A Family Affair

by Fern Michaels

  “Sounds like palace intrigue to me. I miss you, Trish. The girls and I can’t wait to see you again. Let’s get together the moment you get back.”

  “Okay. Guess it’s time to go to sleep. Did I tell you they use pure silk sheets here, and they get changed every day? It’s hard not to get used to some things.”

  Connie laughed as they said good night.

  Trish curled up and tried to settle herself. Was she in love? How could she not love the kind, considerate, handsome man who had held her in his arms twice? A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away, but then more tears flowed. In less than forty-eight hours, she would be on her way home.

  Since sleep was out of the question, Trish got up, put on a robe and slippers, and walked out to her own garden, where she sat down and smoked a cigarette. Then she smoked another, and still another, all the while crying and sniffling. She wished she had a strong drink, maybe two drinks. Anything to take away the pain she was feeling.

  Trish sat for a long time, the tears trickling down her cheeks. When she couldn’t stand sitting any longer, she got up and paced up and down the little paths until finally she thought maybe she could sleep.

  She didn’t see the many eyes that watched her, and she had no idea that the palace grapevine operated in the dead of night. Within minutes, Sheik Malik bin Al Mohammed was wakened and apprised that his guest was crying in the garden and smoking cigarettes. She had been doing so for hours, he was told.

  Alarmed at this strange news, Malik called in Rashid, then his sister, to demand an answer to his guest’s distress. Both Rashid and Soraya stared at Malik as if he had sprouted a second head, saying they had no clue as to what was wrong.

  Unsettled at being awakened in the middle of the night, Soraya fixed her gaze on her brother and opined, “Perhaps it is you, my brother, that has upset our guest.”

  “Me! Don’t be ridiculous. If that is the best you can come up with, go back to bed. Rashid?”

  Rashid shrugged. “Women are strange creatures. How many times have we discussed this? Too many to count. Maybe she was crying with happiness. It is possible. Women do cry when they are happy. Your sister herself told me this.”

  “And you believe my sister!” There was such outrage in Malik’s voice that Rashid cringed.

  Rashid shrugged. “There is a way to find out, Malik. You simply ask her in the morning, when you meet for breakfast. Of course, she might not like your asking, knowing that people are and have been spying on her. You don’t know a lot about women, do you?” Rashid said.

  “About as much as you do, obviously. Women cry. I understand that. I just don’t know the why of it. We have treated her like a princess. We showered her with gifts. We have seen to everything. What did we miss? Well? What did we miss?”

  “Look, this is just a wild guess on my part, Malik, but maybe it’s you. Maybe she expected you to . . . I don’t know . . . be more amorous, more like American men. She is an American, you know.”

  “What are you saying? I have too much respect for Trish to . . . to . . .”

  “Yes,” Rashid drawled.

  “You know what I’m saying. Do you really think she thinks I should . . .”

  “Like I’m suddenly an authority on women? I don’t know, Malik. Maybe she was expecting you to sweep her off her feet, declare undying love, like in American films. It is a possibility, and it’s the only one I can think of.”

  Malik sat down on the edge of his bed. “Rashid, I can’t kiss her, have sex with her, not that I don’t dream of that night and day, because I have to be true to my faith. Only if we are betrothed can I kiss her.”

  “Aha! You know that. I know that. But does Miss Holiday know that? Of course she doesn’t. She’s American. She thinks you aren’t interested in her in a romantic sense. See, Malik? Now it all makes sense. She thinks she isn’t good enough for you. Otherwise, you would have made a . . . What’s the saying? A move on her . . . by now.”

  “Is that possible, Rashid?” Malik asked, misery ringing in his voice.

  Flushed with this newfound knowledge of women, Rashid beamed and said, “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Therefore, it must be true.”

  “Then that makes me stupid, Rashid.”

  “Yes, my friend, it does.”

  “So, what do I do now?”

