by Holly Rayner
“Sheikh Rashid?”
“Yes?”
The door opened to show Abiah, who looked even tenser than last night, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Her hair was in a bun that seemed to be pulling her face right up to the crown of her head.
“We’re already late. You have to get ready, provide statements for the press, and greet your guests.” At my unimpressed silence, she stormed out. “I’ll wait outside.”
Despite her insistence, I took my time getting dressed. The lavish gold-and-blue bisht had been picked out by my father, and I wondered what he’d think now, if he knew the truth. That I was getting married to the most amazing woman possible, and that the ceremony was all a lie.
As I walked to the door to deal with Abiah, all I could hope was that this sense of wrongness, this sick twist in my stomach, would subside.
And yet, as the minutes dragged on, the feeling didn’t fade. As Abiah babbled about all there was to do, as we went through the motions, made the statements to the press about how happy I was to marrying my sweet, virgin bride, the sick twist swelled to a throbbing pain, until I could barely speak.
I wasn’t allowed to see Lacie, of course, although it was probably for the best. Seeing her would only make it worse, would only make the walls close in more, the air seem stuffier. One look at her and I’d know: this was completely, undeniably wrong.
Worse than wrong, this was a betrayal to us, to what we could be. I was sacrificing my relationship with her for my relationship to my family and my country. It was a lose-lose situation, and yet, I still felt like I was living out the worse of the two choices.
Abiah did, thankfully, allow me a few minutes to see my father. He was slumped on his bed, looking as if he might not make it to the ceremony at all.
“Father, are you all right?”
Even with his eyes closed, I could see the pain and exhaustion in them.
“Don’t worry about me; you have a wedding to go to. I’ll be all right.”
I sat beside him and took his hand. “Today, all the stress will be over. Today’s the day, Father.”
He coughed, a racking hack. More words of reassurance, more lies, rose and fell in my chest with each breath, but none would come out of my mouth.
“You don’t want to do it, do you?”
His scratchy voice surprised me, but when I glanced over, his face looked much as before—expressionless.
“No, Father, I don’t. But I must. For the family. And the country.”
Another series of coughs, although these sounded almost accusatory.
Once he was done, he shook his head, opened his eyes, and growled, “Don’t be a fool.” As I gaped at him, he continued. “No use ruining your life for some family legacy. That has been the Ahmed Qaranis’ legacy—living a true life, a good life—for the people, but also for themselves. Doing what is right.”
“But Father—”
“If you know that marrying this girl isn’t right, then don’t do it. Simple as that,” he said, looking sternly at me.
I released his hand as he closed his eyes once more, wanting to snap at him. It wasn’t as simple as that. Losing the crown meant losing everything my father had worked for—a good life for us, peace for Zayed-Kharan. It wasn’t simply a matter of following my heart.
Now, it was my father’s hand finding mine, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Your mother and I love you, no matter what you choose. Know that. Do what Aliya would’ve wanted for you. Do what you know is right.”
I ripped my hand free of his grasp.
In a shaking voice, I said, “I’ll see you at the wedding, Father.”
And then, I left, before my mind was weighed down by his words and their implications, an image of Aliya’s rosy face, laughing. Yes, if I let myself think over them for too long, I’d never make up my mind.
The ceremony started with the expected fanfare. This part, my parents had insisted be traditional, with the normal procession—the zaffe—down the street to the city hall. This zaffe was the biggest one I’ve ever seen, and I was in the middle of it, with the throngs of drummers, singers, dancers, and even fire-eaters flanking me, the crowds cheering on either side.
When we reached the towering, mosaic-covered structure where I was to be wed, a flock of white doves was released. And then, at the top of the aisle, I saw her. Lacie.
She looked gorgeous, like an angel that had descended from the heavens. I hardly recognized her, although I recognized the look on her face all too well. Wrong—that’s what it was. She felt it too, knew it, was going through with this for my sake. She walked up the aisle to me, alone. Her parents weren’t here, couldn’t be. This wedding was all for me.
As she walked, she passed a familiar sneering-faced man. Idris. His glare was focused so intently on her that, if looks could kill, she’d have collapsed the first second he laid eyes on her.
Yes, I had to go through with this wedding. I glanced at my father, his wan yet happy face, my mother’s teary-eyed one. My father’s words were of no consequence. What I wanted didn’t matter. I had to do this. When Lacie stopped in front of me, her shy face blushing, the justice of the peace began to speak.
“Today, we are gathered here to celebrate the union of Sheikh Rashid bin Ahmed Qarani and Lacie Wright. This is a symbolic union for our beautiful country, as it will also be the crowning of Sheikh Rashid as our head of state. All of Zayed-Kharan is celebrating with you.”
I caught Lacie’s eye. She looked terrified. I stepped forward and held up my hand.
“Sorry, I’m going to have to halt the proceedings.”
As Lacie looked at me, wide-eyed, as the whole room fell into a hush, I took her hand, closed my eyes, and the words came out.
“I love this woman; that much is true. But the rest—all of this—is not. This law of a virgin bride is not just antiquated and sexist, it is downright wrong. To judge someone’s merit based on an archaic concept sets up any couple for disaster. It left me with less than two weeks to find a suitable mate, and, you know what? Despite that, I did. I found Lacie.
