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“Stopped what from happening?”
“You’re a part of me.” He says it so simply, like it’s an incontrovertible fact. “When you spoke of love, I didn’t understand, because it seems so banal, such an over-used term to describe what you’ve come to mean to me. Everyone says ‘I love you’. That’s not unusual. But if you need to hear it then, yes, I love you, of course I love you, but it’s so much more than that. You have moved inside of me, you exist in here,” he gestures to his heart. “I feel you with every breath I take, but it’s not enough. I need you. Not the part of you that’s in my heart, but all of you. With me.”
I stare at him, the words wrapping around me like gossamer silk so that I can’t block them, I can’t fight them; they wriggle into my chest and land there, locking into place. I blink, hope perforating my darkness, filling me with light.
“I have fought this,” he says quietly. “I have fought myself. Because of your father, I have always wondered if our marriage could mean to you what it did to me. After all, how can you love a man who caused him such pain – warranted or not? And to feel torn between us, and your loyalty, must surely be a source of hurt to you – so why would you love me? Why would you choose me?”
“It’s not a choice,” I say quickly. “And even if it were,” I shake my head, because there’s no way to finish that sentence that does me credit. There is no choice. I stare at the man before me, who is good and strong and righteous and has so much integrity it hurts and I feel love bursting from me.
“I have felt so torn,” I whisper. “I have felt as though I am betraying him or you at every moment. In some ways, his confession freed me up to finally accept that I do love you – that it’s okay to love you.”
“I believe this is why he told you. He saw your conflict and sought to resolve it. It was a…gift.”
“Don’t. Don’t justify anything he’s done.”
“Habibti, it’s complicated. I understand that there is no easy fix with your father, but he is still your father.”
“I can’t think about him right now,” I say firmly. “I’d rather hear more about how you love me.”
He laughs, tilting his head back, and I glow all over. “Then let me tell you. But not here. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to bring you home. To the palace, with me, where you will always, always belong, my beautiful wife.”
I tilt my head to the side, pretending to consider that. “Well, I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully. “We would have to come up with a new deal.”
His eyes spark to mine as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a piece of paper. “I thought of that.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
I close the distance between us, taking the paper from his hand. It’s a single page.
To have and to hold, to love and honour, for as long as we both shall live.
He’s added his signature to the bottom. Tears well in my eyes. “That’s kind of cheesy, you know,” I tease.
“Does that make it less true?”
“No.” I run my finger over his signature. “It’s true, and I’ll hold you to it.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“I have a present for you.”
Three months after returning to palace, and I don’t know if I’ve stopped smiling since.
“A present, hmm?” Zahir stands from behind his desk, lifting his brows. “What is it?”
“You’ll have to come with me to see.”
“I think I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
I take his hand, drawing him with me, out of the office and into the corridor. Guards stand to attention but I understand now what I didn’t when I first came to Qabid. They are here ceremonially, their placement a tribute to the kingdom and the ancient heritage, not because there’s a looming threat. We walk past them, hand in hand. At the end of the corridor, I turn us to the right, then out a large set of doors that lead to a garden.
“Out here?”
I can tell I’ve surprised him. “Uh huh.” I stop. “Now, close your eyes.”
“Seriously?”
