AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Why are you being so belligerent? We are already creating more hope in the region by buildingMaerid al’ahlam: The Gallery of Dreams.Have you ever noticed that anytime there’s a war, even when the Nazis stormed through Italy, the orders were clear, ‘No one is to destroy the artistic treasures.'
“Hitler was a complex character,” Anwar said.
“We’re all complex,” Lucy agreed.
“Things are different now. Invaders seek to destroy culture. They burn the books, destroy the sculptures, desecrate all that is beautiful.”
“You always said the dark forces can not steal the light. You know as well as I that we can all be healed by art. Art can break down stereotypes, whether a painting, a sculpture, a building, or the lines in a song or story. Art can pull down the barriers of mistrust between warring communities and pave the way for reconciliation and justice. So to answer your question, what I will do, no what we will do,” she corrected, “is continue to create an artistic legacy devoted to enduring peace and prosperity.”
Anwar regarded her skeptically.
“Why are you being so obstinate,” she threw at him. “You know I’m right. Look at what your brother Tariq and Melanie achieved with their museum, HABI. Melanie’s innovative, world-first design won the coveted architecture award, the Ritzher. Not only was she the first architect to win, but she cemented his vision for his museum—a fun and educational place to house all the activities related to his animal conservation projects. People, tourists, scientists, conservationists, media—a wide and diverse group of people, now come under one roof, united by a common cause to protect endangered animals and save the planet.”
She sensed his conviction had wavered, his self-belief impacted by the scar of his father’s inability to love him and his constant criticism. His vulnerability in that moment made her love him more.
“Our project will do the same—attract tourists and diversify our income away from relying on fossil fuels, “ she reinforced. “You said it yourself: it will boost the economy and enrich the lives of your people,” she said, forcibly affirming his vision.
A man must be strong enough for you to respect him but weak enough for you to love him, she thought to herself as she saw the strength in his vision return under the fierce force of her belief in him.
“Have I ever told you how much I admire you,” he said, lowering his face to hers and kissing her. “You are fierce like a lion and tender like a star.Ahwa.I am in love.”
“Ahwa, habibti,” she murmured as his tongue danced with hers. “I also am in love.” And this time, instead of words mingling with anticipation and fear, she tasted honey.
She placed a hand on her swollen belly. “Let’s take our son for one last visit to where it all began.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
Last night had been about intimacy. About giving each other joy. It had been about forgiving the past and celebrating the new life that awaited, Lucy thought, slipping from the sheets and standing outside the tent.
They had journeyed to the building site where the Gallery of Dreams would be built and decided impulsively to stay the night. It had been a perfect evening in every way. It was exciting to see the earthworks beginning and the site being prepared for the construction planned for the New Year. Once all the workers had gone home, they were alone in their royal tent with their love, their dreams, and the stars.
The sandstorm approached so gracefully that, at first, Lucy didn’t register the threat. She had been on such a euphoric high, and she wanted to enjoy the peace and beauty of the desert with the man she loved.
She glanced at the horizon as the cloud of dust grew thicker. Should she be worried, she wondered? It spiraled with increasing urgency, like some ominous dance, covering everything in a dusty haze until everything in the distance was buried.
Were it not so menacing, it would be beautiful, Lucy thought, momentarily beguiled. Billowing clouds of sand, infused with champagne golds and rose pinks and edged with creamy white, set perfectly against a moody night sky. Suddenly, searing pain jolted her senses awake.
“Anwar! Anwar!” she cried, her tone raw with urgency. She shuddered and clenched her fingers around his stomach as he drew to her.
“Get inside,” he commanded as a large whooshing roar filled the air.
“The baby—” she whinced as contractions pummelled through her. “No! He can’t come now. Not here. Not like this,” Lucy screamed, clenching the sheets as Anwar picked her up and lay her on the bed.
“I want to go to the hospital. I want my baby to have the best care.”
“And you think I don’t? Do you think I want my child born in a tent like a commoner?”
If it weren’t for the pain ripping through her, Lucy would have commented on the grandeur of the tent, the luxury, the wealth. Their son was hardly entering the world like a pauper.
She suppressed a scream as a painful contraction lashed through her groin. Sand pummelled the tent, raining its unrelenting fury.
“Why?” She hurled at the storm, “Why can’t it be easy?”
“Strength, my love,” Anwar said, his voice softening as he held her hand, “What is soft is strong. Relax.”
She smiled at him, suddenly feeling safe and protected. Where other women may have cursed and sworn at their partners as pain overtook them, Anwar was echoing the advice of the midwife who had tended to her since her arrival. Instinctively, her body wanted to tense, but she bent all her willpower to do as Anwar encouraged and relaxed.
“I will get you through this,” he assured her as she exhaled painful wooshes of breath in rapid succession. “Tell me what to do,” he said, wiping the beads of sweat from her brow.
