Zahir
“Tell Aliya I’m coming to the apartment,” I advise my valet, staring at the papers on my desk to avoid looking at him. I don’t want to look at anyone.
Three nights ago my wife left the palace and since then I have been incapable of putting her out of my head. Her words have run in circles, and each night I try to make sense of them, and fail. Not only that, she is everywhere. She is in my office, my bedroom, my mind, my soul. I need to get her out so I can continue with my work and my life, I need to rearrange the pieces of this until they make sense again. But I can’t do that alone.
Amy
“I don’t want him to come.” I blurt the words to Aliya and then wince, regretting the indiscretion of that statement. “I mean, I’m not ready,” I cover poorly, indicating the pyjamas I’m still wearing despite the fact it’s noon.
“I know what you meant,” Aliya says gently. “Let me help you get ready.”
Aliya moves towards the enormous wardrobe, pulling out a dress, but I shake my head.
“Just jeans, please.” I need to feel like myself.
Unusually, I think Aliya understands, because she returns with an outfit that is much more ‘me’ than the gowns and dresses I have been costuming myself in while play-acting the part of Zahir’s wife.
I toy with my wedding ring as I shower, then as Aliya does my hair, blowdrying it until it hangs in large waves down my back.
“You know,” she meets my eyes in the mirror as she turns the hairdryer off. “You have been very good for him.”
I smile tightly at her. “I doubt that’s true.”
“You don’t know what he was like before you.”
Despite myself, curiosity barbs in my chest. “No, I don’t.”
“Then let me tell you.”
I wonder if I should refuse. After all, Zahir is my husband and Aliya shouldn’t be interfering. And yet I know her deep affection for his family and, I believe, for me now.
I nod once, as she spins my chair around a little, taking up a make-up brush and dipping it in powder. I don’t like to be fussed over but our conversations holds me captive so I submit to her without complaint.
“Zahir is a man loved by all, trusted by everyone. He was in the military you know, and he received some of its highest honours. He has saved lives himself, his bravery and courage earning him much attention in the media. Attention he brushed off, because it meant nothing to him.”
Pride is unmistakable, filling my heart. I’m not surprised by this description.
“He is beloved and revered, but he is also lonely, your highness.”
Despite multiple requests, Aliya will never use anything but my title.
“He has no experience with relationships, and I fear he is not very good at expressing himself. But when he is with you, he gives more of himself than I ever seen.” She pulls back to admire her handiwork. “You have opened him up.”
When she’s gone, I wonder if that’s true. Perhaps it is. But it’s not enough. Zahir opening up is still so far from what I need of him.
I’m a bundle of nerves, waiting for him to arrive. He sent word that he was coming but gave no indication of timing, and so I wait, impatience slamming through me all day. It’s almost nightfall before I hear the distant drone of a helicopter, then the tell-tale scuttle of guards’ feet in the hallway beyond the penthouse’s door. I brace myself for him to enter and am surprised when instead, there’s a knock.
Frowning, I move to the door, pulling it open without checking who’s there – enough of a security presence is dispersed through the building to know I’m secure.
Zahir stands on the other side, dressed in a dark linen suit, so I stare at him for several seconds before moving backwards and jerking my arm to indicate he should come inside.
Nerves wash over me.
He waits for me to precede him.
“Would you like something to drink?” My voice shakes a little.
“No.” His own does not. It is hard and resolute. In the sumptuous sitting room, he stands, a stark figure, the man who has overtaken my every thought and wish.