Chapter 18
“He only said that?”
“Yes. My brother asked us to buy you a beautiful dress for tonight, then said he’d pick you up at eight.”
I twist my hands in front of me, trying to control my nerves. I barely slept, thinking about everything that happened, from my father’s phone call to Kaled’s kiss.
I push away the image of the man who, along with my mother, gave me life. Father doesn’t deserve to have his name mentioned in the same sentence as Kaled’s. They’re like water and oil.
Unlike my father, the prince is an honorable man.
All these years I was forced to live under my father’s roof after my mother left, I became numb to his cruelty: verbal abuse, punishments, and every now and then even physical discipline—though I hid that from Jazmina out of shame.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon for us, daughters and wives alike, to be beaten.
When he married Faiza, he let me live with her for a while, which, as far as I can remember, was the only good thing he ever did for me. But once he realized we loved each other, he sent me away . . . to live with his worst wife.
Until Jazmina offered the possibility of studying in the United Kingdom, I saw no escape from the prison my life had become. Her invitation felt like a drop of water to someone dying of thirst, a glimpse of hope that gave me strength to endure one more day at a time beside that man.
It got to the point where I stopped hearing his words altogether, only pretending to listen, especially when the subject was my mother.
But leaving Rheadur and coming to Paris was like having a blindfold ripped from my eyes and finally daring to take control of my own life.
And then, just when I could finally breathe a bit of freedom, his threatening call came. And it felt like the ground had been snatched from beneath my feet.
My mother is sick, and he feels no shame about using her to hurt me and get what he wants.
Even though most of my memories of her have faded, in my heart she’ll always be my mother, and it’s almost a physical pain to imagine her alone, ill, with no one to care for her.
My eyes burn from the effort to hold back tears.
We’re sitting in the car, waiting for the bodyguards to finish their routine security check before we go into the store to buy the dress.
Even though I told Jazmina everything that happened yesterday—well, almost everything, since I skipped the part about the kiss—I don’t want to burden her further with my problems.
“What are you thinking, Adeela?”
“Should I trust what he said about waiting until tonight to talk, Jazmina?” My heart screams yes, but I can’t take risks when my mother’s life is on the line.
“In Kaled? Yes, you can. My brother has his flaws like anyone else, but he never goes back on his word. If he told you to wait because he’ll find a way to fix your problem, then believe him, everything will work out.”
Even in sadness, I can’t help but smile at the bond between them, though they’re so different.
The car door opens, and we’re escorted into the boutique. For the first time, I let myself think calmly about why we’re here.
Is it about my mother? Or about the kiss we shared?
I don’t know.
I have no idea what a kiss means to a man like Kaled.
Maybe he does it all the time.
A grimace crosses my face at the thought of another woman touching him.
I force the image out of my mind immediately. I don’t want to think about it, because it drives me insane with jealousy, even though I have no claim on him.
For him, maybe our kiss was just another fleeting thing. But for me, it was special, something I’ll never forget. Maybe because it was my first, or maybe simply because it was with him. I’m not experienced enough to know why.
What I do know is that, in those few minutes in his arms, the prince awakened me as a woman.
Avenue des Champs-élysées
A few minutes later
“Would it be rude if I said that scarf you’re wearing is absolutely gorgeous? I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s stunning.”
I turn around and see a petite redhead—very petite, actually—but beautiful, smiling brightly.
At first, I’m so startled I can’t speak. I’m not used to women being that straightforward. Come to think of it, Jazmina is probably the only woman I know who dares to say exactly what she thinks without worrying about the consequences.
I glance around to make sure she’s really talking to me.
Yes, I think she is.
There are only a few customers in the boutique, and I don’t need anyone to explain why.
I took out my phone and converted the price tags into Rheadur’s currency. I had to sit down for a moment, unable to believe that something made of fabric could cost that much.
Jazmina doesn’t seem shocked by the prices, probably because she’s used to shopping in Paris, but to me, this feels like stepping into another world entirely.
“Thank you,” I answer with a smile. “You weren’t rude at all.”
I’ve been fighting an internal battle about whether or not to try going out without my headscarf, thinking about what Kaled said yesterday: that I should have the right to choose whether to wear it or not.
Here in Paris, maybe. But in Rheadur, as long as Naim is officially sheikh, we don’t have that choice.
Still, a bold part of me I didn’t know existed whispers that I should wear my hair loose when I meet him tonight.
“Oh, thank God you speak English! I only realized after I came over that maybe you didn’t understand a word I’d said. I think that’s some kind of American flaw—we just assume the whole world speaks our language.”
My smile widens. I instantly like her. “I studied a little, but I think I understand better than I speak. My vocabulary is still small.”
“Sofia Lambertucci[30],” she says, extending her hand.
“Adeela Ghazal.”
“What a beautiful name!”
“Jazmina Faheem,” my friend adds, stepping closer and giving only her name without a title. I hadn’t noticed she’d come back to my side.
“What’s your scarf called?”
“This one is a hijab, but there are many styles and lengths.”
“Well, it’s gorgeous. It looks perfect on you. It was a pleasure meeting you, Jazmina and Adeela,” she says, offering her hand again.
“The pleasure was ours,” we reply almost in unison.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to run. I already found the shoes I wanted,” she says, lifting a shopping bag in her right hand, “but now I need lingerie to match. My husband’s arriving tonight, and I want to surprise him.”
She winks and walks out of the store without looking back, leaving Jazmina and me standing there for a few minutes, trying to process the whirlwind that just hit us and vanished just as quickly.