by Leslie North
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to take this. Just a minute, and we’ll—”
She hissed through her teeth, a sharp intake of breath. Chadil picked up his phone, one finger held up to indicate Raina should wait. She looked at it and rolled her eyes.
“Nice to know where I stand, I guess.” Her robe swirled about her as she turned to shut him out. “I can’t win, can I? In a contest between my feelings and what everyone thinks, I’ll always lose out.”
“Just a second.” Chadil held his hand over the phone, too late. Raina slammed the doors in his face. The lock shot home with a clunk, leaving him alone on the patio. He wanted to call after her, wanted desperately to smooth things over, but time was running out. He raised his phone to his ear with a sigh.
11
Raina was nervous, so nervous she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat. The Old City Book Club sounded innocuous enough, a pack of old ladies discussing light reads over finger sandwiches, but these were the gatekeepers of Al-Mifadhir society. Wow them, and they’d take her side against the press. Put her foot in her mouth, and who knew what they’d say?
“They’ll love you,” said Chadil. He’d been attentive since their fight, going so far as to mute his phone in her presence. All couples fought and made up, right? And she had to admit it was nice of him, coaching her through this. He could as easily have sent her etiquette coach, or maybe his sister.
“Now.” His expression turned wicked as he slid a plate of almond cakes across the table. “I’m the British ambassador’s wife, offering you a cake. But you just saw a fly land on it. How do you decline?”
Raina stared at the cakes, feeling queasy. “I...”
“Go on, dear. We’ve saved one just for you.”
She covered her mouth, suppressing laughter. “Don’t do the old lady voice.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” Chadil’s voice rose an octave, trilling like a sparrow. He pinched her on the arm. “Come on, let us fatten you up.”
“You’re the devil.” She reached for a cake and transferred it to her own plate. “I take the cake, maybe nibble the non-fly side. Never tell ’em no.”
“Not till you’ve won them over, anyway.” Chadil nodded his approval. “And if they ask about the exposé?”
“I stick to my heartbreak over Dad’s health, how it’s got to be hitting him, seeing that in the press.”
“And?”
Raina’s eyes prickled. Chadil had turned away, clearly as uncomfortable with the subject as she was. “I don’t mention money, no matter what. I don’t know anything about that. My parents kept it from me. They wanted me to feel safe growing up. Like I could do anything I wanted. They—whatever mistakes they made, they did it all for me.”
“I’m sorry.” Chadil took her hands and held them tight. “I wish I could be there to take the brunt of it.”
“You just want the chance to use your granny voice.” Raina managed a watery smile. “Seriously, thanks. I’ll do you proud.”
“I know you will.” He kissed her forehead, soft and sweet, then ducked down to steal one on the lips. He pulled back too quickly. “Fiona will be with you. She’s an old pro with the book club. She’ll do her best to keep the conversation light. But if things do take a turn...”
“I’ll remember what it’s for.” She sat up a little straighter. She wanted to make a good impression, not just for appearances’ sake, but for Chadil’s. She’d been quick to anger when the press storm hit, and she wanted to make amends. Not only that, but she had felt something that night, and she was sure he had too. Somewhere between her arrival in Al-Mifadhir and the kiss that still lingered on her lips, their courtship had begun to feel real, complete with lovers’ squabbles.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to marry Chadil, but the idea made her heart race. He made her heart race, and he made her laugh. He believed in her, and that lifted her spirits.
She wanted to give this a chance.
Fiona kept her arm linked with Raina’s as security guided them up the steps. The paparazzi had shown up in droves, crowding them as they emerged from the car. Raina ignored their baying, focusing on her mission. She was here to show the ladies she belonged. Going nine rounds with the press would prove the opposite.
“You’re doing great,” said Fiona, stepping back to let Raina slip in first. “We’re just up through the arch.”
