Chapter 39
Wedding Day
I finally managed to get a little time to myself after days of being trailed by a cheerful entourage of women eager to cater to even my smallest whim.
With a shy personality, I’d have preferred to skip a few traditions and be only with my mother—who has been remarkably well since the new German doctor arrived—and with Jazmina.
Besides, if I hadn’t agreed to the ritual, I wouldn’t have had the chance to see Faiza again. I put her on the list of those who would help get me ready for the most important day of my life.
She and my mother sat watching the girls paint me and, little by little, started talking like in the old days. My mother didn’t seem surprised that my former nanny had become my father’s wife, taking a place that once was hers.
In her own way, after my mother left, Faiza was a good stepmother to me.
The daughters she had with my father, of course, followed in my other stepmothers’ footsteps, just like my half-sisters, mistreating and insulting me, but Faiza didn’t.
Being with her was the only time I could breathe, and because she did me good and I was almost happy at her side, my father separated us, sending me to live in the house of his second wife, a woman who always hated me.
I had to convince Kaled to allow Faiza to take part in my wedding preparations, but he strictly forbade any of my father’s other wives and daughters.
He told me he’d put my whole family under surveillance after the attempt on my mother’s life, but he hasn’t talked to me about how the investigation is going.
I noticed the number of bodyguards has increased, and I also saw some men, whom he explained were forensic specialists, examining my mother’s rooms in search of clues as to who put the scorpion there. If they found anything, I wasn’t told.
I know every member of my family will be at our wedding, even though Kaled decreed we would skip certain traditions, like me going to my father’s house after the ceremony. He swore I would never set foot there unless I insisted.
I won’t. I haven’t been alone with my father since I returned, nor do I want to be. If he really had that scorpion planted to kill my mother, our relationship is finished for good.
To be honest, even before that, I no longer wanted him in my life. He, his wives, and his daughters were never my family, only my tormentors.
One thing I’ve learned about my future husband is that while he is faithful to certain traditions, like performing salat, the obligatory prayers, five times a day, he makes his own law.
But even though I often sense him split between two worlds—the one he was born into and the more liberal one he lived in from adolescence on—the longer he’s in Rheadur, the more I see how much he loves our country and our people.
I always get emotional when I hear him speak. I feel that he speaks from the heart. He’s the kind of man who has so much charisma he could persuade a crowd to do whatever he wished, and it’s a blessing he’s a good leader and not toxic like his brother.
We’re in the middle of a media storm because of the reports about Naim, even more so now that internet access has been restored.
I wonder when the press will forget the ex-sheikh’s name. Our people don’t deserve such shame because of that degenerate.
The things women say they suffered at his hands turn my stomach, but I shove the thought away.
This is the start of my new life, and I don’t want to stain my memories with so much evil.
Yesterday was a joyful day, with the women pampering me and tending to my body and hair to make me beautiful for the wedding.
I look at my painted hands and feet. It’s a custom meant to bring good luck and fertility to my union with Kaled, and thinking about that second part makes me want to cry.
I regret having imposed the clause about not having children, even if we set it for a period to be revisited later.
Who was I trying to fool? I fell in love with my sheikh practically the day I set foot in Paris, and now my choice has become a punishment for myself. I want very much to become a mother.
I was scared the same thing that happened in my family would happen to me—that I’d lose custody and daily life with my children in a divorce. But Kaled is not my father, and I’m certain that, even if he doesn’t love me, he would never hurt me or betray my trust.
I want to study, build a career, but I also want to have children with the man who won my heart.
I remember our conversation. He accepted my refusal to get pregnant very quickly.
That can only mean he doesn’t want it either.
Face burning with embarrassment, I wonder how we’ll avoid it, since our religion forbids contraceptive methods.
I have no doubt he used them when he lived in the West, but that was before he became sheikh and when he wasn’t exclusive to any woman. Now he’s mine.
I talked to Jazmina about it—how women can avoid having children—though I wasn’t honest about the fact I made it a condition with her brother.
She told me that when she marries, she won’t want them right away either, and that men find a way not to get their wives pregnant if they’re careful.
That ended our talk. I’m too shy to discuss something so intimate, even with my best friend.
I look at the white dress hanging on a rack. I’ll wear it for the first part of our celebration, for signing the contract and for the blessings given by former Sheikh Kamran[37], but during the party I’ll change clothes at least three times.
