Raf lifts his hands in surrender. “I know that.” And he does. As a Sheikh of a small, oil-rich nation south of Qabid, I know there’s nothing Raf wouldn’t do for his people.
“Besides, I promised Amy I would bring her father home.”
“The man is a traitor.”
I see Amy’s eyes, wet with unshed tears, hurt at the very idea softening me in a way that is pathetic and stupid. Dangerous, too, for trusting her is a bad idea, given that for a very long time her father wished me dead. She is still a Hassan, I remind myself forcefully, even when distrusting her is anathema to me.
I hate you. Her words pierce me out of nowhere. Not her words so much, but the look of truth in her face as she said them so calmly, as though she were observing the weather. The words rang with intent, and they have lodged in my chest, a constant companion since we left Thakirt.
My voice is grim. “He’s old and ill. I do not believe he poses a threat to me.”
“More fool you,” Rafiq snorts. “I’m not suggesting he’ll personally sink a dagger into your heart, Zah. It’s far more likely he’ll organise for a militant to do that on his behalf.”
“For God’s sake,” I laugh despite the serious tenor of our conversation. “You seem to forget I’m surrounded by security almost constantly.”
“Not when you are in bed with your wife, I presume.”
It’s a throwaway comment but something fires deep in my gut. Amy might hate me, but she’d never hurt me. She’s not capable of it.
“I gave her my word, Rafiq. I must bring him to Qabid.”
“To hell with the consequences?”
“Or in spite of them.”
“Are you forgetting what her father’s people have already taken from you?”
I look at him sharply. We are old friends, but in that moment, I feel as though we stand across battle lines. “How could I? I live with that every day. My father’s death was at their hands. We know that, but not many others do. Particularly not my wife.”
“I know it’s a secret,” he says quietly. “But it is still a truth. You cannot ignore the power and will of these people.”
“It has lessened over time. They are disbanded – exiled or dead.”
“And yet you brought her here. You’re bringing him home.”
“What else could I do?”
“I don’t know.” Rafiq sighs heavily. “I know you’ve tried everything else.”
“Exactly. My marriage was a last resort. Believe me, it’s not what I would have chosen. I think of him often. My father. I wonder what he would make of this. Someone killed him, at the orders of the Hassan supporters, poisoned him slowly over time, took him from me, from this country. And now I’m married to a Hassan, planning to combine our bloodlines to put this ancient feud to rest for all time.” I look at him slowly. “Do you think I’m not conflicted about this, Raf? Do you think it’s easy for me to put aside my father’s death and plan ahead like this?”
“No.”
“But it is my sacred duty to act in the country’s interests. I need an heir – that has been abundantly clear for a long time. And the Hassan threat will never die down so long as they live. So here we have it. The only thing I can do.”
“Then do it carefully, my friend. Never forget what they took from you. I do not think there is anything Amy Hassan can give you that will make up for their treachery.”
Something stirs in my chest and I’m surprised by an instinct to protect her, to tell him he’s wrong, to call out my friend – more of a brother, in fact. “It’s Amy Al Adari,” I remind him in a quiet rebuke, standing to signal the conversation is at an end. “And none of this is her fault.”
She is asleep when I enter her room. Three days after returning from the country and still she continues to use this suite of rooms rather than come to my bed. I want to be patient, but I’m finding that increasingly difficult.
I prop the door open with a large vase then stroll across to her bed, scooping her up in my arms. She murmurs something softly, her head nuzzling into my chest. I breathe her in, my heart thumping hard against my ribs as I carry her out of her room and stride towards mine.
As we cross the threshold, despite the fact she’s fast asleep, I speak quietly. “You are my wife. Your place is in my bed.”
She murmurs softly in response. I lay her down gently, my stomach tightening at the sight of her here, and at what I’ve done. Guilt washes over me; I ignore it. It’s time for us to start living together, as man and wife. Her father will arrive soon, and Rafiq’s words have served as a timely reminder. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
Amy