  Rashid threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to do? Draw you a diagram? Figure it out. I’m going back to bed. Remember this, though. You have only two more days. Actually, less than two days. Good night, Malik.”

  The moment the door closed behind Rashid, Malik got dressed and beelined to his cave, where he popped a bottle of Budweiser and sat down to contemplate his next move. All those years of study, all the academics, and here he sat, looking like a fool.

  He was a fool. He now had less than forty-eight hours to make a decision. Why had he thought that miraculously something would come to him to help him along? Was it his intention to wait till the eleventh hour to declare his intentions? How stupid was that? Where did that kind of thinking come from? Rashid was right: He knew less than nothing about women, and he had no one to ask. Just blunder along and hope for the best. Well, obviously, that wasn’t going to be good enough.... Correct that thought.... It wasn’t good enough for Trish Holiday.

  He loved her. Had loved her the minute he set eyes on her. Had been waiting for her to give him a sign, a clue, that she felt the same way. She’d told him that she loved his eyes, his smile, that she felt safe with him. Wasn’t the man supposed to make the first move? But they were of different faiths. How could he expect her to know or understand what he was thinking if he didn’t tell her? The playing field had to be level; only then did the game start.

  Not that any of this was a game, though in a way it was. He’d thought that by inviting her here, she’d know he cared about her. So, he screwed up there. He’d waited too long to tell her how he felt.

  Malik popped another Budweiser, then another and a third and a fourth. When he consumed the fifth bottle, he stopped. By the time he had the bottles lined up like soldiers, he had a good buzz on. And with the buzz came clarity of a sort. He looked at his watch: 4:55 a.m. He squared his shoulders, looked around for his baseball cap, and jammed it on his head. He left his cave and strode down the hall, then down another hall, around two corners, until he got to Trish’s suite. He didn’t bother knocking. Why should he? He owned the joint. He knew eyes were on him, but he didn’t care. He walked toward the bedroom, and here he did knock. He waited until he saw the light go on, then opened the door.

  Trish sat up in bed, a look of alarm on her face. “What’s wrong?” she managed to gasp.

  “Everything is wrong! I did everything wrong! I’m sorry! Will you marry me?”

  Will you marry me? Four of the most beautiful words Trish had ever heard in her life. She tried to make her tongue work. It refused. So she nodded and leapt out of bed and into Malik’s arms.

  “Since you said yes, I can kiss you now.” And he did, until they were both so light-headed, they had to hold on to one another to stay on their feet.

  Trish found her tongue. “What took you so long to ask me? I would have said yes on the first day.”

  “You would have?” Malik said in stunned surprise.

  “Uh-huh. Kiss me again. I liked it.”

  When they broke apart the second time, Trish said, “I thought there was something wrong with me, that I had bad breath, I smelled, that I wasn’t good enough for you. I thought a hundred different things. How many beers did you have?”

  “Five!” Malik said proudly. “I needed them for courage. I’m not supposed to be in here without a chaperone.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Everyone already knows, trust me. I’m going to leave you now. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  “Are you going to kiss me again?”

  Malik looked at the b
ed. “No!”

  Trish laughed. She waved good-bye and absolutely loved the silly grin she saw on Malik’s face. She wondered how she looked to the eyes that were watching her, not that she cared. When the door closed, she turned around and hopped up on her bed and did a jig among the tangled silk sheets. Oh my God, I am getting married!

  Chapter 6

  PROMPTLY AT FIVE MINUTES TO SEVEN, TRISH AND HER SHADOW made their way to the dining room, where Malik was waiting for her, a silly grin on his face. Trish knew her grin was just as silly. He held her chair, the silly grin still on his face.

  “I’m not sure I can eat. I didn’t go back to sleep. I couldn’t wait to get here this morning. I am sooo happy,” Trish babbled.

  It was all Malik could do not to sweep her up and run from the room. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do for this woman sitting across from him. First, he wanted to get up on his feet and shout to the palace that he was in love, but that would have been stupid. Everyone in the palace already knew.

