Ahmed stared out the window to a stark, blue sky and the white walls of the palace and the lush gardens in the courtyard. But he kept thinking of green eyes and a slender, sensual woman.
His father’s voice sharpened, and Ahmed glanced at the man. His father was looking older—a little more gray in his hair and his beard, a few more lines around his dark eyes.
And what was he talking about now? About how marriage and a family would make Ahmed grow up, would give him a better sense of responsibility. That old tale. Ahmed let out a long breath, and then his father said, “Marriage is the answer, and she will make you a good wife.”
Ahmed sat up. For an instant, he thought his father was speaking of Melanie and the image flashed in front of him of her dark hair and those amazing green eyes. He shook his head. Melanie wanted marriage as little as did Ahmed. And his father did not know about the sensual American.
His father was also looking pleased. Something was wrong here.
“Marry?” Ahmed spat out the word. “Father, what have you done?”
His father leaned his elbows on the desk. He had worn traditional garb, as usual. The white robes and the keffiyeh scarf, fastened with a black igal. The ends of the keffiyeh swung forward. “I have settled your future. Yafassa has agreed to wed his Nasiji to you. It is settled.” He sliced a hand through the air.
Ahmed stood. “Nothing is settled. I have no wish to marry.”
His father stood and leaned his hands on his oak desk. “You wish to shame our name? And what of Nasiji? You will leave her disgraced? Abandoned by the man meant to be her husband? Who will have her then?”
Ahmed crossed his arms. “This arrangement is not my doing—so you may undo it.”
“Impossible.” Al-Qasimi straightened. “I have already given my word on this matter.” He clapped his hands. The door behind Ahmed opened and he turned. A woman in a full, black burka entered, her head and figure covered but her eyes visible. Her deep, mesmerizing green eyes. However, they were not Melanie’s eyes—Ahmed knew that in an instant.
She gave a nod, and Ahmed’s father strode toward the door. “I leave you to work out the details, but this marriage will take place.” He paused in front of Ahmed. “Do not bring shame to my family or to hers or I shall not just disown you, but I will see the two of you whipped and bring the full force of my power against you.” He strode from the room.
Ahmed fisted his hands. He turned and started to leave, but Nasiji touched his arm. “Please, Ahmed. I do not wish this either. But we have no choice.”
Stopping, gut churning and his skin hot, Ahmed glanced at her. “This is your father’s doing—and mine?” He’d known Nasiji for most of his life. At one point, he’d even had an infatuation with her younger sister, but that had fallen apart horribly.
She pushed back the veil, giving him a better look at her face. He could see she was as displeased as he was about their arrangement. She sat down on one of the stiff-backed chairs in his father’s sparse and functional office.
“I have no alternative. My father—he is old. He fears he has spoiled me—allowed me to become too Western, so he thinks now that marriage and a traditional life will cure all. He and your father cooked this up and when I protested—”
“You did?” Ahmed sat in the chair next to hers.
“I did—and I feared my father would have a stroke. Ahmed, I cannot risk his life to defy him. I would never forgive myself. And…well, I see no other future. My father will see me married before he dies—he wishes for grandchildren.”
Ahmed nodded. “As does my father. My brother has already started on this task, but a dozen grandchildren will not satisfy my father.”
Nasiji gave a small smile. “Would it be so bad to marry me?”
Ahmed took a deep breath. “Nasiji, you are a beautiful woman. You come from a wealthy family and would make any man a wonderful wife.”
“But…I hear that word coming from your lips even though you have not said it, Ahmed.”
He stood and walked to the windows. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned back to face her. “I met someone in New York. An American.”
Her mouth pulled down. “Who is this woman?”
Ahmed blinked. He realized then that he knew her only as Melanie—but it would take no great effort to learn her name and more about her. He knew she worked for the company hired by his brothers to cater the New York event. He frowned.
Nasiji stood, came to his side and touched his arm again. “I will not be a demanding wife. If you wish to make trips to New York—I will not ask questions. I only ask that I be allowed to have a life, too.”