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Her eyes are wide but she nods, doing her best not to show that she’s scared.
I expel a sigh of frustration, her determination to ignore the chemistry between us something I am at war with. I know how easy it would be to prove her a liar. One well-placed touch and she’d incinerate in my arms, begging me for more, just as she had in the caves. But that’s not enough. I want her to come to me of her own volition. I want her to admit to herself – and me – that she’s ready for our marriage to develop. Only then will our partnership make sense. She has to grow up and define the marriage she wants – and I know she does want what I do, even if she wishes she didn’t.
The plane steadies and she relaxes, her breasts moving as she draws in deep breath after deep breath, making a visible effort to calm herself.
“You’re a nervous flyer.”
She swallows. “I don’t fly often.” Her lips twist in a grimace. “At least, I didn’t until recently. I guess this is just part of your life but for me, every bump might as well be the beginning of the end.”
Sympathy is an unexpected current in my blood. “My fleet of aircraft are maintained to the highest standard. You have nothing to worry about.”
She laughs, the sound drawing me to her. I ball my hand into a tight fist and rest it in my lap, trying to focus on something other than my body’s desire to comfort her in the only way I can think of.
“That’s simplistic. Even with a brand-new airplane, flying is still a high-risk activity.”
“There are many activities considerably higher in risk.”
She looks away from me. “Maybe, but this one is new to me.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She turns to face me, her eyes wide, and the double entendre strikes home. “Yes, you’ll get used to everything about being my wife. In time.”
Her nod is slow, a concession I hadn’t expected. Her hands fidget in her lap, nervously.
“What will we be doing today?”
“I have meetings scheduled with several of the regional heads. It is important that you join me for at least one of these.”
“So that I can be seen?” She arches a look at me and I wonder at the hint of betrayal in her features, a sense of displeasure.
I tilt my head regardless, showing agreement. “For the rest of the time, you may do what you wish. Explore Thakirt, meet with the people. Aliya will ensure you return to the residence by nightfall – when a dinner is to be held in our honour.”
She lowers her eyes, making it impossible for me to see their sparkling depths – and more so to intuit what she’s thinking. “Fine.” Her response is tight lipped. I tell myself I don’t care. There are more important things to focus on than my wife – it’s vital that I remember that.
Amy
I’m in love.
In love with Qabid, in love with its people, in love with this region in particular. As the plane drops lower in the sky, coming in to land at an airport that’s little more than an airstrip with a small clay building a few hundred metres away, I feel a deep sense of awe. The landscape surrounding Thakirt is stark and barren – yet very, very beautiful. The town itself boasts greenery between the houses, hardy-looking trees that spike at funny angles and provide essential shade. It suggests a water source has either been found or created, making life here possible. The houses are all clay with red roofs, but many of the walls have been painted, so Thakirt is bright, little dabs of relief against the glare of the sand.
“Do you remember it, azeezi?” He asks, as we touch down and I continue to stare from the portal window.
I look at him without meaning to, my heart lurching in that predictable way it has. “I think I do.”
It’s a feeling that’s only grown stronger as the air-conditioned car drives us from the plane to the outskirts of Thakirt. I crane forward in the car to see better, eyes chasing down side streets, bright signs calling my attention, making me yearn for a chance to explore, to run these streets as I’m sure I must have, as a young girl.
“I’d like to go to the town.” I fix him with a determined stare, sure he’ll say ‘no’, and wanting to goad him anyway.
“After this meeting.”
His response surprises me; I hid
e it with difficulty. I turn my pleasure into cynicism, flicking a tight smile in his general direction. “Yes, of course. I know what’s expected of me, Zahir.”
He puts a hand on my wrist, and an involuntary gasp bursts from me, the contact searing something in my soul. “Do you?”
His eyes probe mine, digging through me, trying to read thoughts I wish to conceal even when I don’t know what they are.
