AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Mother, how are you?” he asked, frowning.
Something wasn’t right.
His mother looked impeccable. The Donna Karen dress was finely pressed and her makeup had been applied with only the artistry that Anwar, her attendant, could provide. But a shadow hung over her eyes, dark circles that told him she hadn’t slept nearly as well as she wanted him to believe.
“I’m fine.”
“But?” he asked, knowing there was something else under that iceberg’s tip.
“Your father’s health is declining. Dr. Hassan says his heart is failing faster than they anticipated.”
“Dear Allah,” he said. “Fareed and I can have the jet powered up and ready to come to Yemen in a few hours.”
“I’d appreciate that, but you know what bothers me most, my son?”
“That time grows so short?” he asked.
“No, that you aren’t married. The doctors know his heart has taken a turn for the worse, but he could still live another six months or a year in this weakened state, and you have not done anything to fulfill the laws and customs of our people.”
“I think they’re antiquated,” he huffed.
His mother narrowed her eyes back at him. “You have no idea what you speak of. The marriage clause has been the rule of our lands for centuries. Your ancestors devised it for very specific reasons, and if you think they were being foolish to do so, then you clearly haven’t considered their ramifications.”
“The ramifications,” he said, raking a hand through his hair, “are that I’m under pressure to marry anyone, someone I might not even give a flying fuck about, because of ancient rules that say without a legal chance for an official heir, the power will go to someone else, to the next married-and-ready-to-produce male member of my family.”
“And I refuse to let Haddid have that honor,” she hissed. “Your cousin hasn’t earned it. I see you bring one girl after another home, sometimes more than one. I am mortified by the headlines of various tabloids. You’ve played this dangerous game too long. Your father’s health is failing and our branch of the family may yet lose the throne of Yemen. You need a wife, Bahan, and you need one now.”
“So will you have one waiting when I get off the plane? Perhaps that girl with the personality of wallpaper who is the sheikha of Lebanon?”
“She wouldn’t be a bad choice. We always have to think about the best political alliances.”
“Believe me,” he said, ignoring the bit of spittle that flew from his lips, “I’ve been taught my whole life about how important it is to think about the ramifications of every action I take. I didn’t want the woman I love to be about that. I didn’t want my wife to be no more than the next political test I have to pass or the next alliance I have to woo. What kind of a life is that?”
“That’s the life of a sheikh,” she said. “It’s the life you’ve been born to. I know that if Fareed were the oldest, he’d accept responsibility with no question. You’re almost thirty-five and yet you’ve dallied and dallied and dallied. Now we might lose everything. Do you know what that would do to us?”
“Mother, I’m sure that Haddid will still let us live in the palace and you can buy your jewelry and Birkin bags forever.”
“No, I mean to your father. He’s served this country for decades and he doesn’t deserve to die knowing that his legacy could be undone by any whim of Haddid’s.”
He winced. Mother had struck a serious nerve there. His cousin wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t smart and he was definitely prone to knee-jerk reactions. Haddid was the last person Yemen needed as a ruler.
“I understand. Fareed and I will be home tonight, and we’ll find a suitable woman then,” he said, his voice as hollow as his limbs as he ended the video call.
“So I caught the tail end of quite the fight,” his brother said as he entered the room, stroking his beard. Unlike Bahan, his younger brother had a long beard, much more in the traditional style. Bahan figured he mostly kept it because he loved to stroke the damn thing as if it were a cat. “Were you and Mother at it yet again?”
“Father’s ill,” he pointed out. “Dr. Hassan says his heart’s getting far worse. We need to get home.”
Fareed nodded and swallowed hard. “And you need to marry any available female you can find. That much I know.”
“Mother wants that girl from Lebanon.”
“She has a unibrow and some nasty psoriasis. Not exactly your sort, old chap,” Fareed said, grimacing.
“Well, I need an answer and I need it fast.”
“Then marry that girl you’ve been seeing since you slipped out to The Wild Orchid. What’s her name? The one who scurried out of here in record time after brunch.”
“Jennifer…um, I don’t know her last name.”