Raina nodded stiffly. She could see them already, the crème-de-la-crème of Al-Mifadhir society. They reminded her of butterflies, tiny and lively, all effortless grace. The table was just as impressive, laid with an array of treats for every palate. She swallowed hard, heart fluttering in her throat, but they’d already been spotted. A lady about Zenab’s age beckoned them over.
“Fiona! And you must be Raina. Sit, sit.” She shifted back to let them pass. “We’re just getting started. You haven’t missed a thing.”
Raina sank down, weak-kneed. Her nerves had combined with the heat to leave her lightheaded, and it was a relief to get off her feet.
“Are you all right, dear? You look a little pale.”
“I—I’ve been saving my appetite,” she managed. “Low blood sugar, y’know? But Zenab’s praised you all to the skies. I’m so happy to be here.”
“Oh, how is Zenab?” A white-haired woman leaned forward, clutching her teacup in both hands. “I was sure she’d be with you today.”
“She’s, ah—” Raina hesitated. She and Chadil hadn’t discussed Zenab’s health, how open she should be. She fumbled for a noncommittal response, but a new voice came to her rescue, a severe-looking woman in traditional attire. Raina closed her eyes for a moment, putting a name to the face—Leila Nasri, former Minister of Education.
“She’s tired from her travels,” said Leila. “Otherwise, I can’t imagine her passing up the chance to present such a charming young lady.” She turned to Raina, and her eyes were warm and kind. “She was afraid, going to America. Afraid she’d left it too late or she wouldn’t find what she was looking for. But your companionship has meant the world to her.”
Raina beamed at that. “You know, I felt the same coming here. But Zenab was so welcoming, I thought if everyone in Al-Mifadhir is like her, this is where I want to be.”
“Well, there aren’t too many like her. Not anywhere in the world.” Leila looked sad for a moment, but she smiled as she took Raina’s hand. “I hope you do feel at home. We’re delighted to have you.”
“I do,” Raina said, and she meant it. She’d been dreading this afternoon, picturing herself ducking a barrage of pointed questions, but when she looked around the table, all she saw were friendly faces.
“I remember your grandmother,” said the white-haired lady. She turned to Leila. “Did you ever meet her? Yara Mousa?”
“If I did, I was very young at the time.”
“Oh, she was wonderful.” She chuckled, as though at some amusing memory. “She was that friend you could count on if you’d fallen for a cad or you’d picked out a horrible dress. She’d tell you straight out, no beating around the bush.”
“Really?” Raina leaned forward, fascinated. She didn’t remember her grandparents—she’d maybe met them once—but her grandmother sounded like a woman after her own heart. “I’m like that too,” she said. “I mean, I try not to be rude, but I do blurt stuff out.”
“That’s a virtue,” said Leila. “People will tell you it’s a flaw, men in particular, but the truth is like gold. It always has value, and it doesn’t lose its shine. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you. I won’t.” Raina felt a weight shift off her shoulders. The others were nodding, murmuring their agreement. They seemed real in a way the court ladies hadn’t, relaxed and quick to laugh. They didn’t stoop to gossip, and that made her like them more.
The conversation drifted after that, from politics to fashion to some man they’d all seen at the opera, and they couldn’t quite settle on who he was. Raina chimed in when she had something to add
, but mostly she just listened, enjoying her glimpse into Al-Mifadhir society. Nobody mentioned the book they’d all brought along, but Raina had always suspected that about book clubs—they were mostly an excuse to get together. She found herself hoping she’d be asked back, disappointed when it came time to go.
“You were perfect,” said Fiona, as they headed for the stairs. “Not that I doubted you for a minute. The way you are with Zenab, I knew you’d be a hit.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” She laughed, her nerves returning as the press crowded in. “I loved them too. Especially—”
“Raina!” A microphone bumped her shoulder as she stepped through the doors. Security batted it aside, but another took its place. Raina reeled back, the heat and the floodlights hitting her all at once. Her stomach turned over as a cold sweat trickled down her back.
“Just keep walking,” said Fiona, but her legs had turned to lead. Specks danced across her vision, and she thought she might faint.
