I attempt to respond, hoping some sort of non-lame sounding excuse or explanation will magically pop out. But it doesn’t, and I end up closing my mouth again, a small choking sound issuing from somewhere low in my throat.
Sasha folds her thin arms across her chest. I can hear the “yeah, that’s what I thought” about to come out of her mouth.
But before she can say another word, Zahir says, “I understand you’ve missed Prin more than you’ve been able to convey in your daily phone calls. But she is my wife, and you will not address her in this manner. Therefore, you will give her an apology for doing so. Now.”
Sasha falters, obviously not expecting any pushback. Especially from the guy she just accused of buying me for the sole purpose of 24/7 sex.
And Zahir keeps going. “Your sister has been gone for two months. You are understandably angry about this. But do not forget she cared for you and your sister for four years, sacrificing her love life and pursuing a career that was in your best interests—not hers. My wife may only be your legal guardian, but she is owed the same respect you would pay to a parent. You will accord her as much.”
Sasha looks at me, then at Zahir, then at me again, the stubborn expression slowly fading from her face.
I can see her inner struggle and I almost say something to let her off the hook. Because I get it. Seriously. The twins grew up with a mother who was almost identical to mine, and though I don’t come anywhere near Sylvie in the replacement parenting department, I’m the only reliable adult they’ve ever had. Sasha may act tough, but she must have been scared to be shoved on a plane without me and then receive a call from Sylvie telling her I wouldn’t be back for another six months. With only a few moments notice, she had been thrust into the role of not only taking care of herself, but also caring for her much less-responsible twin, and our hot mess of a house.
Could I really blame her for being mad at me? Or thinking I chose a temporary marriage with a hot sheikh over her and Kasha?
But before I can speak, Sasha uncrosses her arms and says, “Sorry, Prin.” Quick, like she’s getting a shot.
“Sorry, Prin,” Kasha echoes in that weird identical twin tandem-speak, even though she didn’t do anything.
“It’s okay,” I answer. And I mean it. I come around the counter and draw my stiff sister into a hug, kissing her on top of her silky curls. Then, deciding the Darius Ross conversation can wait, I say, “Tell you what, why don’t you show me that list of all the things that need fixing.”
“Okay, sis,” Sasha replies, curving an arm around mine in a small hug. “But it can wait until after the meeting.”
“What meeting?” I ask, stepping back.
“Duh! The one with Darius Ross,” Kasha answers with a giggle as she pours Wegman’s store brand sugar into a crystal bowl.
“He’s late,” Sasha says with an annoyed glance toward the digital clock on our kitchen wall. “But he should be here any minute.”
“Don’t be mad,” Kasha tells her sister. “Music people are always late. It’s, like, in their DNA.”
“Wait…what do mean you’re meeting with Darius Ross?” I ask. A stabbing pain knifes through my stomach just saying his name.
“Darius Ross,” Zahir says calmly. “The twins told my secretary he is the producer who requested a meeting with them. Is this correct?” He glances at the girls and then back over to me.
“Yeah, but why is he coming here? To our home?” I ask. I do not want him here. I do not want that man anywhere near the twins. Oh, God…
“Because you are my wife,” Zahir says as if that answers my question.
Before I can ask more questions, the doorbell sounds with a tinny version of the theme song from His Majesty. And one of the guards out front must get it because the next thing I hear is a loud voice asking, “Hey, man! Is that a Mercedes-Maybach Landaulet in the driveway?”
Chapter Twenty-One
The twins lead everyone into the living room for the meeting. It’s one of the few rooms in the house we’ve managed to keep in its original pristine shape. Mostly by staying out of it except every other Saturday afternoon when we mop, vacuum, and dust every room in the house except for one upstairs.
As if in mutual agreement, Darius and Zahir take seats on one side of the glass coffee table in the snow-white Bergère chairs while I sit, with a twin on either side, on the snow-white couch.
“So, Princess Jones…you went and got yourself a sheikh! Look at you, girl…!” Darius says before we’ve barely settled in our seats.
