She glanced at him. “And will he grow up responsible—or more like you?”
Ahmed shook his head. “That will be up to him. For I am not going to make my father’s mistake of ruling his life. No, I will make a whole different set of mistakes with him that are entirely my own.”
The sultan had given over the baby to the line of waiting aunts and came over to Ahmed. Melanie watched, a breath caught in her chest. She knew that Ahmed still wanted his father’s respect—but things were different now. Ahmed no longer needed that. The sultan gave Melanie a glance and faced his youngest son. “That trick you played—letting me think you were marrying Nasiji.”
“Was no more than you deserved, Father, for trying to force me into something not of my choosing. I did warn you.”
For an instant, the sultan seemed what he’d always been—a hard man, his jaw set and his eyes flinty. But Melanie could see the signs of age on him, the sag to his jaw, the broadening nose that now seemed to stand out on his face, the lines around his eyes. Slowly, he gave a nod and a tight smile. “That you did.” He turned to Melanie. “Does he behave himself as a husband and a father should? You have no complaints?”
“And if I do, what? You’d beat him with a stick?”
The sultan face Ahmed—father and son. She could see Ahmed better now in the older man—the same strong nose and cheekbones, the stubborn chin. Their stares met, and Melanie held her breath. And then a tiny smile lifted the sultan’s mouth and he shook his head. “No, I think Ahmed too large now for beatings. But that does not mean he would escape without a stern lecture. A good woman is to be prized above all things, my son.”
Ahmed smiled and put a hand on his chest. “I live to do my father’s bidding.”
The sultan huffed out a breath. “No, you live to be the bane of your father’s life, but I will let that pass for now. We have guests, and it would please me if you would do more than stand in a corner with your lovely wife.”
Ahmed gave a laugh. “I think that is the first time you have ever asked me to circulate at a party. With pleasure, Father. Come, wife, you have people to meet and a smile to paste into place.”
For the next two hours, Melanie bowed, listened to endless Arabic—she only understood one word in three and didn’t have enough verbs to carry on a conversation. The baby seemed to dominate all discussion, but business crept into things, with others asking Ahmed to ask his father for favors. Ahmed seemed both pleased at such an idea and irritated.
Escaping at last to the food set out, he told her, “I never had such sympathy for my brothers, or such a wish to still be the son who is ignored and treated as if he can do nothing right. Now I seem to be the son who is golden, and I see my brothers basking in the company of lovely women while I must talk until I am sick of my own voice.”
She laughed. “Quite a change from when I met you in New York—you were the ultimate escape artist.”
He grabbed her hand. “Good. Let’s see if we can recreate that moment and find our own party. I find all this respect and good behavior to be…wearing.”
She shook her head at him, but he led her from the party. The noise of the music and laughter and conversation faded. He took her up stairs and down corridors and up even more stairs. Finally, he opened a door and they stepped out onto the flat, tiled rooftop. She was very much reminded of how she had once escaped a catered business event, heading out onto a terraced balcony, only to have Ahmed follow her.
Stopping, she looked up. The sky had turned purple and stars seemed splashed across it in a line. The stars were brighter here than in New York, the air crisper. They had to be four floors up and from here, she could see out over the waters of the Persian Gulf. To the west, the last light of the setting sun glimmered off the dark waters. She couldn’t hear the surf, but the air carried a tang of salt as well as the desert dryness. Melanie smiled. The sun was probably only rising on her home in America.
Ahmed wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Mrs. Ahmed Al-Qasimi. I don’t think I will ever tire of saying such a thing. Mrs. Ahmed Al-Qasimi.” He kissed the spot behind her ear.
“It feels…” She let the words trail off as she thought over what she was feeling. “It feels right,” she finally said. “Like this is how my life is supposed to be.”
His arms tightened. “I will say the same thing. This is very right. What do you think of the new building I am buying? A good one, yes? And I am looking now to buy in Sharjah. There is no need to sneak around anymore behind my father’s back.”