Then there was the deed to a building in Manhattan and another to land in the French countryside. Beautiful silk fabrics, as well as a collection of European art, including an original Van Gogh. The final gift came in the amount of a lump sum deposit of millions of dollars into her personal account.
In recent days, her initial anger had melted away and transformed into nervous anticipation. Anticipation of her responsibilities as queen, but also anticipation of her wedding night. She and Wasim had only shared a kiss so far, but it had been explosive, and her thoughts veered toward anxiety and desire every time she considered sharing a bed with him.
But spending time with her mother and friends had been what she needed. Having so many people around her during this period lifted her spirits, despite the circumstances surrounding her marriage.
Three additional henna artists worked the room by putting designs on the hands of the guests. A female DJ played a mix of music, from Middle Eastern sounds to West African beats. The women danced around each other, laughing and talking.
Gifts for the guests were lined up at a table near the front. Attendants would hand them out as the women left. Each velvet drawstring pouch contained perfume, organic soaps, and Zamibian candy made from mangoes and pineapples that she’d had specially made for the occasion.
Plenty of food and drink filled the tables lining the walls, representing a blend of both cultures. Snacks like chin chin, plantain chips, meat pies, and candied nuts all made according to Zamibian tradition. Then there was grilled avocado salad, hummus served with vegetables and pita bread, and kanafeh—a sticky pastry she’d become quite fond of.
Hours later, her hands and feet were covered in the intricate patterns created by the artists, and the reddish-brown stain would darken over the course of the next couple of days.
Someone hugged her from behind, and she knew right away it was Dahlia. “How are you?”
Imani turned to face her cousin’s wife and saw Angela, Dahlia’s best friend and Prince Andres’s wife, standing there, too.
Angela wore very little makeup on her amber skin and had fixed her hair into a loose chignon. Dahlia wore her long wavy hair in a single braid over one shoulder. Her dark skin and dark eyes seemed to glow under the lights overhead.
“I’m good,” Imani replied.
“Glad to hear it. Kofi told me to keep an eye on you and report back.” Dahlia raised an eyebrow in question.
Imani sighed. He was ridiculously protective, and she loved him. “Tell him there is nothing to report.”
Dahlia’s face turned into an affectionate smile. “I’m so happy for you.”
“We both are,” Angela said.
“You deserve this, Imani. You’ve worked so hard all these years, and I knew from the moment I saw you and Wasim together, that you were meant to be. You had too much chemistry. Anyone with two working eyes could see that the two of you were interested in each other and belong together.”
Belonged together? Imani wasn’t so sure about that, but she couldn’t tell Dahlia what she saw had not been real. That they had simply been two friends flirting and getting along, but after the kiss, the flirtations became something more. And only recently did she admit that she had feelings for Wasim, but he had crushed her spirits when he told her the reasons they should get married.
Dahlia placed an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, we need to dance.”
Imani let both women lead her into the middle of the group and joined in the dancing.
The wedding ceremony was a large affair that included almost a thousand attendees. The men’s celebration took place in a large hall of the palace, while the women’s celebration took place in an even larger room. In addition to the many friends and family that were invited, celebrities and dignitaries from around the world came to take part in the celebration. In the male hall, all of the men dressed in traditional white robes and the nation’s standard headdress.
Wasim looked at the number of men gathered to help him celebrate. Though he and Imani had been officially married for forty days, tonight marked the moment when they could celebrate with the rest of the world. He felt lighter than he had in a long time and glad that he had waited instead of accepting the choices his aunt had presented to him over the years.
He moved from person to person and smiled at the guests, but could barely concentrate. It seemed like he had waited an eternity for this night, and now that it was here, he wished he could kick everyone out of the palace and take his wife upstairs and make love to her until the early morning. Unfortunately, he had to be a good host and a proper groom.
He spotted Andres and Kofi chatting over near one of the tables and sauntered over to them.
Andres’s blue eyes lit up. “Did you invite enough people?” he asked.
“You’re a fine one to talk. When you and Angela got married, not only did an entire country attend, I seem to recall there were news cameras that broadcast the event to the entire world.”
“He does have a point,” Kofi said.
“Touché,” Andres said. “You know, I actually thought you would back out of the marriage, but I was wrong.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Because you’ve found something wrong with every woman your aunt presented to you and made it quite plain that you didn’t want to get married anytime soon.”
“Things changed.” Wasim shrugged.
“Welcome to the married men’s club.”
“Honored to be a member,” Wasim said.
“I’m sorry your father couldn’t be here.”
“Me too,” Kofi added quietly.
Pain bloomed in his chest. “I wish he could have been here, too, but I like to think he knows that Imani and I are married, which was what he wanted.”
Music started playing, a traditional tune on a flute and drums, with the voices of a chorus of men joining in. Then attendants began handing out bamboo canes to all the guests.
“What’s this for?” Kofi asked.
Wasim smiled. “This is our traditional stick dance—Al Ayala. Watch and learn.”
The stick dance was a tradition that was being revitalized after the younger people had not expressed much interest in it. The cultural minister had been worried that the art would be lost, and so in the past, Wasim had allocated funds from his own budget to promote it in schools and cultural centers around the city.
The men lined up facing each other, and Wasim slipped into place between one of his cousins and Akmal. Moving in time to the chanting voices of the chorus, Wasim joined the guests as they lifted the canes high and then lowered them again. They moved in coordinated movements that had been honed through years of practice.
After a while, he glanced at his friends. “Come on, join in,” he told them.
He couldn’t be with his new bride yet, but he could have fun with his best friends and perhaps forget for a moment that there would be several more hours before the night ended and he and Imani could be alone.
Andres and Kofi stepped into the line and quickly caught on to the movements. Wasim tossed his spinning cane in the air and caught it, which prompted Akmal to do the same. Then the two brothers started doing other tricks as they moved in time to the sound of the beating drums and the chant of the male voices around them.