AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It seemed that no sooner had Misha left than Miriam came to see him, though at least thirty minutes passed, because he’d managed to find a buyer for his car in London (a slick Audi R8 was an easy sell, especially in London). He was in the process of finalizing the deal when Miriam appeared at his door, saying, “What’s this I hear about you not going to London?”
He grinned at her. “I’ve got other plans.”
“But you’re just three months short of finishing your thesis,” she said, frowning. “You’ll be defending soon.”
“There’s not much that requires my presence in London,” he said, “and if I do have to go to London, then I can go.”
She shook her head, smiling ruefully at him. “Spoken like the spoiled little brother you are. So who is she?”
He was surprised that Miriam had caught on so soon. It must have shown on his face because Miriam laughed and said, “Come on, litte brother,” she said. “I’m three years older than you. I will always know more about you than you do. So tell me, who is this girl?”
For the first time since his date he felt embarrassed—not because he’d gone on a date, and had the audacity to call his feelings for this woman “love”, but because his sister had figured him out so easily. “The caterer from Papa’s wedding,” he said, after a long moment.
Her eyes went wide and she gasped in shock. “A commoner? And a Westerner? Papa will have a heart attack if he knew.”
Bashir shrugged, grinning. “That was the one question Papa didn’t ask me this morning,” he said. “I don’t think he wants to know.”
“Of course he doesn’t want to know!” she said. “Bashir—you can’t do this—”
“I’ll be staying in Bahrain,” he said, using his wheedling voice. Of all his siblings, she was the one who wanted him to stay in Bahrain the most.
She grew flustered, but still said, “I’m telling Papa—”
“He won’t care,” Bashir said. “He told me as much this morning.”
“Maybe not,” she retorted. “But he still ought to know.”
Bashir shrugged. He wasn’t worried about his father anymore. In fact, as he checked off “Tell Papa and Miriam” on his list, he felt cocky, as if for once everything was going his way.
***
“And that’s when everything went downhill,” he said.
He was sitting on the floor of Melinda’s apartment, recounting what had happened that he ended up disavowed, written off, and essentially abandoned at the bus stop closest to the palace. “If I’m not mistaken, my father is on the phone with his lawyers even now, telling them to cut me out of the trust.”
Melinda took a sharp breath, but it was from the shock of hearing the news, not from the loss of his money. “Then what are you going to do?” she asked.
He shrugged. “What any man must do—find a job.” Melinda nodded and curled against him, saying, “Of course you will.”
Of course I will? I don’t even know if I can. Then he shook his head, to clear away the doubts: he could, because he had to. There was no choice for him anymore. There never had been.
After Miriam had left him, he’d finally finished with the paperwork part of transferring his life from London back to Bahrain. The physical aspect of the move would take a few weeks, in his estimation, and he figured would take him another week to get everything settled between the Bahrani banks and the trust fund. He was thinking about how he’d have to go to London to settle with the bank there, when his father came into his room, a look of horror and shock on his face. “Tell me,” the king had said. “Is it true? Is the woman you are in love with a Westerner?”
“Yes,” Bashir had said.
The king took a deep breath, letting it out in one long hiss. “I am going to pretend that you made a mistake. Now tell me who she is.”
Bashir had glowered. “You said you wouldn’t interfere.”
“That’s when I still thought you had enough common sense not to want to marry a Westerner!” his father said. “They’re too different—the difference between royalty and a commoner is already vast—to add a Western girl to it—”
“I’ve lived in London for eight years,” Bashir said, evenly. “And she’s lived in Bahrain for at least six. I’d say we know a little about each other’s cultures already.”
“If you do this then I will disown you, and cut you out of the trust.”
He’d always known that losing the trust was going to be a risk, but now that his father had spoken the words aloud, his course of action was laid out for him. It didn’t even feel like a choice at that point. It was just what he had to do. The only words out of his mouth were, “How long will I have to settle my accounts in London?”
His father had not, apparently, expected him to accept the loss of his funds so easily. It would have been enjoyable watching his father’s expression morph from anger to disbelief—disbelief that he’d lost control of the conversation and of his son—had the conversation not been so serious. Finally the man managed to spit out, “You’re no son of mine!”
