She shifted in the chair. “Not since the last fiasco, but my parents are now talking about an arranged marriage.”
Wasim froze, body going perfectly still. “When did that happen?”
She lifted one shoulder dismissively. “The option has always been on the table, particularly where my father is concerned, but I’ve told them I’m not interested in them setting me up.”
“Why not?”
“Like I told you before, that’s the old way. I want to find my own husband. I want to be in love when I marry.”
“And that’s part of the fantasy?” Wasim asked.
“Falling in love is not a fantasy.”
“Don’t you believe that two people can be happily married even if they’re not in love? Both of us have parents whose marriages were arranged. It’s not necessary to love first if you’re compatible.”
“For me it is. Otherwise, the marriage is more like a business arrangement, and I couldn’t be happy in a relationship like that.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, I think I’ve found a man already.”
The tightness in his body increased. “You have? You just said there was no one.”
“There is.”
“And you’re in love with him?”
“I like him and believe I could come to love him once we start dating. He’s a businessman from Senegal. We met a while back.”
“I vaguely remember you telling me about him. Abdou something, isn’t it? He’s not worthy of a woman like you,” he said gruffly.
“Well, lucky for me, you don’t get to choose my husband.”
Despite their commonalities, they also had many differences between them. Imani was Christian, he was Muslim. Her permanent home was in Africa and his in the Middle East. Now, another one. Where she believed falling love was integral to a happy marriage, he didn’t hold the same belief.
That thought unsettled him deeply, but rather than voice his opinion, he remained quiet and took another sip of tea.
4
In the back of a limousine on the way to The Grand White Palace, Wasim reviewed his notes in preparation for the meeting with his father. The final figures had come in last night, and he’d plugged them into the spreadsheets and had Talibah print copies of the report for him, his father, and Akmal.
Under normal circumstances, the reviews would be done via electronic tablets, but his father was old-fashioned and preferred to have the weight of papers in his hands. Wasim had been very impressed with Cairo Metro, the first constructed rapid transit system in the Arab world. He’d also learned quite a bit in Dubai and especially Paris, whose extensive system of lines and stations was one of the oldest in the world.
His attention was drawn outside the window to a red tour bus rolling along the highway, a reminder that tourism revenues had become a larger line item in their budget in recent years—the very reason they were exploring expanding public transportation.
Having more people come to the country was a good thing. From experience, he knew that outsiders mistook their traditional dress and codes of conduct as an indication that they were a backward nation. They expected to see camels and souks and horse-drawn carts. While those existed in some of the older areas, where the ancient streets were narrow and the Ministry of Historical Preservation maintained the authenticity of relics from the past, the country was crisscrossed by modern highways and glass skyscrapers. Throughout Barrakesch, ancient and modern coexisted.
The limo cruised to a stop at the checkpoint with armed guards dressed in military gear before driving another two miles down a winding road with palm trees on each side. At the end of the road, the splendor of the palace loomed before him.
Consisting of six floors with hidden passageways, elevators, and grandiose designs that included imported marble and decorative touches trimmed in gold, The Grand White Palace was located in Kabatra and a short distance from the city’s harbor.
Heavily guarded, the palace was a symbol of wealth, as well as paid homage to the region’s aesthetic. The large doors at the entrance were designed in typical Islamic architecture with the family emblem of a resting falcon at the top. As of five years ago, on Mondays and Wednesdays visitors could tour sections of the compound and inside the palace.
The Grand White Palace was not only the home of King Khalid, his two wives and their children and their children, but where several government offices were located, including an office where Wasim sometimes worked. The king also met with his advisors there, and once a month citizens could come to plead their cases to the king in The Great Hall of Appeals—asking for leniency on prison terms on behalf of loved ones, economic relief, to settle land and business disputes, or other matters of importance.
Wasim’s older sister, Yasmin, was exiting with her four-year-old son as he entered through one of the side doors. She wore her raven hair cascading down her back, black slacks, and a long-sleeved blouse whose coral color complimented her skin tone.
“Khali!” his nephew said, his eyes brightening.
“And where are you going?” Wasim asked, lifting his nephew, Malak, into the air.
The little boy giggled. “Me and Ummi are going to meet Baba for lunch.”
“Sounds like fun. Bring me back some kanafeh, okay? I haven’t had any in a while.”
“Okay!” his nephew said with an enthusiastic grin.
He kissed Malak on the cheek before setting him on the ground.
“Going to see Father?” Yasmin asked.
“Yes. He, Akmal, and I are going to review the reports from my trip.” He held up the folder that had been wrinkled a bit when he lifted Malak. “What’s the occasion for lunch?” he asked.
“Farouk and I have a meeting downtown about one of his latest projects, but he’s taking us to lunch first. I’ll take Malak to a friend’s while we’re in the meeting.”
Farouk always included Yasmin in his business dealings, trusting her judgment and ability to read people. His construction company had been modestly successful when he met her, but since marrying, the business had grown by double digits every year. Partly because of his connections to the royal family, but also because of Yasmin’s input.
“And which project is this?”
“The new Hilton Hotel on the other side of town.”
He knew that project. It was a huge undertaking—easily the biggest of Farouk’s career. No wonder he wanted Yasmin present.
“And look what he bought me.” She tucked her hair behind her left ear and showed off the diamond stud.
Wasim whistled. “Very nice. What’s the occasion?”
She shrugged, a blush of pleasure on her cheeks. “No reason. Just because.”
He almost wanted to call Imani and say See, here is another arranged marriage that’s working just fine.
“He spoils you too much,” Wasim teased.
“There is no such thing,” Yasmin said loftily. “You could never be too good to a woman. Remember that.” She strutted across the tiled courtyard toward the vehicle idling nearby. Malak waved goodbye and Wasim waved back.
They disappeared within the Lexus SUV, and Wasim entered the building. One of the staff handed him a wet towel that he dabbed against his face to cool off from the heat. Then he took the elevator to the top floor and entered his father’s quarters. There, an aide removed his sandals and replaced them with a pair of slippers. He escorted Wasim toward the glass-enclosed balcony where his father sat in a chair covered in gold and oxblood fabric.