"What, Dad?" She took his briefcase and put it in its place under the hall table.
"Samir Al Kabisi came to my office today." He was beaming. Dani froze. This was the man who'd told her he was still potent so her needs would not go unmet. "He made a generous offer for your hand in marriage and you'll be happy to hear that I accepted."
"What?" She knew the custom of mahr, in which the husband offered a certain sum of money to his bride. It was a tenet of Islam intended to protect women by making sure they had money of their own in case they needed it. But these days it was customary for the man to make his offer of marriage to the woman herself, not her father, wasn't it? And how could her father possibly accept without asking her? Her heart pounded and her breathing grew unsteady. "I'm not marrying him."
"Don't be foolish, Dani." Her father's cheerful expression had barely altered. "It's an excellent offer and he's a good man. He owns his own firm and could comfortably retire tomorrow if he wanted. He's the chief supplier of nuts and rivets in the gulf region."
"But I'm not in love with him." Her voice was shaky. She knew her father couldn't make her marry this man, but her refusal was bound to cause a rift between them.
"Love grows. It's a silly modern fashion to try to fall in love before you're committed."
"I'll never love him. He's too old. I'd make him unhappy as well as myself."
Her father's expression darkened. "Daniyah, I've been very indulgent with you since your unfortunate return home. You tried to do everything your own way once, and the results were disastrous."
She didn't deny it.
"Now it's time for you to listen to the wisdom of your father and an older generation, when life was simpler and people were happier."
She couldn't argue and say that her parents' marriage wasn't happy. She suspected it wasn't but since her mother wasn't alive to agree with her, she could only speculate. "I'm not opposed to marrying again, but it needs to be someone I can grow to have feelings for."
"Samir is a kind man. He hosts a party at the orphanage every year during the Eid holiday."
"I'm sure he's lovely, but those aren't the kinds of feelings I'm talking about. We're both adults here. If I'm to share a bed with my husband I must have some attraction to him."
Her unruly brain conjured an image of Quasar next to her in bed, languid, his tanned, muscled body against the white sheets, eyes shining in semidarkness.
"Daniyah, I'm shocked at you. Discretion is an essential quality in a woman."
"I have to speak the truth. I've survived one bad marriage and I'm not willing to take a chance on another. You'll have to tell Mr. Al Kabisi that I refused his kind offer, or I'll go tell him myself."
Her father clucked his tongue, his good humor utterly gone. "A father does not expect to endure the burden of his daughter returning home in middle age."
Stung by humiliation, Dani drew herself up. "I'm hardly middle-aged. I'll find a job."
"As an art historian?" He snorted. "You should have studied something sensible, as I always encouraged you to. You could have been an engineer, or a chemist, or even an architect, but no, you had to study something foolish and whimsical with no career prospects, almost as if you intended only to be a rich man's wife."
Tears stung her eyes. "Art is my passion."
"Fishing was my passion, when I was a child. I did not, however, choose to become a fisherman. If I were still inclined to pursue it, I'd fish simply as a hobby."
She had to admit his words made sense. She'd been so blinded by the cheerful attitude that everyone should follow their bliss, which had prevailed at the small New Jersey university she'd attended. "You're right. But I'll find something. I'll work in a shop."
He looked doubtful. "At least take the night and think it over. You'll be very comfortable with Samir. He has a spacious house only a few streets away and he drives a Mercedes."
"I won't change my mind," she whispered. "I have a headache. I'm going to go lie down." She'd skip dinner and help herself to something later when everyone else had gone to bed. She couldn't face sitting around with three male Hassans looking skeptically at her every move.
Not for the first time she reflected that maybe she should have stayed in New Jersey, where at least she wouldn't have elderly suitors shoved down her throat. But how? New Jersey was very expensive. She had no job and no place to live, and she could hardly return to live with her aunt, who had four daughters and now considered her to be a bad influence. Her self-esteem had been shattered by her ex-husband and she no longer believed herself capable of supporting herself and living independently. At the time she'd seen no other option than to run home with her tail between her legs.
Now that she'd had the time and distance to regain some perspective, she could see that coming home actually left her in a worse position. Her employment prospects were dimmer than ever, and she had another domineering male to answer to.
In her bedroom she lay on her soft bed and gazed up at the high ceiling with its ornately carved wood beams. This house she'd grown up in was grand by Omani standards. She'd always been well provided for and treated like a princess, at least by her indulgent and warm mother. She'd seen little of the world outside the filigree wooden shutters and had imagined it to be a brilliant and exciting place similar to the one she saw on American television shows. In college she often felt like the star of an upbeat sitcom where anything was possible. When her future husband, Gordon, had arrived on the scene, she'd assumed she was the heroine of a romance being swept off her feet by his insistent pursuit.
As her marriage progressed she'd realized she might be starring in a future episode of Law & Order instead. As her husband's psychological abuse ratcheted up slowly into verbal abuse, and he began to pound his fists on the table or the wall, she knew she'd be next to feel his wrath and she'd finally come to her senses.
Hot tears leaked from her eyes as she reflected on all the foolish dreams she'd had. And now Quasar had come into her life as if to mock her with the kind of romance and passion she couldn't really hope to enjoy, at least not for more than a few stolen sessions.
Noise from outside her room made her jerk her head up from the pillow. She heard raised male voices, and one in particular made her breath catch in her throat.
She could almost swear that was Quasar's voice.
Dani climbed off the bed and hurried to her bedroom door. The house was one story, centered around a hallway, and if she opened her door the men would likely see her. The voices seemed to be coming from the direction of the front door.
"I know exactly who you are," her father was shouting. "Your whole family has played a part in the plot to deprive my heirs of their birthright."
What? Dani pressed her ear to the door. Now she was desperate to hear the other voice. It couldn't be Quasar, could it?
"Mr. Hassan, I come with nothing but the utmost respect for you. You may not be aware that I have lived in the States for many years and have little to no involvement in my family's affairs. I certainly have played no part in the lawsuit between our families."
Dani's chest rose and fell rapidly. It did sound like Quasar. But it couldn't be, because she'd explicitly told him not to come here. And if it was Quasar, they'd be talking about her. And they weren't. She had no idea what they were talking about.
She frowned and turned back toward her bed. Obviously she was losing her mind if she thought some random man who came to the door must be her lover. When she wasn't with him, thoughts of him haunted her day and night. His image always seemed to hover at the edges of her consciousness, taunting her until she could see him again. He'd talked her into letting him pick her up at the house tomorrow. He'd convinced her that repeatedly meeting out in public was getting too risky and it was wise to mix things up a little, so she'd given him her address.
Her chest-and other parts of her-tingled with excitement at the prospect of seeing him again and spending another languid afternoon in their remote and luxurious love nest.
But what on earth was going on in the foyer?
"I curse the name of Al Mansur and I will never let one of those sons of dogs anywhere near my daughter!"
Dani froze; the word daughter struck fear into her heart.
"I'm not here as a representative of my family or anyone else. I come simply as a man of honor seeking your approval to meet and talk with her."