“Lacie Wright, who’s beautiful, funny, charming, goodhearted, and utterly right for me. But not so right that I only need two weeks to develop a relationship with her worthy of marriage. No, to do so, to go through with this, would not be right—for her, or for me. More than that, she’s no longer a virgin—thanks to our love for each other. And, you want to know something else? I don’t care.
“I want to be a worthy leader for my country—it’s all I’ve ever wanted, to honor my country and be a man who deserves the responsibility. But I will not do it at Lacie’s expense. No, I would gladly sacrifice myself for my country, but I will not sacrifice the happiness of the woman I love. I cannot be a good, strong leader if I am an angry, bitter man. And, if I marry this woman when we are not ready, if I marry her when her parents can’t even be present, well, then I will never forgive myself.
“So, citizens, Father, Mother, supreme council—I apologize, but I will not retract my decision. This woman is worth more than that, worth more than your absurd laws and demands.”
Tears were streaming down Lacie’s face, but I wasn’t quite finished yet.
“So, Lacie. My question for you is not if you will have me as husband, but if you want to give this a try, a real try—not a fake marriage to adhere to an outdated law and please an unyielding supreme council. If you want to do this the right way, the real way, and give our relationship a real shot. The chance it deserves. If you want to be my girlfriend.”
Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and yet her “yes” was loud enough to reverberate through the building, and the crowd broke into raucous applause.
The only thing to do next was to kiss her, let my lips meet hers, express what they’d just said, in a different way. Her lips gave in to mine easily, and together, we fused into one happiness as the crowd roared and the rightness of the moments surged through my body.
We finally broke apart, smiling.
I took her hand, nodded to the council, Idris, and my parents, then strode down the aisle, head held high.
Finally, I felt absolutely sure that I had done something completely and entirely right.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Lacie
The entire room was glowing, the ceiling and walls glistening with hundreds of little lights. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be getting ready—and yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Lacie, your dress is waiting!”
I turned to see Kyla. Her reproving frown I only smiled back at.
“My dress can wait.”
She gave me a light poke in the side.
“Well, if you really want me to wear it instead…”
We laughed together as I made my way back down the hallway, towards our dressing room. Kyla was right; I only had an hour before everything got underway. There was no time to waste. Inside the dressing room, someone had left us cookies.
Kyla took one, grinned, then extended the plate to me. “Your mom is awesome.”
I grinned back. “She made an even bigger plate for graduation.”
Kyla’s red-brown brows arched. “What? And you didn’t invite me?”
I laughed. “You were too busy celebrating with your 37 relatives.”
Kyla gave a smile of acknowledgement. “Good point. Finishing that degree was definitely something worth celebrating, big time. Though, who would’ve thought I’d find my best friend in the final year of the course?”
I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. I’d met Kyla at college in Zayed-Kharan when I’d enrolled to do my final year of neurology there. We’d become instant friends, and our graduation had been two weeks ago, just in time for today’s celebration.
“I would’ve never expected it, either. This whole past year has been like a dream. A fairy tale.”
Stepping back with a smile, Kyla patted me. “And now, you get your fairy-tale wedding in New York.”
I nodded, although I couldn’t make her confident smile my own. “You really think I’m ready?”
Kyla took my hand, squeezed it, and looked straight into my eyes so that I could see just how serious she was.
“Lacie, I know you’re ready. I’ve seen you and Rashid together. You guys are two peas in a pod, I swear. Whenever you aren’t cracking up over something, you’re deep in some interesting conversation. When you’re with each other, you’re both lit up and glowing. You’re not just right for each other—you’re perfect.”
I hugged her again, overwhelmed with emotion.
“Thank you so much, Kyla. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably just invite that horrible woman you used to be friends with. What was her name?”
I rolled my eyes. “Nadia.”
She’d left me a few more furious voicemails over the last few months, about how Rashid and I were doomed, how I was kidding myself that I could get on without her. The latest ten-minute diatribe, Kyla and I had cackled over, with wine and chocolate.
“Anyway, let’s get you into this dress.”
First, I got out of my clothes. Then, gingerly, we maneuvered my body into the giant, ivory poof. As soon as Kyla had pulled up the back zipper to the top, a figure appeared at the door.
“Oh, Lacie.”
“Mom.”
She threw her arms around me, then, glancing down, jerked backwards.
“Your dress—it’s gorgeous! Oh, my darling!”
She hugged me again. I pressed her close, until her soft skin was against my cheek. Stepping back, she regarded me, my expertly-curled hair, my professionally made-up face, my lace dream of a gown, with tears in her eyes.
“I can’t tell you how happy this all makes me.”
“Oh, Mom.” I hugged her tighter. “This makes me so happy, too. All of this. You getting better. You and Dad being able to come. I’m so glad we waited. You were right.”
When we broke apart again, Mom was sent into a new fit of tears, which even a cookie couldn’t relieve. So, wiping her eyes, she fled from the room, saying, “I’m holding you up, anyway.”
