“I expect he was quite heartbroken. I’m sure you all are, but, well, it was obvious to me, even back then, how much he loved her. He cut short his tour to be with her. I remember it so clearly because I couldn’t imagine having a woman in my life whom I couldn’t bear to be apart from. Then I met one.” He smiled at his wife.
She blushed and told him not to embarrass them.
Galila offered a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She stared off into the middle distance a moment, murmuring, “I didn’t realize he had ever been apart from her for any length of time. It certainly never happened in my memory, but that would have been before I was born.”
If she did the math and realized Karim’s father had killed himself roughly thirty years ago...
“We need to add a discussion on your country’s foreign banking regulations to tomorrow’s agenda,” Karim cut in, changing the subject.
Moments later, the women had moved on to an innocuous topic and the rest of the evening passed without incident. He realized, however, that this was another angle of vulnerability he had to protect himself against. His marriage of expedience was a minefield of potential disaster.
* * *
Galila excused herself the moment their guests were gone. She had a lot to think about. Deep down, she was still reeling from her experience with Karim, feeling self-conscious about the way she had behaved.
When she saw him at dinner with the ambassador, he had once again been the remote man who revealed only the barest hint of regard toward her. His indifference crushed her soul into the dust, but she hadn’t allowed herself to look him in the eye or her gaze to linger on his expression. She had fought all evening to hide her aching soul, asking mindless questions and pretending an interest in the wife’s dog-breeding techniques.
Then the ambassador had made that remark about her father’s trip thirty years ago.
She had enough going on with her new marriage that she shouldn’t have room for obsessing over her mother’s lover, but she couldn’t help but wonder. She couldn’t ask her father about his trip, but she sent an email to both her brothers, keeping her inquiry very vague, asking if they knew anything about that particular trip their father had taken. She doubted they would. Malak hadn’t been born and Zufar had been a toddler.
Still, she sighed with disappointment when she received their blunt “No” replies the next morning.
“What’s wrong?” Karim asked as he nodded to accept more coffee.
“Nothing. I asked my brothers if they knew anything about that diplomatic tour my father went on, the one the ambassador mentioned. They don’t.”
“Why?”
She looked at him, conveying with a flick of her lashes that it probably wasn’t a topic that should be raised in front of the servants. “I’m curious about it.”
He knew exactly what she was telegraphing and said dismissively, “I don’t see that it matters.”
“With all due respect,” she said in a carefully level tone, “it wouldn’t seem important to you because it doesn’t concern your parent. I have questions, however.”
The listening ears would think she was still talking about her father, but she meant her mother and Adir. Perhaps Karim took offense at her remark despite her attempt to maintain a suitable amount of deference. His fingers tightened on the handle of his coffee mug.
“Surely you have more important things to do with your time. How are the reception plans coming?”
She knew when she was being patronized and flipped her hair. “Perfectly. Your excellent staff would provide nothing less.” She smiled at the hovering assistants.
The party was only days away, and much as she enjoyed being the center of attention, she was quite nervous. Everything would be exquisite, she had no doubt at all, but Karim intended for them to consummate their marriage that night and she was having mixed feelings about that.
She had wanted to prove something to him yesterday, but she wasn’t sure what. That she was brave? That she would be a lover who would satisfy him? That he couldn’t resist her?
What she had discovered was that even when she took the initiative, she had no control over her reaction. No modesty or inhibition.
In fact, the more she thought about their encounter, the more anxious she became. She kept seeing herself as besotted as her father was with her mother. Loyal as a hound, he’d loved his spouse into her death despite the fact she had committed adultery and never gave more than passing consideration to the children she had made with him.
Even more of a fearful thought was that she might become as dependent on Karim’s regard as she had been on her mother’s. For a time, she might be his sexual pet. There was a certain novelty within a new marriage, she was sure. They might both indulge themselves, but he had already demonstrated that his desire was fickle. He could turn his emotions on and off on a whim.
She couldn’t bear to invest herself in him, grow to care for him, only to have that rug pulled. How would she withstand years of his casual indifference?
At least as a daughter, she’d been able to escape to Europe and distract herself with schooling. But charity work and its accompanying accolades only went so far in filling up the void inside her. She needed more.
Karim, however, would never offer the “more” she sought.
Why? What was wrong with her? What was her great flaw? She had convinced herself that her mother’s fading beauty had caused her to grow jealous as Galila’s allure ripened, but Karim was behaving with the same ambivalence toward her.
Perhaps that meant there was a deeper shortcoming inside her that kept people from truly loving her?
She was a kind person, an obedient daughter. She was trying to be a loyal wife, but Karim didn’t even seem to value that much in her. It was agonizing.
She had no choice as far as attending the reception went, but she didn’t know if she could become his wife in every sense of the word afterward. He would surely break her heart.
CHAPTER SIX
CORONATIONS WERE NOT a lavish affair in this part of the world. Galila knew that from her own country and had been told that Karim had a cousin appointed as his successor should he fail to produce one. That designation and the allegiance of all his cousins and other dignitaries had been handled with public, verbal pledges witnessed by the rest.
Recognizing Galila as his queen had been a matter of Karim stating that he had chosen her that night in the Bedouin encampment. It was all the people of Zyria had needed to accept and recognize her as their monarch, but they would feel cheated of a party if he didn’t host one.
That was all that this day was—a formal celebration here in the palace, but one followed by all. Festivities were extended across the country, providing the entire population a reason to take a day to enjoy themselves.
Galila was nothing if not scrupulously adept at planning this sort of event. Along with charity work abroad and at home, she had always led the charge on family events—to a point. Her mother had liked Galila to do all the work of choosing menus and decor, then always swooped in at the last minute to change the color scheme or the order of the speeches, putting her own stamp on it.
This time, every single detail was Galila’s own.
As part of that, she had carefully considered the message the event would send. Obviously, she had to convey that she was pleased to be Karim’s wife and that she embraced her new country. She needed to highlight the advantage of a union with Khalia, too. It was a celebration and needed to be lavish enough to reflect their position, but she didn’t want to pin spendthrift to her lapel and require years to remove it. She wanted it known that she was eager to begin charity work, but didn’t want to appear critical and suggest Zyria was failing to meet the needs of its people.
The guest list had been its own Gordian knot to unravel and there had also been kosher meals and other diverse religious observances that had to be considered.
In the end, Galila pulled a small cheat by adding some well-respected professionals to the mix. She seated doctors and teachers next to ministers and other dignitaries with appropriate portfolios. Everything in the swag bags from silk scarves to gold bangles to a jar of spices had been sourced in Zyria, showcasing their best merchants.
Within the speeches, she had the treasury minister praise her for being under budget with this party. He announced that she had asked for the savings to be donated to a traveling medical unit that would service some of the most difficult to access places in Zyria. It was met with an appropriate round of appreciative applause.
Her husband promptly upstaged her by announcing that a hospital wing to service women’s health issues would be built in her name. Her reaction must have been priceless because everyone laughed and applauded even harder while she covered her hot cheeks with her hands.
It was a political gesture, she reminded herself. A means of ensuring she was accepted and welcomed and cemented into Zyria’s history books.
She was still touched by the gesture, perhaps because he looked at her with sincere regard as he said, “I’m hoping you’ll take an active role in this project. Your instincts and attention to detail are excellent.”
“Did you mean that?” she asked as he seated himself next to her again.
“Of course.” He seemed surprised by her question. “I’ve been kept apprised of every decision you’ve made here so far.”