“I was unprepared for our last conversation. I did not say what I should have.”
My heart stalls. “You said what you felt,” I say after a beat. “And I’m glad. It’s important that I understand.”
“But you don’t understand. How can you, when I barely do myself?”
I sigh. “Zahir, it’s okay. It’s not like you lied to me. You never pretended this was about me or romance or anything more than a tactical marriage to ensure peace for your kingdom.”
He dips his head in agreement. “Yes. This was a tactical marriage, that’s exactly right. But I hadn’t banked on you being as you are. I hadn’t banked on many things. Nothing about this is what I anticipated.”
I nod slowly. “I know.”
“I miss you.”
I remember the text he sent, when I was in Thakirt.
My eyes squeeze shut, because I miss him too, and if I give into those feelings, if I agree to go back to the palace, I know I’ll just be prolonging the inevitable. More pain. More distance.
“This is such a mess.”
“And you miss me,” he continues as though I haven’t spoken.
“What’s your point?”
“I didn’t understand. I have been clinging to the vision I had of our marriage this whole time, sticking to the terms we agreed to, reassuring myself that we have a contract and therefore this is simple and uncomplicated. I didn’t realise how much everything altered. I didn’t realise until you left, and my life – which should have been just like before – seemed utterly, overwhelmingly empty.” He moves closer but stops short of touching me. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lie in our bed without you?”
The question runs through me, a dangerous river of temptation because there is so much I could read into his words if I were stupid enough to do so.
“I thought I would hate you. You are a Hassan, but you aren’t. And even if you were,” he lifts a finger to my lips and presses it to silence me. “Even if you had known of your father’s guilt, I’m not sure anything would have stopped this from happening.”
“Stopped what from happening?”
“You’re a part of me.” He says it so simply, like it’s an incontrovertible fact. “When you spoke of love, I didn’t understand, because it seems so banal, such an over-used term to describe what you’ve come to mean to me. Everyone says ‘I love you’. That’s not unusual. But if you need to hear it then, yes, I love you, of course I love you, but it’s so much more than that. You have moved inside of me, you exist in here,” he gestures to his heart. “I feel you with every breath I take, but it’s not enough. I need you. Not the part of you that’s in my heart, but all of you. With me.”
I stare at him, the words wrapping around me like gossamer silk so that I can’t block them, I can’t fight them; they wriggle into my chest and land there, locking into place. I blink, hope perforating my darkness, filling me with light.
“I have fought this,” he says quietly. “I have fought myself. Because of your father, I have always wondered if our marriage could mean to you what it did to me. After all, how can you love a man who caused him such pain – warranted or not? And to feel torn between us, and your loyalty, must surely be a source of hurt to you – so why would you love me? Why would you choose me?”
“It’s not a choice,” I say quickly. “And even if it were,” I shake my head, because there’s no way to finish that sentence that does me credit. There is no choice. I stare at the man before me, who is good and strong and righteous and has so much integrity it hurts and I feel love bursting from me.
“I have felt so torn,”
I whisper. “I have felt as though I am betraying him or you at every moment. In some ways, his confession freed me up to finally accept that I do love you – that it’s okay to love you.”
“I believe this is why he told you. He saw your conflict and sought to resolve it. It was a…gift.”
“Don’t. Don’t justify anything he’s done.”
“Habibti, it’s complicated. I understand that there is no easy fix with your father, but he is still your father.”
“I can’t think about him right now,” I say firmly. “I’d rather hear more about how you love me.”
He laughs, tilting his head back, and I glow all over. “Then let me tell you. But not here. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to bring you home. To the palace, with me, where you will always, always belong, my beautiful wife.”
I tilt my head to the side, pretending to consider that. “Well, I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully. “We would have to come up with a new deal.”
His eyes spark to mine as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a piece of paper. “I thought of that.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”