Midnight in the Harem. Susanna Carr
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to take the easy route, she called her father first. That conversation went much as expected, but when he blamed her mother for insisting Angele be raised in the United States, she’d had enough.
“Had you managed to keep it in your pants, I would have grown up in Jawhar. Don’t you dare blame Mom for this.”
His outraged gasp at her crassness had no problem translating across the cellular connection.
“In point of fact, it was your ongoing infidelity that convinced me marriage to Zahir would never work,” Angele added. “I will not put myself in the position of living as Mom did.”
“She never wanted for anything.”
“If you really believe that, then you’ve learned nothing despite your change in behavior.”
“You do not speak to me with such disrespect, Angele.”
“The truth is not disrespect.” He couldn’t even accuse her of a snarky tone, because her voice was as devoid of emotion as her heart right now.
She preferred the dead feeling to the pain that was sure to come as her final separation from Zahir sank in completely.
“Your mother and my relationship is not your business.”
“I agree, but that does not change the fact that your example is one I absolutely refuse to follow.”
“Zahir is not a hot-blooded man.” The words like myself were implied but not said.
Angele wasn’t about to tell her father just how wrong he was. After the previous night, though, Angele knew the truth. And the certainty that Zahir had spent similar nights with Elsa Bosch managed to pierce her numbness with a hurt that Angele chose to ignore.
So much for a decimated heart having no capacity for further pain.
“You cannot do this, Angele.”
“It’s done.”
“We will discuss this further later.” The royals of Zohra and Jawhar had nothing on her father for arrogance. “Right now, I am to meet Malik and Faruq. I am sure you and I both can guess the planned topic of our conversation.”
“You are not listening, though why that should surprise me, I have no idea.”
“Angele!” The shocked way he said her name spoke volumes.
“Please, Father. I love you, but I don’t want to live my mother’s life. I simply won’t. I delivered letters to both kings with my stated intentions and apologies before leaving the palace.”
“Leaving the … where are you?” For the first time, her father’s voice sounded worried rather than angry.
The car pulled up outside the airport. She got out without answering her father, or waiting for the driver to open her door.
Once her luggage was on the curb, she said, “I’m on my way home.”
“Your home is here.”
“It never has been and it never will be.” She sighed, ignoring the twinge in her heart the words caused her. “Please listen to me, Father. I included a copy of the press release I sent out to the major news agencies with the letters I delivered to the kings. Your meeting would be best spent deciding how to deal with the PR ramifications of my decision than trying to determine how to change my mind.”
“Of course we will change your mind.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Damn it, I changed my whole lifestyle to ensure this wedding would one day take place. You will not derail that in a fit of feminine pique.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Surely Zahir told you about the little talk we had several years ago. He’s always been your hero.” Her father’s tone implied he’d neither enjoyed the little talk nor the fact he’d lost his place as Angele’s hero.
Tough. He was entirely responsible for both she was sure. And yet, she heard herself saying, “I’m sorry.”
Though why he should think Zahir would have told her about the discussion was beyond her. Before this wedding feast, the time she and Zahir had spent together alone could be measured in minutes, not hours.
It was her father’s turn to sigh. “Zahir informed me that he would not marry a woman whose father made headlines in the scandal rags on a regular basis.”
She had no problem believing that. Zahir’s near rabid protection of the family name and reputation of the royal house was well-known.
“So, you turned faithful …” She paused, swallowing down bile. She’d thought he’d done it to save their relationship and that had hurt enough, as she’d so wanted him to do it for her mother’s sake. To learn he’d done it to earn a more entrenched place in the royal house just made her sick. “Or at least circumspect, in order to make sure your daughter married into the Royal House of Zohra.”
“Faithful,” her father bit out. “I realized my actions were doing all harm and no good. Certainly they never had the effect I had hoped.”
“You hoped sleeping around would have some kind of positive impact?” she asked with patent disbelief.
“Your mother refused to get pregnant again. I accused her of becoming pregnant with you only to trap me into marriage to begin with.” A long drawn-out pause followed. “She never denied it.”
“Was this before, or after you had your first affair?” What was she asking? Her brain and mouth were connected without a filter in there somewhere.
“It does not matter.”
“I’m sure it did to Mom.”
“She would not even try to give me a son.”
“I am sorry to have been such a disappointment to you.” And she’d never even known she had been.
“That is not what I meant.”
Strangely she believed him. Her father hadn’t ever done anything to make her feel like he had wished she’d been a boy. “I thought you didn’t care if you had an heir since you aren’t actual royalty.”
“You know our people, though you were not raised full-time among them.”
And in the culture of his homeland, to have no son to leave his name and worldly possessions was a great tragedy.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling her father’s pain across the distance between them.
She understood the dynamics of her parents’ marriage a little better, but she still had no desire to emulate it. “Mom loves you. She always has.”
“I know that now.” For the first time since their initial greeting, her father’s voice held a measure of contentment. “I say again, Zahir is not me. He will not make my mistakes.”
Memories of the photos she had left in Zahir’s room rose to taunt Angele as she pulled her rolling case to the private plane security checkpoint. Even so, she did not reveal to her father that Zahir was no lily-white duty-bound sheikh, no matter what everyone else believed.
“I can’t marry him, Father.”
“You must.”
“No.”
“These are just prewedding jitters.”
“We aren’t even officially engaged.” Sheesh. “This is me being smart enough to avoid a future that holds no appeal for me.”
“It’s a future you are imagining, not the one that will be.”
“Have you always loved Mom?” she asked instead of answering.
The answer was immediate and without doubt.
“Yes.”