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“Mac and Cheese?”
“Pasta with bechamel sauce?”
He pulls a face. “I cannot stand American food.”
Irritation zips in my chest. “Well, that’s too bad, because I love it and if we have a baby, I’ll be doing my best to make sure they love it too.”
His nostrils flare and when he speaks, it’s with indignation. “Our child will be raised in accordance with Qabidi royal traditions.”
“And these traditions preclude him or her from enjoying Mac and Cheese? Puhlease.”
He’s quiet for several moments and then he laughs, the sound unexpected. It fills the beautiful tent, and freezes me to the spot. “You’re baiting me.”
I blink, a smile pulling at my own lips. I fight it, with difficulty. “If we’re going to be parents, we should discuss this sort of thing.”
“Our children’s dietary needs?”
“Children?” I repeat, my jaw dropping.
He shrugs. “One is not enough. If I had a brother or sister, there might not have been the need to marry you.”
I am completely aware our marriage is purely practical, and yet his rejection jabs something sharp in my side. I bite into the fish to prevent myself from needing to respond.
“That is not entirely accurate,” he reflects. “The threat of your family would always have required this. Though perhaps a younger brother might have been a more suitable choice of groom for you.”
“It’s really that simple to you, isn’t it,” I murmur, amazed by his cynical approach to marriage.
“And to you too, apparently.” He lifts some fig to his lips, then takes a drink. I hadn’t realised he’d filled two crystal glasses with something. I lift my own to my mouth, the smell of a sweet wine unmistakable. “Or are you going to claim now that you believe marriage and love go hand in hand?”
“No,” I twist my lips wistfully. “Not always. Though I’d be lying if I said love wasn’t a part of our marriage.”
“Oh?” His features are dark, his eyes watchful.
“I love my father, Zahir. And for every day of our marriage, for every day of misery I feel at being tethered to you, a man I can’t stand, someone who inflicted pain on the best man I know, I will console myself with the fact it’s worth it. Bringing dad back to Qabid is all I care about now.” I drop my fork and stand. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
I feel his eyes on me as I move to the doors of the tent.
“Your father actively undermined my family’s government. ”
“I don’t believe you.”
I can’t look at him; I’m seething with anger suddenly.
“Why do you think I married you? Why do you think I needed a Hassan as my wife? There exists, to this day, a handful of activists who would wish to see him on the throne – you are the next best thing. But all of this is because of him. He stirred up these sentiments, Amy. It was his greatest wish to oust my family from ruling, and to achieve that end, he did things that I will never forgive him for. I had him removed from Qabid when I turned eighteen.”
I suck in an angry breath.
“And I do not regret it. Not even a little.”
Anger floods my every cell.
“My only dissatisfaction comes from the fact there are some who continue to feel loyalty to him, despite the fact it’s been sixteen years. Our economy has never been stronger. I have overhauled our education and health systems, working to improve the lifestyle of each and every member of this country, and still there is a minority who would seek to place your father – an old man now – in my stead?”
I whirl around, defensiveness making me want to push back at him. “And that hurts your feelings, does it?” I taunt. “Poor little King Zahir,” I roll my eyes. “Heaven forbid anyone should oppose your right to reign!”
“Yes,” he agrees, pushing his chair back and standing, his eyes glittering when they meet mine. “That is just as I see it. I am the Sheikh of Qabid and it is time to put the Hassan matter to rest. I will not spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”
“You think you’ve given your people what they want? Then why do some wish to replace you?”