He has changed a lot in fourteen years. The oversized t-shirts and baggy camouflage pants have been replaced by distressed skinny jeans, a fitted tee, a simple gold chain, and a blue lace blazer. I can just imagine some overpaid stylist assuring him this is exactly what a rapper looking to start his own label would wear.
But I can still see all the same things in him that I saw fourteen years ago: the ego, the toxic masculinity, and the disdain for women in general. He’s talking to me but eyeing the twins like they were put here on Earth for the sole purpose of making one of the fantasies on his porn bucket list come true.
Yes, I am Zahir’s wife. Zahir and I both know our marriage is a just a front. But because I’m his wife, I’m here in this room, sitting across from a man I abhor…a man I came all the way back home to keep from coming anywhere near my sisters.
I do not answer his question. And I can feel the twins eyes on me, wondering why I haven’t said a word.
“Yes, Prin is my wife now,” Zahir answers for me. “And her sisters are now part of my extended family, which is why my secretary requested this meeting with you.”
“So, what? We doing this formally now?” he asks the twins. “At the party I thought you told me you didn’t have any representation. But now you got this dude calling me? And setting up meetings?”
“He didn’t call you. It was his assistant…I think. And we didn’t have representation when we met you. I mean, my sister was away, but…I guess now we do…?” Sasha trails off, looking both confused and stymied.
I remain silent, still locked in memories and unable to do anything more than stare at Darius Ross. Who is back in my house. After fourteen years.
Again, Zahir speaks. “I do not represent the girls. They make and will continue to make their own decisions. And if they wish to sign with your label after this meeting, they may certainly do so,” he answers.
He then nods politely at the twin on my left and says, “Kasha, would you mind pouring Mr. Ross and me a cup of coffee?”
“Uh…sure,” Kasha says, leaning forward to pour coffee from the tray she put together. I thought it was intended for us but turns out it was for this meeting all along.
“Aw, shit! You can tell them apart?” Darius asks, like the twins are objects on display and not two young women sitting right across from him.
“Cream and sugar?” Kasha asks in the awkward silence that follows.
“Both,” Darius answers.
“Black for me, thanks,” Zahir says.
“Yeah, I can how much see you like black coffee,” Darius says with a snicker as Kasha hands them each a cup.
Kasha stills like a rabbit that has just spotted a fox. I sense Sasha do the same beside me. I can tell neither girl expected Darius to say something so inappropriate.
But Zahir just takes a sip of his coffee as if he did not hear a thing. Or maybe because English isn’t his first language, he doesn’t get the joke. In any case, he keeps the conversation going, his voice as pleasant as a summer’s day as he inquires after Darius’s family.
“My mom’s good. I just bought her a new place down in Florida so she can start living out them retirement goals, y’know? How about you, man? You’re Asir’s brother, right? He was hot for a second, but then he just dropped off the radar. What’s up with him?”
“He decided to attend grad school and focus on business,” Zahir answers. And by “decided,” he means Asir wasn’t given a choice, I think hotly. Just li
ke I wasn’t given a choice about this meeting.
Zahir swiftly changes the subject and asks Darius about the drive over from Saddle River.
“It was alright. I’m thinking about moving closer to the city though,” Darius says. “Maybe get a place out here in Alpine? Saw a “For Sale” sign next door.”
A chill runs down my back at just the thought of him moving in next door.
Zahir nods and says, “Alpine seems like a very good neighborhood.”
“Yeah, please don’t use our place as an example,” Kasha says. “The other houses around here are really nice.”
“And good school districts, too,” Sasha adds, though I can tell from her tone that she’s still trying to find her bearings in this strange meeting.
“Do you have children, Mr. Ross?” Zahir asks.
“Yo, call me Darius, and nah, I’m not about that daddy title. Too many chicks out here trying to catch a child support check. Know what I mean?”
Zahir nods as if he knows exactly what Darius means and says, “In that case, you should visit my palace in Jahwar.”