“Pretend they’re not there. That helps me.”
Raina tried, but they were there, pressing in from all sides. Sucking the oxygen out of the air. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. A low whimper escaped her throat. Even imagining them as noses didn’t help.
“Raina. Is it true your father gambles?”
Anger bubbled up, more dizzying than panic. Raina’s face went hot. She bit her lip and started forward, focusing on the car. Ten steps to quiet, and a cool breeze on her brow. Ten steps and she’d be safe. One foot in front of the other—
“Is that why you’re here today, instead of out with the prince? Is it true he’s lost interest, now that he’s learned about your career as a waitress?”
“Ignore them,” said Fiona. Raina ground her teeth. It hurt to hold back, a knot in her stomach and a lump in her throat, burning tension in her jaw. She smacked a boom out of her way and made a dash for the car, not caring how she looked.
“Wait! Did your father really spend your college fund?”
Raina stopped in her tracks, her fury turning cold. Dad stealing her college fund? Everything he’d endured, every failure, every disappointment, he’d done with a view to building her future. He’d never have stolen from her, not in a million years. She clenched her fists at her sides.
“You can’t be serious.”
Fiona tugged at her elbow, but Raina pulled away. She snatched a microphone and held it out in front of her, the flimsiest of barricades against the crowd.
“First of all, Prince Chadil has treated me with nothing but respect. I don’t know if our courtship will end in marriage, but it’s not a joke to me. This, though, all of you—” She flung out her arms, gesturing at the crowd. “You’re not helping. We’re supposed to be happy, maybe falling in love, but we had our first fight over you. As for my father—”
Fiona said something, but Raina’s ears were ringing. She tightened her grip on the microphone.
“As for my father, he never spent my college fund. I never had one to begin with. I worked. I won scholarships. I didn’t need a handout then, and I don’t need one now. So if you think I’m some gold digger, you can—”
“No.” Fiona snatched the microphone and tossed it away. She pulled Raina to her side, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Please don’t. Come with me.”
Raina’s head spun as the fight went out of her. She half collapsed into the car, grinding her palms into her eyes to keep from passing out. She felt like she’d just run a marathon, hot and out of breath.
“It’s okay,” said Fiona. “Have some water.”
She flinched as something cold brushed her arm. “What?”
“Water.” Fiona opened the bottle and pressed it into her hand. “It’ll help you calm down.”
Raina took a sip. The baying of the press faded behind them as the car picked up speed. The whole scene was starting to feel like a bad dream, but the churning in her stomach told her it wasn’t. Her own words echoed in her head, just fragments, but enough to set her teeth on edge. Had she really confessed to her fight with Chadil? She held the bottle to her head, shivering at the chill.
“How—how bad was it?”
Fiona shifted in her seat. “It wasn’t good.”
“Chadil’s going to kill me.”
“No, he isn’t.” She patted Raina’s arm. “I know Chadil. He’ll disappear for a while, just him and his laptop, and when he comes back, it’ll be like nothing happened.”
Raina closed her eyes, feeling sick. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, Chadil tearing her a new one or watching him sweep it all under the rug, but she guessed she was about to find out. She slumped against the door, deflated, and the rest of the drive passed in silence.
It was funny, she reflected, how the same place could feel welcoming one day and brooding the next. The palace walls towered over her as she got out of the car. Its shadow chilled her to the bone. Chadil was nowhere to be seen, but his secretary was waiting just inside. He made a beeline for Raina as she approached.
“His Royal Highness is waiting in his office. Shall I escort you, or can you find your way?”
“I know where it is.” She swallowed back bile. Chadil always came to her when he had something to say. Sending someone else—she didn’t know him well enough to guess what that meant, but it felt like a rebuke. Like she’d offended him so deeply she didn’t deserve the effort. Or she’d made such a mess he couldn’t spare a moment. She felt smaller, somehow, younger, like a kid called to the principal’s office.
Chadil’s response to her knock wasn’t much comfort, a curt, “Come.”
