Chapter 52
“The baby is alright,” my mother-in-law says, placing her hand on my belly as soon as she steps into the hospital room.
“Are you sure?” I put my hand on hers, my eyes filling with tears.
“I am, yes. The future Sheikh of Sintarah will grow strong and healthy, just like his father.”
I hide my face in my hands and start crying. Amapola lets me pour my heart out, and now I understand why she asked her daughters to let her come in alone.
“Thank you so much. You have no idea how happy I am. I was so afraid I had harmed my baby.”
“Because you ran away?”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Not in detail. Tell me.”
I recount everything, from my mother’s first reaction when she learned I was dating a Sheikh, what she said about Kamal’s skin color, to the conversation I witnessed between her son and Adil. Then I told her about my escape.
“I was terrified. The only thought I had was to prevent him from taking my baby away from me. I don’t want to be a prisoner; I want to be by his side by choice.”
“He made a mistake by letting jealousy take over. It wasn’t just hearing what your mother said on the recorded phone call that caused that reaction in my son; I’m sure of it because I know him . . . It was because he feared you’d leave.”
“What?”
“Kamal isn’t used to needing anything. He’s always had everything at his fingertips.
Then you show up, beautiful and free, making it clear that you have no interest in wealth or social status.
He doesn’t know how to deal with that or with what he feels for you.
He also couldn’t stop you from leaving, so he threatened to take away the only thing that would keep you from leaving: your child. ”
“The love I feel for him would prevent me from leaving. The threat of someone taking my child away made me want to run far away.”
“I know, Madeline. Don’t think I agree with what he said.
My son was wrong. I’m just trying to explain that it wasn’t because he didn’t love you; it was because he loves you too much.
My Zayn was like that too. When I first came to Sintarah, he tried to keep me in a golden cage, but like you, I wanted to make my own decisions, even if it meant choosing to stay by his side.
We had terrible fights. Breakups that lasted five minutes and others that lasted a whole day. ”
I stare at her, astonished. “I never imagined your marriage was like that. Kamal told me his father was crazy about you.”
“He was, indeed. And I was crazy about him, but that didn’t prevent us from arguing.
Living together is very difficult, even when people come from the same roots.
Now imagine uniting two completely different cultures .
. . Add to that the fact that our men are arrogant leaders, used to being obeyed.
It’s not exactly the best combination for a marriage. ”
“So, how did you make it work?”
“Above all, we loved each other madly. The differences didn’t matter; the idea of being separated was inconceivable.”
“I’m confused,” I confess. “Since I went to London, from the moment I laid eyes on your son, my life turned upside down. I think I fell in love instantly. Kamal is intense, and I have no problem with that, but we need to set boundaries. I’ve been submissive my whole life, but I don’t want to be the kind of wife who fears contradicting her husband.
You said your son is used to being obeyed.
I’m used to not having a voice. We need to find a balance because I don’t want to stay silent for the rest of my life.
That would make me lose respect for myself. ”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Step back a little.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Not forever, but I need some room to breathe without him, to be sure this is where I belong. To see if he’s truly my home. Up until now, Kamal has showed me why I should stay. I want to find reasons to want to stay.”
A Week Later
As my mother-in-law predicted, my child is well. I didn’t have a miscarriage, thank God!
I’m going back to Boston today. Not forever, as I told Amapola, but because I need some breathing room for a while.
Since I got back from the hospital, Kamal and I have been sleeping in separate bedrooms and seeing each other less.
He is giving me space, and although it’s painful, because I can’t seem to hold back the love I feel for him, it is necessary, because I know that if I allow him to touch me, I won’t be able to stay away.
He hasn’t said anything about the wedding. A voice inside me wonders whether he is thinking of backing out because he has realized we have little in common.
Despite what he said at the hospital when I was admitted, that he’d make his plane available for me to go to Boston, he hasn’t mentioned anything about traveling with me. I suspect he might have talked to Amapola and she told him to give me space.
Two knocks on the door make my heart race. It’s time to go.
“Come in.”
But it’s not the maid or one of the security guards. It’s my Sheikh standing at the entrance of the room.
We look at each other in silence for a long time, and I feel my heart ache, but I can’t turn back now.
“The car is waiting for you,” he says.
I nod.
“Are you leaving me forever?”
The question squeezes my heart, and I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to ask it. It would be hard for me too, and I don’t even have that much pride.
“No. As I said, I want to stay with Zoe until she delivers the babies. Maybe a couple of weeks more. She’ll have her work cut out for her with twins.”
“Christos will surely provide an army of nannies and nurses for her,” he says, making it clear he doesn’t believe my excuse.
“Don’t ask me to stay, or I won’t have the strength to go.”
I see his jaw tighten, and a great emotion crosses his eyes, almost making me falter. “I won’t ask. You’re not a prisoner, Madeline. You’re an adult woman. You can make your own choices.”
Can I? Or am I making the biggest mistake of my life?
Instead of voicing my doubts, I nod.
He looks at me, but his face is now unreadable. “I’ll take you to the car.”
“Aren’t you coming with me to the airport?”
“I have work to do, and also . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t like goodbyes. Or maybe I’ve come to hate them at this very moment.”
I feel like crying, but I stay strong.
I memorize his face for when I miss him. The gray eyes I love so much, the stubble that scratches me when it grazes my neck and breasts, that sexy mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that, Madeline. I’m trying very hard to give you the space you want. Going against my own nature. Respecting your need for distance.”
He’s right, and I feel embarrassed for sending mixed messages.
Taking a deep breath, I fake a smile.
Isn’t this what I wanted? The freedom to choose? The confirmation that I could leave if I wished to? Then why does it feel so wrong to leave?
Because it’s more comfortable to stay. Safer not to take a risk.
I don’t want to be that kind of person. The one who stays because she’s afraid to walk alone. I need to at least try to take a few steps.
I walk up to where he stands and stare into his eyes. “I love you.”
“Ya ba’ad shabdi[23], Madeline.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t think you’re ready to find out yet.” He reaches out to touch my face. “One day, I will tell you. I’ll be waiting for you, habibti[24]. Take care of yourself and our child too.”