  Instead of going back to bed, he had gone to Rashid’s room and woken him for a second time to inform him about what he had done.

  Rashid had grumbled good-naturedly but had got up and sat down on a settee alongside his old friend. “Now what?”

  “Now you plan my wedding, Rashid. I have things to do. Maybe Soraya will give you some advice. She loves telling people what to do. Don’t we have wedding planners here at the palace? You know, like that crazy movie we saw back in the States.”

  Rashid rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Let me make sure I have this right. You want me to plan your wedding. Me, who knows as much as you know about things like this. I have no idea if we have a wedding planner here at the palace. I’m thinking we don’t, or at some time or other, we probably would have heard about it. No member of the royalty has gotten married in this palace that I know of. Your sister, after all, kept rejecting all the prospective husbands your father presented to her. Anyway, I think women are supposed to do things like that. Soraya has nothing to do, so let her have a go at it.”

  “I trust you, Rashid. Find a wedding planner and work with him or her. I want my wedding to be perfect. Besides, when Trish goes back to the States, I am going to allow Soraya to go with her. It will just be long enough for Trish to do what she has to do before she moves here permanently. That just leaves you, Rashid. I know you’ll do a good job. Nothing tacky, now. But I want it a mix of our way and Trish’s way. A wedding to remember. Perhaps two ceremonies, one Muslim and one Christian. Check that out. I feel so much better now that I know our wedding is in your capable hands.”

  Those capable hands flew in the air. “I quit. Wedding planning is not in my job description, Malik.”

  Malik laughed. “You can’t quit. You are bound to me for life. We both know that. Two ceremonies, the private one and the palace one. Do a really good job and don’t bother me with details. I have a honeymoon to plan. Do it for me, Rashid. I promise to have Trish bring you back a planeload of White Castle burgers.”

  “You cannot bribe me, Malik.” Rashid’s tone belied his words and made it clear that he could be bribed that easily.

  “I just did. We both know you would cut off your arm for those burgers. Like me with the hot dogs, which take forty-eight hours to digest. I wouldn’t go back to sleep if I were you. You have a busy day, starting right now.”

  “I need a date, Malik! When do you want to get married? I could be wrong, but doesn’t the bride-to-be have some input here?”

  “The sooner the better, but at least a month from now. Trish will need two to three weeks back in the States. She is as anxious to get married as I am, so don’t worry about that. Soraya will need that much time, too. See how perfectly this is working out, Rashid? I’m killing two birds with one stone, and my sister and her incessant pestering will be done with. She will come back here joyfully and, I hope, a changed young woman.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. You’re a fool if you think so,” Rashid said sourly.

  “Carry on, Rashid. I have to meet my prospective bride for breakfast. By the way, my next project after getting married, palace business, and seeing to my sister is going to be finding you a wife. I think that’s your problem.”

  Rashid dropped his head in his hands and pretended to sulk as Malik left his suite of rooms. The moment the door closed behind him, Rashid’s clenched fist shot into the air.

  The palace buzzed and hummed as the two lovebirds finished their breakfast just as Soraya entered the dining room, late as usual. She eyed her brother, sparks shooting in his direction. “And I have to find out this wondrous news from a servant!”

  “I didn’t want to wake you, sister. Had you been on time for breakfast, you would have known sooner. Spending less time in front of a mirror would do it, Soraya.”

  Soraya ignored her brother. She bent over to hug her soon-to-be sister-in-law and murmured all the right words about how happy she was to welcome her into their lives. Trish hugged her back.

  “I have a surprise for you, Soraya. I am going to allow you to go to the States with Trish when she returns to settle her affairs. You will return with her. Let’s make sure we both understand that.”

  “Of course! Of course! Truly, I can go? Oh, you are the best brother in the whole world. No chaperones, though. Just Trish and me. I want to experience this all on my own. Say yes, Malik. Please, no chaperones, just Trish.”