“I hear it’s off the chain!” Darius says. “Ya’ll Arabs be flossing. Is it true you got a mall with a whole ski slope in it?”
“That would be Dubai,” Zahir says with an indulgent smile. “But we’re hoping to build Jahwar into a kingdom on par with the Dubai emirate.”
“Alright, that sounds hot, man! Let’s get your sister-in-law’s up to the label for a deal meeting, and then maybe we can talk about planning a trip.”
The twins shift uncomfortably beside me. I can tell the prospect of working with Darius Ross is holding less and less appeal to them by the minute.
“As I said, this is their decision to make. Not mine,” Zahir answers. “But I couldn’t help but notice you were admiring my car in the driveway.”
“That shit’s hot man, no lie.”
“I have a fleet of over 100 cars.”
His eyes widen. “No lie?”
“No lie,” Zahir assures him with a polite smile. “I would be happy to give you a tour of my palace garage before I have you taken upstairs and executed for your disrespect towards my wife.”
All noise stops in the room.
Darius looks at me, then back to Zahir. Then after a hot beat, he whine-shouts at me, “You told him about that shit? You still ain’t over it? But that was more than fourteen years ago—!”
He stops. Not because he’s finished with his angry outburst. But because his tirade is effectively silenced when Zahir calmly reaches out and slams the producer’s head into the glass coffee table.
The twins scream and jump onto the couch as the glass shatters. Then they scream again when Zahir grabs Darius by the scruff of his neck and thrusts him right back into his original seat with a jagged, glass-filled cut sliced across his brow.
The two guards flanking the living room door remain in place with their hands crossed in front of them. Faces stoic as if the two men are still exchanging small talk about neighborhoods and the drive across upper New Jersey.
As for Darius, he seems to have lost all contact with his hard rapper persona. “I-I don’t know what she told you, b-but she’s lying!” he blubbers, his voice strained with shock and pain. “Whatever she said, I didn’t do it!”
Zahir holds out his right hand, palm up. And one the guards finally steps forward. Kasha gasps, “Oh, my God!” when the guard smoothly places a glock in Zahir’s open hand. She grabs onto me like she doesn’t know whether to hide behind me or run.
It has taken me a while, but I finally find my voice when Zahir points the weapon straight at Darius’s head, his other hand still clasped around the back of the smaller man’s neck. “Zahir, don’t,” I say, coming to my feet.
“Did he touch you, habibti?” he asks as if I’ve said nothing. His voice is as cold and calm as I have ever heard it.
I stare at him in blank horror.
“I ask you again. Did he hurt you in any way?”
“I didn’t fucking do anything to her!” Darius insists, his voice high-pitched with fear and panic. “I never fucking touched her in my life!”
“Then tell me this. Why does your presence upset my wife so much that she cannot speak?” Zahir asks, his voice barely labored despite the violence of his actions. “What have you done that is so unspeakable that she begged me to let her return home to protect her sisters from you?”
“Zahir, let him go!” I say, my voice trembling.
His gaze remains locked on Darius as Zahir calmly says, “If he has hurt you, habibti, I am afraid I cannot do as you ask.”
“Twins, go!” I yell at my sisters, realizing Zahir has no intention of backing down.
But Sasha and Kasha are frozen in place, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of them.
“I didn’t fucking touch her!” Darius insists, eyes wide with terror. “She’s mad because she walked in on me fucking her mama. But her dad gave that bitch to me! That was his thing, man—”
“Shut up!” I say, tears springing to my eyes.
But there is no silencing a man who is desperately pleading for his life. Words are coming out of Darius’s mouth like a runaway train. “Whenever you signed a deal with him, he let you fuck his girl. Everybody knew it! I mean, look at her and the twins…”
Oh, God…no… “Go! Get out! Go to your rooms!” I scream at Sasha and Kasha, like they are still my 14-year-old wards. And this time I push at them, hard, in a last-ditch attempt to protect them.
The girls cling to me and stare at Darius with literal twin expressions of shock etched across their innocent faces.
