Wasim’s home demonstrated his independence and ability to set up his own household. At thirty-one he was past the age when he was expected to marry, but he had no such inclinations. With his father as healthy as a purebred horse, he would not have to consider marriage and heirs for a long time to come. So he enjoyed himself and indulged in the luxuries that came from being a descendant of a centuries-old dynasty flush with immeasurable wealth, and outside of Barrakesch he discreetly enjoyed the women who allowed him to charm his way into their beds.
As they approached, large metal doors decorated in Islamic design connected to the walls that ran around the entire compound, opened and allowed them to roll through. Wasim was escorted to the door, and the security on the inside bowed briefly when he entered. The sound of trickling water filled the air from the fountain in the middle of the enormous foyer that boasted a three-story ceiling, arched doorways that led into other rooms and hallways, and marble tile floors trimmed in gold.
Once a day, an attendant placed fresh flowers inside the fountain. They floated in the gently moving water and perfumed the air with their floral scent.
An aide appeared, silently bowed, and then crouched before Wasim. He removed Wasim’s sandals and replaced them with a pair of dark slippers before leaving as quietly as he came. Wasim was about to head upstairs when his personal secretary, Talibah, appeared.
He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “As-salamu alaikum,” he greeted her. “What are you still doing up?”
Talibah was a few years younger than him, with golden-brown skin and sharp but friendly charcoal eyes. She wore hijab and a traditional black abaya. She’d been his personal secretary for over a year, after his previous secretary retired. There had been talk that she was too young and inexperienced to serve in such an important role, but her work ethic and loyalty had impressed him, and so far she had proven him right to give her the promotion.
“Wa alaikum assalaam, Prince Wasim,” Talibah replied, dipping her head in respect. “I received a call from the secretary of His Excellency King Khalid. Your father will return to Barrakesch tomorrow and requests your presence the day after at The Grand White Palace at one o’clock. He has asked for a confirmation before eight a.m. tomorrow.”
Wasim knew better than to ask why. When King Khalid requested your presence, you dropped everything and went to see him. If he needed anything specific, he would have included those instructions in the request.
“What if I had stayed out longer tonight?” Wasim asked.
“Then I would have waited up longer until you arrived, Prince.”
Wasim hid his smile of approval. Yes, she was a great addition to his inner circle.
“Inform my father’s secretary that I will be there promptly at one.”
“Yes, Prince.”
“Now go to bed, Talibah.”
She allowed herself a faint smile and then bowed. “As you wish, Prince Wasim.”
She turned away toward one of the arched doorways, and Wasim took the elevator to his apartment on the fourth level. When the cabin came to a halt, he stepped onto white carpet that ran all the way to the bulletproof windows on the other side that overlooked the property and the Gulf beyond.
Wasim waved away the aide that took a step in his direction and went to stand in front of the window. Below, his personal zoo included two lions and their new cub, two tigers, and the recent addition of a family of chimpanzees. He frowned, his gaze settling on the lions sleeping next to each other on the grass under one of the trees. But he didn’t have an issue with the lions. He was frowning because of what Talibah had said.
His father knew he’d come to visit soon to share his findings from his trip overseas. So why request his presence sooner?
2
“You’re not getting any younger,” Benu said.
Seated at the vanity in her bedroom, chin resting on her palm, Imani rolled her eyes in response to her mother’s chastisement. She’d had this conversation before, and not only with her mother. Her father had uttered similar words in the past. Her parents meant well, but the constant harassment about getting married wore on her nerves. Particularly since she had no intention of simply getting married for the sake of getting married. When she did, it would be for love.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” her mother said, though she couldn’t actually see Imani.
“Mama, I know I’m not getting any younger, but I still have a lot of life to live, and I have a little more than a month left on my assignment here.”
“And when your assignment is completed, and you return to Zamibia, you will settle down.” Her mother’s voice had firmed, and Imani straightened in the chair at her adamancy.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
Her mother cleared her throat. “You might as well know, but since yet another of your relationships recently ended, your father has picked a man we both think would be a suitable husband for you.”
“What!” The situation was worse than she thought.
“Don’t be too quick to hate the idea. He is a successful businessman from Ghana and a cousin of one of the members of The Most High Council. Financially, you’re both in a good place and would be a good match.”
“I don’t care whose son he is. I’m not marrying him.” She should choose her husband. He shouldn’t be chosen for her.
“Imani Karunzika, watch your tone with me!” Her mother’s voice cracked down the line with authority. “Your father is right. You have to watch your fiery temper. That mouth and attitude is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”
Out of respect, Imani clamped her lips shut, but she was not pleased.
“Do not be so quick to dismiss the idea. Your father and I only want the best for you, and this is a very good man. At least give him a chance. Spend some time with him.”
“I have someone I’m already interested in.”
“The Senegalese man? He’s not worthy of your station.”
Imani had met Abdou on a trip to Senegal. They’d stayed in touch sporadically over the years, and with his gentle nature she thought he could be the perfect husband.
“Imani, are you there?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Benu’s voice softened. “Be open to the idea, okay? Love can come later, which is why it’s so important that you are compatible in the first place. Arranged marriages have been practiced for centuries all over the world and many have done well. Look at your father and me. I will send you a photo of your potential suitor. He is very handsome.”
Imani heard the smile in her mother’s voice and became more annoyed. “What’s his name?”
When her mother gave the name, she didn’t need to see a photo because she remembered him. He was certainly better off financially than Abdou—a filthy-rich, domineering forty-something-year-old who’d inherited his father’s utility empire. Absolutely not.
“Baba said I could choose my own husband. We had an agreement. Besides, since the last fiasco, I’ve decided to take a break from men and concentrate on my work when I return to Zamibia.”
Benu sighed dramatically. “You’ll never find a husband if you’re busy with international trade agreements, business deals, and women empowerment seminars. I’m proud of you—we both are—but you must consider your future. Your father is concerned.”