“Ra’id has suggested his cousin would be a better match for the girl,” Zafir said, straightening. “As a personal favor to his family, I have stepped out of the running. My real motives will be obvious after our marriage is announced,” he told Fern. “But it’s a very good alliance for both sides, he’s closer to her age, and it still provides the girl’s father some of the influence he craves. By facilitating it, I hope to defuse some of his animosity. My hope is that it will turn out well.”
“You hope!” his mother repeated. “That doesn’t mean it will. That doesn’t mean you should marry—I’m not being a snob,” she remarked to Fern. “My sister married a male nurse, of all things, so I understand that spouses come in all vocations.”
“At least she married him,” Zafir’s grandfather said in an aside, proving that pretentiousness came in all sizes in this household.
“Well, I couldn’t marry, could I?” his mother snapped with such vehemence it took the temperature to arctic levels. “Everything we worried could happen, did. Do I wish I could go back and marry him? Yes! But we’d all be dead now if I had. So no, Zafir, you may not marry this English woman. You won’t stir it all up again and leave me sleepless here, terrified every time the telephone rings. You’ll live here, Fern,” she said firmly. “I realize I’ve said some things that might have put you off, but you’re a mother. You understand our instincts to protect our children. That doesn’t go away no matter how old or pigheaded they get.” She tossed that last statement at Zafir. “And you’ve seen how private the southeast unit is. We won’t be in each other’s way. I would enjoy finally having one of my grandchildren so close.”
Zafir half stepped so his leg was right up against Fern’s chair. He had expected resistance to his marriage because Fern didn’t have a pedigree dating back to Elizabeth I. Not this.
“I’m not here to ask permission, Mother.”
“It’s denied regardless.” His grandfather finished the last of his drink and set it on the table with a decisive clack. “Your mother will be worried sick, Zafir. How can you even consider doing that to her again? And the baby? You can’t put it in harm’s way. Amineh’s situation is different. No. Marry this girl, I agree you should do that much, but leave her here.”
“No. Don’t marry her. It makes you a target—” Patricia said, voice rising, but Zafir spoke over her, even louder.
“You two are not keeping my wife and child away from me.” His hand went to Fern’s shoulder. He felt her start at his touch and firmed his grip on her, dimly aware he wasn’t being reassuring but snarlingly possessive. His mother’s anxiety could frighten Fern off.
“We’re not keeping anyone away from anyone,” his mother said crossly. “I wish you and your sister would stop acting like your father and I were denying each other access when it was a necessary arrangement that worked—”
“It didn’t work for me!” Zafir boomed so ferociously his sharp words echoed into the silence it created.
His mother went white and she looked away, chin thrust out.
Zafir realized his body was primed for a physical altercation, blood racing, muscles twitching with readiness. It wasn’t just the split in his psyche that had prompted his outburst. His broken family was an old fight, but Fern and his baby were his.
His grandfather hitched forward on his chair, obviously finding it a struggle, but his voice was strong. “Zafir. Your father and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on much, but I never doubted his love for your mother. He wanted to take her to Q’Amara with him. It wasn’t safe. He had to leave her here and he couldn’t even marry her. It was too much for your people to take. He had to keep her like a damned mistress. You were meant to be with him when he was killed. I won’t let you put us through that again. She—” he pointed at Fern “—stays here.” Then he pointed at the floor, his tone that of a man still confident in his position of power despite his physical decline.