She froze where she stood. It might be better to turn back, give him time to cool off. Later on, maybe tomorrow—
“I said, come in.”
Her hand, slick with sweat, slipped on the doorknob. She tried again, and the door swung open. Chadil didn’t get up, just clenched his fists on his blotter.
“Care to explain?”
Raina licked her lips. Her mouth felt too wet, like she might throw up. Chadil sighed.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “All you had to do was keep quiet, just walk to the car and get in. What made you think—what could have possessed you to go off like that?”
“They made me feel cheap.” Raina lowered her eyes. “My family, too. There’s no excuse, I know, but it hurt. That’s all. It hurt, and I—”
“You told them we’re fighting? You’re not sure you want to marry me? You called our courtship a joke?”
“I said it wasn’t a joke. I said I—”
“You said joke and courtship in the same breath. That’s just as bad. You can’t suggest a scenario where our courtship’s anything less than an honor.”
Anger coiled in Raina’s gut, curdling into nausea. “So I should be grateful?”
Chadil’s brows drew together. “I’ve done right by you, haven’t I? Is gratitude so much to ask?”
“For what?” Her vision blazed red. “The constant gossip? The posturing for the press? The pinchy shoes? I love those. Don’t forget, I’m the one doing you a favor. It wasn’t me who announced our courtship ten seconds after we got here.” She kicked at the floor, suddenly spiteful. “Maybe—maybe…”
The words caught in her throat, tasting of acid. Her ears rang, her palms turned cold, and she lunged for the bathroom just in time to cough up her lunch. Her eyes watered, whether from sickness or humiliation, she couldn’t tell. She hunched over the sink, breathing hard.
“Raina?” Chadil sidled up behind her, not too close. He looked a little green himself, and he held his hand over his nose and mouth. “Are you—”
“Not now.” She held up her hand to keep him at bay. “I’m sick. I’m exhausted. If we talk about this now, we’re just going to fight.”
“So...?”
“So I’m going to lie down.” She ducked past him quickly, but Chadil didn’t try to hold her back. He didn’t come after her either, and as much as that stung, it was a relief. Raina sought refuge in her bed, piling up al
l the pillows like she’d done when she was little, curling into the bedclothes like a nest.
She stayed there all day and most of the next. Chadil came knocking toward evening, but Raina still felt sick. A lump had set up residence in her throat, one she couldn’t swallow. A trip to the bathroom left her faint and shaky. She tried a mango, but it tasted strange and sour. When she thought about Chadil, about what he might say next, that sour taste came back, and she hid her face in the pillows and prayed for sleep.
On the third day, her mother called. It was a relief at first, a voice from home, and then she started in.
“What were you thinking, talking about your father that way, not to mention the prince?”
Raina’s head pounded, a slow, sick pulse. “I defended Dad,” she whispered.
“Defended him? You made him look weak. Like he can’t provide. Like we can’t. Do you have any idea what they’re saying about us? Not just the papers, but our friends? It’ll be a miracle if we have any left. But that’s not your problem, is it? You’ve always been selfish. Always put yourself first. You go through life like you’re the only one who matters, and the rest of us can—”
“Still get your money.” Raina sat up abruptly. “You’ll still get your money, so if you just called to yell, you can call someone else.” She hung up the phone, and that nausea was back, that angry sickness. She ran to the bathroom, but nothing came up. Tears stung her eyes, but this wasn’t the time. Crying just made her mad, and that made her sick, and she was tired of feeling sick.
“Knock knock.”
“Hm?” Raina raised her head. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.
“That didn’t sound fun.” Fiona knelt down next to her and laid a hand on her forehead. “No fever, though. That’s good.”
“It’s just stress. You don’t get a fever with stress.”
“You sure about that?” Fiona eyed her speculatively. “I was thinking, with the timing—”
“So was I.” Raina got up and ran herself a glass of water. “It started right after I lost it, and since then...” She mopped at her brow. “The worse I feel, the sicker I get. Like I’m punishing myself.”