“It’s obvious they ain’t related,” Darius says. “They don’t look nothing like her or their supposed daddy cuz he did the same thing with that white girl he got after his black girl overdosed! Fucking sluts. The only reason he stopped passing her around was because folks started paying more attention to his private life after he got that reality show.”
And there it was. The history I could never speak aloud. The secret the twins had never known was in their kitchen sink.
“Oh, my God!” Sasha gasps. Her voice trembles as she looks at me to confirm whether or not Darius is speaking the truth.
And that’s fucking it. I stop pushing at the twins, and my riding boots crunch in the glass as I rapidly switch directions and cross the small space between me and Darius Ross.
“You shut your fucking judgmental face,” I yell, bending down to confront him. “Our mothers were beautiful and broken. Guys like you and my dad took advantage of that. You take girls’ dreams and you twist them and manipulate them and drug them until they don’t know which way is up. And then when they do what you want, exactly what you want, you call them sluts! No, fuck that…!”
I rise to my full height, defending my mother in a way she could never defend herself. Against my father or men like Darius. “You’re the slut, Darius. And a user. And yeah, maybe my mother agreed to it, but you hurt her! You beat her because you thought she was just a thing. But she was my mother. So, FUCK YOU, you little snitch-ass BITCH.”
I am screaming and crying hot tears of rage by the time I’m done. And so are the twins, but for a much different reason.
I never lied to them. And I didn’t think twice about whether or not to become their legal guardian after I discovered their mother’s Orthodox Jewish family had no interest in raising the mixed-race spawn of their prodigal daughter’s many mistakes.
No, I didn’t lie about that. However, I did hide things from them. The fact that my father’s name isn’t on their birth certificates. The fact that their blood type is AB, while their mother’s was A, and mine and my father’s is O.
But I never lied about wanting to protect them, and I never lied about being their sister, even though we were never related by blood. The girls grew up on his reality show after my dad’s serious era of vice. They’d been there for the parties, but they also had nannies and producers with stakes in the show to keep the safe. Th
ey were like me., but not like me. And I would have done anything to keep them from ever knowing the truth. I never wanted them to have to live with the dark non-televised bits of their mother’s life in the aftermath of her death like I had to live with mine. I didn’t want them to turn out broken, like me.
But the secret is out now. It’s out…
I walk back across the shattered glass to gather the twins close, winging them in like a mother bird. I hold them as they cry, just like I did when their mother died. Willing them strength. Willing them comfort.
They sob and Darius Ross bleeds and eventually, Zahir calmly asks, “Do you want me to end him, habibti? For the disrespect he has shown your mother?”
I look over at Zahir in amazement. That in the face of all that has just happened, he’s still calling me habibti. Even though I’m sure many of his countrymen would, like Darius, blame my mother for all that befell her.
“Baby…” I say with a sigh. “Put the gun away.”
Zahir regards me for long seconds. The king who can’t be commanded. And then with a tender look, he does just that.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Are you really not our sister?” Kasha asks once we are alone in the suite Zahir booked for us at the Benton Grand Manhattan overlooking Central Park. This question is one of the first things either of them have spoken since we arrived.
I know Kasha must be traumatized. Instead of freaking out over the luxury suite’s sweeping city views and Art Deco design, she and Sasha sink into the room’s plush velvet couch with their backs to the stunning New York City skyline. And forget selfies…the girls stare dead ahead as two of Zahir’s guards drop their hastily packed suitcases into the smaller of the suite’s two bedrooms and hand me a phone with their numbers pre-programmed in.
“Try to get rid of me when I come home in September. You’ll see how much of a sister I am then,” I answer, taking a seat on the couch kitty corner to theirs.
“So, no…we’re not her blood sisters,” Sasha says, suddenly coming out of her daze to dispense her special brand of cynical translation…only to soften when she looks over at me. “But that doesn’t mean Prin doesn’t love us, right?”
ZAHIR_Her Ruthless Sheikh Page 13