All of this was a mistake. There is a third option, Amir. And I’m choosing that third option. I’m taking my son and I’m leaving. To hell with Mark, and to hell with all of this madness. I’m going to make the bet that when Mark sees I’m not going to give in to his blackmail and I’m not going to give up my son, he’ll back off. There’s no way he gives a damn about actually raising a child. I can’t let you pay him off. I could never live with myself. I’m not a whore, Amir.” She took a breath and glanced at him, doing her best to ignore what she saw in his eyes, what she’d felt in his kiss, what she’d sensed in his touch. “But I’m not a Disney princess either. Goodbye, Amir. I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I’m sorry I ever came here. Three years ago, and three days ago. Goodbye.”
18
“You did what?!” Carmen said, her voice rising to a pitch Lora hadn’t heard since they were doing karaoke in their twenties. “Oh, God, you are such a stupid cow!”
“Excuse me?” Lora said. “What did you just call me?”
“You heard me. You are clueless, self-delusional, and just plain stupid.” Carmen said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes so hard Lora thought they might pop right off her face. “As Damascus’s godmother, I should sue for custody on the grounds that you’re too stupid to live.”
“I’d ask you to explain, but I really don’t give a shit what you think, Carmen. Anyway, I’ve changed my flight. Damascus and I are leaving tonight. You can come with us or stay until the end of the week. The hotel suite is already paid for.”
Carmen sat down hard on the couch, still shaking her head. “Look at you. All hot and bothered. Full of self-righteous anger.”
Lora stayed quiet, furiously packing her things, not bothering to even fold her clothes. She paused when she touched that dumpy green dress. It hadn’t been washed since the previous night, and she swore she could smell the Sheikh’s deep, masculine musk on it. She blinked as she touched the cloth, and then she pushed the dress aside and zipped up her suitcase. She didn’t need a reminder of what had happened last night. It was done. It meant nothing. She was going through a divorce and she had a one-night stand. It was fine. It happened. It was done, and now it was part of her past.
“You won’t admit it, will you,” Carmen said, her tone finally softening as she watched Lora pack Damascus’s baby things.
“Admit what, Carmen? That I was stupid to come here in the first place? Of course it was stupid! It was stupid three years ago, and it was downright delusional three days ago! God, I don’t know what I was thinking, following some fairytale notion that . . . that . . .” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“No, sweetie. All of that is fine. That’s who you are. In a way, that’s who all of us are: Every woman who’s ever been in love. We’re all part whore, part princess. We’re all torn between the need to provide for our children and the desire to have that exciting, romantic fairytale. That’s what’s ripping you apart right now, hon. You haven’t accepted that you can be both. That you should be both!”
“I’m not in love,” Lora said, shaking her head as she closed Damascus’s bag and took a breath. “And clearly I’ve never been in love. You know what? I’m not listening to this. Now, our plane leaves in two hours. If you’re coming, you need to change your ticket and get packed.”
“And you know what?” Carmen said, stretching out on the couch and sighing. “I think I’ll stay out the week. I don’t think I can handle fifteen hours on a plane with you. I might say things we’ll both regret.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Lora muttered as she picked up the hotel phone to call for a car to the airport. “Enjoy the desert.”
19
“Are you enjoying the desert?” the Sheikh asked, glancing at the slender, tall woman who stood before him in the day-chambers of the Royal Palace of Johaar.
Amir knew who she was, of course. He’d noticed her three years ago standing by Lora’s side during that fateful tour of the Royal Palace, the day his father died, the day one impulsive kiss led them all down a
path that was leading to . . . ya Allah, where was it leading? Lora was on a plane back to the United States, and her best friend was standing here before him, wearing all khaki like she was going on a jungle safari.
“Oh, the outfit?” Carmen said. “I just got this.”
“Very nice,” said the Sheikh, smiling gently when he saw that she had every button fastened. This meeting was clearly about Lora, and immediately he knew he could trust this woman—at least when it came to matters of her best friend. “What can I do for you, Miss Carmen.”
Carmen shook her head and returned the smile. “This is more about what I can do for you,” she said, her voice steady even though the Sheikh could see she was slightly nervous.
Amir stiffened at the statement. Was this woman going to set her own price for delivering Lora to him? Was his first instinct to trust Carmen unfounded? Perhaps all his instincts were wrong. After all, Lora was gone, even after that incredible encounter with her. Had she felt nothing? Had it meant nothing? Ya Allah, perhaps he should just marry Marissa and get it over with! After all, Marissa was right in that it would be a political coup: East meet West. Or Middle East meets Eastern Europe. Or something like that. Either way, it would raise the profile of Johaar and encourage tourism and foreign investment in a way that might have made his father proud.
But then he remembered his father’s words about life outside of politics: “Perhaps you need to find a woman who will make you want no one else,” the old man had said.
So Amir held his tongue and listened to what Carmen had to say.
“She’s all turned around. Messed up,” Carmen said. “This thing with Mark, the baby, whatever happened with the two of you in the hotel the other night . . . she’s so turned around she doesn’t know which way is up. On the one hand she feels like she’s a whore for even coming here. On the other hand she’s still holding on to a little girl’s dream of being a princess, of marrying a prince and living happily ever after.”
Privilege for the Sheikh Page 10