Protecting the Desert Princess(68)

                ‘Once.’ She’d admit to once. ‘I had an Irish coffee. I have wanted to try one since Zahid told me you could have whisky in coffee and the cream stays at the top.’

                ‘What else?’

                Layla said nothing.

                ‘What else?’ the King demanded. ‘What else did you get up to?’

                ‘I tried to get a joint.’

                ‘A joint?’

                ‘Weed,’ Layla said. ‘The same stuff that was found in Zahid’s locker at school! I had always wanted to try it.’

                ‘And did you?’

                ‘No one would let me.’

                ‘What about men?’ the King demanded—for, like her mother, Layla had always dreamed of romance. ‘Did you do anything of which you are ashamed?’

                ‘No, Father.’

                Her answer was the truth.

                ‘Layla?’

                ‘No, Father, I did nothing of which I am ashamed.’

                ‘I’m very disappointed in you, Layla.’

                ‘I know that you are.’

                ‘Are you disappointed in yourself?’

                ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I am proud of myself and glad that I did it. I’ve had my rebellion. I am sorry that it had to hurt you.’

                ‘You are supposed to say yes, you are disappointed in yourself.’

                ‘But I’m not.’

                ‘You won’t be teaching,’ he said, and saw her lip tremble. ‘Who knows what you might suggest…?’

                ‘I would never encourage poor behaviour in my students,’ she said, ‘but I am an adult—’

                ‘Enough!’

                The King went through her punishments.

                ‘No more teaching…’ He saw her chin jut. ‘No phone.’

                ‘I never had one in the first place.’

                ‘No letters.’

                Layla was relieved. Otherwise poor Mikael might need to get a wheelbarrow for the thousands of letters in Arabic that might be delivered to him—letters he could never understand. Her heart squeezed as she thought of the small note she had left him and wondered if he would ever work it out.

                Perhaps it was better to have their contact severed so brutally.

                ‘No internet—ever!’ Fahid continued.

                ‘What about chess?’

                ‘You can play chess with me,’ Fahid said. ‘And next week you will select a husband.’

                Layla said nothing.

                ‘You don’t argue?’