This dress, more modest than the others and, as tradition dictates, a gift from the groom’s family, leaves only my hands uncovered. I’ll also wear a head-covering veil during the blessing.
Later, when the festivities begin, I’ll change into the one commissioned from the European designer.
We decided to marry at the palace, since it isn’t mandatory to hold the ceremony in a mosque. Kaled said that, if I didn’t mind, he preferred everything to be done here at our official residence for better security—at least until we’re sure who the hidden enemy is.
In theory, the marriage contract should be signed under my father’s blessing, but that’s another custom Kaled chose to ignore.
I don’t know what he discussed with my father-in-law, but I heard something about the council being temporarily dissolved, which means my father no longer holds an important position in the country or the privileges that come with it.
“It’s time.” Jazmina comes back to my chambers smiling. “Sofia Lambertucci has arrived with her husband, Enrico. She looks beautiful in our traditional clothes and told me she has a surprise for you.”
“Surprise?”
“Seems your commission arrived ahead of schedule.”
“Oh! I can’t believe it. She worked so fast! Could you have it put . . . um . . . in the room I’ll share with my husband? I want to give it to him as soon as we return from the desert.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll arrange everything. You just focus on your wedding night. The tent turned out so gorgeous I almost want to go with you.”
“No, thank you,” I say, laughing, even as my face flames.
“Killjoy,” she shoots back.
“Nervous?” my mother asks as she walks in moments later.
“No.”
And it’s true. I’m not afraid, just filled with a fierce longing to finally become his. Since we arrived, we haven’t been truly alone, and I can’t wait for the moment my husband teaches me the pleasures he’s only given me a small taste of so far.
My body aches for it.
As I listen to my father-in-law giving us the final blessings, I can’t take my eyes off my now-husband’s.
I barely register the words, the exchange of rings, the scarf covering both our heads.
Right now, there is only him.
My sheikh. The man I hope to spend the rest of my life with.
No matter what brought us here, I’m ready to make this marriage as real as possible.
I shouldn’t be staring at him. It would probably be more proper to look demure, but I can’t hide my desire anymore, especially because the way he looks back tells me he can hardly wait for us to be alone, too.
It takes me a moment to realize my name is being called.
It’s my father-in-law Kamran, letting me know the time has come for Kaled to offer me the mahr[38], the gift, usually monetary, that the groom presents the bride on the wedding day.
I don’t care about that. In my heart I know I would have married him even if we barely had food to eat, and that certainty is terrifying, because even in my inexperience I realize I truly love Kaled.
That was my mother’s mistake: falling in love with a powerful man who didn’t love her back.
“Adeela?”
“I’m sorry. What did you say, Your Highness?” I ask, addressing my father-in-law.
When I look at my husband, he’s watching me with a questioning expression.
“Your gifts,” Kaled says, and only then do I notice a servant approaching with a chest about half a meter long.
The man stops in front of me and opens it for all to see.
I can’t hide my astonishment.
It’s packed with jewelry. Not a piece or two but so full it barely closes. Diamonds, rubies, and emeralds glitter—sets of earrings and necklaces, bracelets and rings.
I lift my face to my man, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He only hands me an envelope Amin has brought him.
I start to open it, but he stops me.
“Not now. You’ll have time later,” he says.
I’m still reeling from the magnitude of his gift and trying to grasp its meaning. Gold is deeply symbolic for our people, and I’ve never seen a woman receive so much as a present before. Husbands are not usually so generous, especially at the start of a marriage.
Most of the time the mahr corresponds to a month’s wages, and it serves as a kind of financial security for the bride in case of divorce, the beginning of her autonomy and independence.
A warm wave spreads through my chest as I finally begin to understand what he’s telling me without words: I have enough to be free if I want to be.
I won’t be forced to stay at his side.
What he hasn’t realized is that I don’t want to leave. Ever.
After the guests pay their respects, everyone drifts off toward the dining hall. It’s just the two of us now, still standing, still not touching.
“We belong to each other now,” Kaled declares.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to linger at the party, wife.” He doesn’t hide what he’s thinking, and my stomach flips.
“Neither do I, but our reasons may not be the same.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“We’re not spending the night here,” I say, with a boldness I never thought I had. “I have a surprise.”