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‘I haven’t seen you drink since before Faizan died.’
It was on the tip of his tongue to lash out and say he’d not actually had the drink yet, but that felt churlish. Instead, he watched his father go to the cabinet and retrieve the whisky bottle and pour himself an equally large glass. ‘I haven’t seen you drink since...’
‘Faizan’s funeral?’ his mother asked as she too came into the room. Both men’s faces held the same look, as if they’d just been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. Never had they more appeared like father and son. ‘Oh, don’t be silly. If I was outraged at this, I’d have never survived the first six months as your Queen,’ she teased the men in her life, leaning to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek.
Bakir grinned conspiratorially at his son and took a seat in the large leather chair opposite Khalif as his wife perched on the arm.
Then the light dimmed from his eyes and Bakir took a breath. ‘Faizan and Samira,’ he said, raising his glass.
Khalif raised his and blinked back the sudden wetness in his eyes, swallowing his grief with the first powerful mouthful of whisky.
‘Khalif, we are—’
He held his hand up to ward off his father’s words but, though he paused, Bakir pressed on.
‘We are so very proud of you. The memorial is...’
‘Perfect,’ his mother concluded, her smile watery and her eyes bright with unshed tears. She sniffed and her husband handed her a handkerchief without breaking eye contact with his son. ‘Where on earth did you get the idea?’ she asked.
Khalif clenched his jaw before prising the words from his conscience. ‘A friend. She asked about Faizan and Samira, encouraged me to remember them. She suggested I talk to Nadya and Nayla about what they might like to have in the memorial.’
‘She sounds very clever,’ his mother observed.
‘She is,’ Khalif agreed.
‘Did she encourage you to do anything else?’ his father asked.
Through gritted teeth, he said, ‘To be myself. To stop trying to be you or Faizan,’ he confessed.
‘She reallyisa wise woman,’ his mother said, the smile in her voice evident. His father scoffed and Khalif’s head jerked up to stare at his parents. He wanted to yell at them, to say that it wasn’t a laughing matter.
‘That’s only because you said a very similar thing to me many years ago,’ Bakir groused.
‘Andyou barely listened to me,’ his mother complained.
Khalif’s head was swimming and it wasn’t from the alcohol. ‘What are you talking about? I thought you had an arranged marriage?’
Bakir cast a level gaze at his son. ‘Well, a lot of work went into making it look that way, so I’m glad it was successful.’
Khalif couldn’t work out whether his father was being sarcastic or ironic.
‘We had met before,’ his mother explained on a slightly flustered, and somewhat guilty, exhale. ‘Before the engagement.’
‘Your mother told me that if I couldn’t orchestrate a good enough reason for us to get married, how would I ever manage to run a country? So I found a way.’ Bakir shrugged. ‘She challenged me then, and has each day since.’
His father stared at him intently and sighed deeply, as if not looking forward to what he was about to say. ‘We all knew that you cared for Samira and she for you.’
‘Cared?’ Khalif almost choked, anger gripping him almost instantly.
‘But we also knew that she wasn’t right for you,’ his father continued. ‘Us, Faizan and even Samira.’
Khalif fisted the glass and clamped his jaw shut. He was furious. Not with his father but because he knew that his father was right.
‘You were the younger son, Khalif. The one protected from the lessons and the rigours of royal instruction. In hindsight, that was a mistake. I...’ Bakir seemed to struggle for words for the first time Khalif could remember. Finding his strength, he pressed on. ‘My father taught me nothing about ruling a country, for fear that I would try to usurp him. My learning curve was steep. I didn’t want...Faizan to have the same difficulties. I never thought—’
Hafsa placed her hand on her husband’s and their fingers intertwined.
Khalif put the glass down on the side table, reached forward and placed his hand over theirs, joining them in their grief but also their love. He was ready to hear whatever his father had to say.
