“Our marriage is purely for political reasons,” he reminds me. “It’s important it is seen to be a real marriage.”
“So? Did the villagers ask for proof of cohabitation? I hardly think it matters to them which bedroom I sleep in.”
“There are thousands of staff members at the palace, people who come from all over the country to work here.”
His meaning is clear. People work here who come from Thakirt. People who might hear that we’re not sharing a room and take that information back to the world at large.
I grind my teeth, hating to see logic in his argument. “That seems like a long bow to draw,” I respond eventually, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Nonetheless, if your father is to come to Qabid, I will leave no stone unturned in creating the perception of a true marriage between us. We do not need gossip to add to an already inflammatory situation.”
My lips part, the breath whooshing from my lungs. “Is that a threat?”
Something shifts in his face, his features tightening and I wait for him to deny it, needing to hear him assure me.
“It’s a reminder.”
My stomach swoops to my feet.
“Of what?”
“Your father’s return was always to be contingent on our marriage being good for my people; if there is any sign of unrest, then the deal is off.”
If our wedding is to cause any unrest, we will know it quickly.
And if it does?
That will depend on your conduct.
What does that even mean?
It means that if you do anything contrary to my interests, our deal is off. It means you’ll wish you never came here, Amy.
Flashes of our conversation that first day we came face to face ignite something inside me. “I’ve done everything you asked of me,” I want the words to be defiant but they emerge as a whisper. “I’m trying, Zahir, I really am.”
A muscle jerks in his jaw. “I know.”
I’m angry that his concession mollifies me in any way. I’m angry, so angry, but also, frustrated and…sad.
“So can’t that be enough for now? Why do you need me to be here with you?”
“I don’t need anyone.”
He’s said that to me before as well, on that same day in his office, but back then the words didn’t have the power to sting me as they do now.
“Then why can’t I stay where I was? In my own suite with my own staff and space?”
“Because, damn it!” His words are loud, a sign that his temper is near breaking point.
“Where is your passionless reasoning now, Zahir?” I taunt him. “What is this if not an act of passion?”
His eyes bore into mine. “On the contrary, there is reason to this.” He speaks calmly now, neutral and easy. Did I imagine his earlier outburst? “You want your father to come here and I’m committed to that course of action. I’m aware that you have acted in good faith, doing everything I’ve asked of you. I am not faulting you, Amy.”
His kindness springs tears to my eyes; I look away.
“But I will not have harmful conjecture undermining the steps we’ve taken. Does it really make that much of a difference which bed you sleep in?”
Damn him! I hate him in that moment, because he’s made me sound petty and juvenile.