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“Habibti. Habibti.My love, my love,” he repeated.
“What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“You’re keeping something from me.”
“It’s a miracle, my love. A miracle.”
“What? Please tell me. What?”
“Our baby. . . our baby. . . our baby…”
“What is it?”
“She’s a girl!”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
“We will call our sheikha princess Rabah,” Anwar announced several days later when they were safely back at the palace.
“Rabah,” Lucy said, smiling at the delicacy and strength of her daughter’s name. It sounds beautiful. What does it mean?”
Anwar grinned. “Rabah means winner.”
“It sounds more magical in Arabic,” Lucy said.
He bent down and drew Rabah’s name in the sand.
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“That’s so lovely,” Lucy said, her gaze tracing the beautiful curves.
“Lovely like my daughter and her mother. My princesses. I am a winner to have two gorgeous women in my life,” he said. “Traditionally,Rabahis a boy’s name. But we have already broken with tradition. I want my daughter to continue to blend duality into one strong people. She will take the world by storm.”
Lucy nodded her approval. The storm had delivered her child, and now the storm and the birth of her daughter were fortifying her resolve. “Rabah Minnie na Hassir,” she said.
“Minnie? What is this Minnie?”
“A sweet nickname to remind Rabah to balance winning with a spirit of joy, laughter, and playfulness,” Lucy said.
“Rabah Minnie na Hassir,” Anwar affirmed. “A very fine name for a very fine young lady.”
"You were the scapegoat because you allowed it," Anwar had said to her once. His words echoed through her mind as she watched the Bedouin goats gnawing on desert shrubs beyond the palace walls.
She wasn't going to remain mute and be the scapegoat anymore, she vowed, fisting her fingers. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t honest. It wasn’t the truth. Some things couldn’t remain buried.
Later that evening, while their daughter slept blissfully in her nursery, Simba, tucked beside her, she went in search of Anwar. It was time to test the strength of Anwar’s love for her.
“Hamad is still blaming me forhisdecisions,” she said, entering his study. “Hamad was the one who had trusted the art broker and bought Salvator Mundi at auction. I told him it was an over-priced, highly questionable painting. The painting’s provenance was too perfect, too carefully curated, just as the painting’s restoration had been. After the restorer’s work, I doubt any of Leonardo’s brushstrokes were left. I don’t know why Hamad was so determined to possess it. Salvator Mundi, Saviour of the World, isn’t even Islamic.Leonardo had painted the face of Christ. A Christian god of sorts," Lucy said. “But Jesus wasn't even a god. He was a mortal, just like you and I,” she conceded."Like our child, born on a dusty manger. But here's the other thing. Our child isn’t going to wear the shame of the stain against my reputation.”
"You have been absolved," Anwar reminded her, placing his pen down and regarding her intently.
"Yes, in a British court. But Western absolution still carries an admission of guilt in your people's world. I am being forced to remain silent and take the blame so your brother can keep his honor. What about my honor? Or don't I merit your protection?"
"I know you're innocent."
“You’re the only one.In everyone else’s eyes, I’m guilty. It’s not right. I won’t allow it.”