Which wasn’t entirely wrong. Kyla and I checked the time to find that I only had about five minutes before the ceremony started.
Kyla was a flurry of action, grabbing her purse, throwing on her shoes, hurrying so much that she nearly sprinted out the door.
“Oh man, I gotta go! Good luck, girl, see you soon!”
And then she left, leaving me with the entirety of what was about to happen: walking down the aisle to get married to the love of my life. All I had time for was one last look in the mirror at the terrified goddess that was me, and then, I walked out.
My dad was waiting by the wooden doors. It was weird seeing him in a suit—I hadn’t seen him in one in years; he hadn’t even worn one for my graduation. The coiffed hair and close-cut beard didn’t even look like him. But those proud, light blue eyes brimming with tears were unmistakable.
“Lacie…this is…you are…” He held his arms out towards me for a hug. “My darling girl, this is the happiest day of my life.”
Still enwrapped in his arms, I patted his shoulder. “Me too, Dad, me too.”
Just then, the music started. Drawing apart, we exchanged a smile. I held onto his shoulder as he turned his wheelchair towards the aisle.
“Guess it’s time, then.”
“Guess it’s time.”
And then, we were off, and my gaze drifted from the walls and ceiling of lights and the beaming faces of my mom, Kyla, and Rashid’s family, to the only person that really mattered. Rashid.
He had never been more handsome—all clean-shaven and dressed to the nines in a navy, pinstriped suit that looked as if it had been made for him. My breath caught in my throat. The closer we got, the more everything around him blurred, the more the wedding march muffled. Until my dad had left and the minister was saying something.
“Thank you all for coming here today to celebrate Rashid and Lacie’s wedding.”
Rashid, with shining eyes, hand clasping mine so hard it felt like mine might fall off, turned to the crowd.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming and being here with us for this joyous event. We really appreciate your support and are so happy to have you.”
Then, it was my turn. “Dad and Mom, thanks for being here and for supporting me all these years. And thanks to Kyla being the perfect maid of honor and an incredible friend, too.”
The minister turned to Rashid. “Rashid, will you have Lacie to be your wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, keep her—in sickness and in health—and be faithful to her? Do you vow to do this?”
Rashid’s eyes were intense yet happy as he spoke. “I do.”
“Lacie, will you have Rashid to be your husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him, keep him—in sickness and in health—and be faithful to him? Do you vow to do this?"
“I do,” I said.
The older man smiled at both of us. “You may now make what promises you will to each other.”
Rashid was the first to speak, taking a moment to close his eyes and compose himself. When he opened them, they were fixed on me, fully.
“Lacie, I don’t know where to begin. To say that you surprised me would be the understatement of the century; to say that I love you would not do justice to the feeling I have every time I look at you. The first time I met you, I felt drawn to you. Drawn by merely duty, or so I thought. And yet, the more time I spent with you, the more I got to know the beautiful person that you are, the more I grew to realize that duty was the least of it.
“When I look at you, I see my partner, my confidant, my friend. I see a woman who challenges me, complements me, makes me a better man. A woman who makes me laugh and consoles me when I cry. A woman who I am honored to join hands with in ma
rriage. This last year, you’ve made me the happiest man ever, and I look forward to many years of happiness to come.”
His hands were grasping mine, his eyes looking at me adoringly. The crowd was in a hush, and it was my turn.
“My darling Rashid. My darling, wonderful man. I…I’ve rehearsed this about 17 times by now…” I turned to the crowd and froze up. This was too much; I couldn’t do this. But then, Rashid squeezed my hand, and more words came out.
“Yes, I rehearsed this 17 times because I was afraid. I told you that I’ve always hated public speaking, and this is no exception. But what I didn’t tell you, is just how little I fear when I’m with you, how you’ve helped me overcome the greatest of life’s challenges—all through your love.
“Yes, this, here, now. Even standing up to my enemies masquerading as my friends, going back to school, being in the water. Life used to terrify me, but now, it doesn’t. Not anymore. No, when your hand takes mine, with you by my side, I can do anything. Such a man as you, such a loving, tender, kind-hearted, good man, it will be my pleasure to call my husband. I love you more than words can say.”
The silence brought applause, the applause, more silence. And then, the officiant said, “Rashid, you may now kiss the bride.”
And when our lips touched, the room became electric—applause was everywhere, vibrating through the floors, through us, through our very veins. Our whole bodies were alive with love—not just ours, but everyone’s, our friends and families too.
Love was what flowed back and forth from my lips to his and back again, through our clasped hands, through the very walls of the tent.
When we separated, the party began. By the 12th course, I had lost track of all the delicious dishes we’d eaten, a mix of traditional foods from each of our home countries, plus some personal favorites. Rashid’s influence was obvious in the large bowls of mango sauce on the table (mostly untouched, except for me, of course).
He made sure to point out that, “There’s no salami either!”, a statement which caused me to burst out laughing, much to my parent’s confusion. The cake Rashid cut so poorly, that he and I were forced to finish a huge, towering slice, while our first dance we bungled so badly, we had to gesture at our family to join in and save us the total embarrassment.