  Malik looked at Trish, and she bobbed her head up and down. Since Malik could deny his bride-to-be nothing, he agreed.

  Soraya was off her chair in a nanosecond. She did her best to smother her brother with kisses and hugs. “Oh, I am too excited to eat. I must pack.” She was almost out of the dining room when she ran back. “Who is planning the wedding?”

  “Rashid.” Malik hated the sound of his sister’s laughter as she ran from the room.

  Trish burst out laughing. “Are you having second thoughts about your wedding planner?” Trish giggled.

  “Not one little bit. Well, perhaps a little. All right, a lot. But Rashid will not fail us. I think I can guarantee it will be a wedding to remember. Come. Let’s go to the garden. It’s been too long since I kissed you.”

  Trish needed no urging. She bolted from the chair and reached for Malik’s hand. She couldn’t wait to feel his lips on hers.

  Life certainly was wonderful.

  In between earth-shattering kisses, the ecstatic couple talked of what married life would be like, living in the palace, how many children they wanted, how they would be raised, and what Trish’s role would be until the children came along. Many more kisses later, Malik got down to what he called “the serious stuff.”

  The serious stuff turned into a one-way discussion of money, lots of money, way too much money for Trish to comprehend. “I spoke to my advisers early this morning to bring them up to date, not that they weren’t already up to date. I’ve spoken to them several times since my father’s passing, and they told me the only record they have of a marriage here in the palace was that of my father many years ago and how the situation was resolved with my mother’s parents. So, we must abide by that ruling.

  “On our wedding day, you will receive five million dollars. It will be deposited in banks in Switzerland or perhaps Liechtenstein. Possibly the Antilles. The account will be solely in your name. My advisers will hold meetings with you, and you will tell them how you want your money invested. That is my wedding gift to you. Then there is a rule in place that every year we stay married, on the anniversary of our wedding day, another five million dollars will be deposited into your account. In addition to that, for every child born of our union, five million more will be deposited.

  “No one will ever be able to touch that money but you. Also, you will have an account here at the palace, where you will have access to as much money as you need to use for whatever you want. We also have credit cards and accounts at all the souks. All you have to do is sign your name.”

  Tr
ish’s eyes popped wide. “No! I am not marrying you for your money. I can’t accept that. The palace account, yes, but nothing else, Malik.”

  “It’s not negotiable, Trish. It’s how it is done here. Are we going to fight?” he teased.

  “No, Malik, I have no wish to fight with you. Life is too short. I just want you to know that I am not marrying you for your wealth. I’d live in a tent in the desert with you if it came down to that. I never once thought . . . What in the world am I to do with all that money?”

  Malik nodded, as though he had known all along what she would say. “I need to speak of two more things. You won’t like hearing them, either, and I don’t like to speak of them myself, but it must be done. One, you must learn to speak Arabic. Not fluently, but enough so that you can greet and carry on a conversation of sorts with our people. And we ask, note I said ask, that you read the Koran. In turn, I will read your Bible. Will you agree to this?”

  Trish didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely.”

  “That brings me to the last thing on my list of things to discuss. In the event of my death, you will step into my sandals. Only a wife can do this, not my sister, and she fully understands this. If there are children, boys specifically, even if young, they wear the sandals, so to speak, with trusted advisers until they come of age.

  “In the event we divorce, you get to keep all your monies, but you must leave the kingdom and never return. There will be many papers for you to sign. I myself went through all this when I left for America. I signed until I thought my fingers would fall off. It is our way, and we can change nothing. We agree now, speak of it now, and then we never have to speak of it again.”

  Trish turned thoughtful. “Should we divorce, who gets the children, assuming we have children?”

  Malik knew this question would come up. “The children would stay here. You would have my promise that they would be tutored in both faiths. When they came of age, they could seek you out on their own. This is written in stone, Trish. I cannot change it even if I wanted to. In the event we have no children by the fifth year of our marriage, you will leave Dubai voluntarily. I will remain. And then, like my father, never marry again.”