42
ONE MONTH LATER
“She is still my family, Irene,” shouted the Sheikh. “I must go back to her. And that means I must take care of business before I emerge. Yes, I was swayed by your talk of compassion and love, but the real world does not wait around for problems to be solved by love and compassion. The real world, Irene. I want to forget about it too, but I cannot. Neither can you. We are a part of it and will always be a part of it. It is time to face reality, and the reality is that one more death will bring peace to my family.”
Irene rocked back and forth on the bed as River quietly fed at her breast, and she looked up at the Sheikh and nodded. She was exhausted from trying to change him. Everything she’d tried seemed to work for a while and then give way to his mantra of “kill the problem and the problem is dead so there is no longer a problem.”
“Do what you want,” she said sweetly. “As your highness wishes. Who am I to question your infinite wisdom. If you really believe one more death will bring peace to your family, then I am done arguing. I have nothing more. If what we’ve been through over the past year hasn’t changed you, then nothing will. If being a father twice over has not awakened you to the fact that ultimately you are more selfish and short-sighted than even—”
“Selfish and short-sighted!” bellowed the Sheikh, and little River bit down hard on Irene’s nipple as she suckled. Irene winced, but did not cry out and did not pull her breast away, like she did whenever River bit too hard otherwise. “Me? Ya Allah, how dare you even suggest such a thing! My life has been lived for other people! For my dead wife. My orphaned niece. My kingdom and the war against terror. Now my new wife and children. And you dare accuse me of—”
“Bilaal,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a breath. “I’m not accusing you of anything. You are selfish because you want to indulge the anger in you and resort to violence. And you are short-sighted if you think that killing this other brother will bring peace to you.”
“Of course it will bring peace to me to know that my niece will be safe forever, that you and I and our babies can live in the open, in Khiyani, Wyoming, Disneyland—anywhere we want—without fearing that some . . .” He trailed off as he said it, frowning and narrowing his eyes as if his mind had gotten ahead of his tongue and alerted him to the trap Irene had set.
“Without fearing that some . . . what, Bilaal? That someone else will try to kidnap your children or murder your niece? That these two brothers might have ten cousins? That you will then want to wipe out those cousins? What if three of the ten cousins have children? Will you drown them like unwanted kittens so they don’t grow up and seek revenge?” She laughed, but not at him. For him she had nothing but gentle compassion, a deep belief that this man was fundamentally good, supremely strong, a man whose children she was proud to bear. He just needed some help. Help only she could give. Help that a man so powerful and proud might never accept. “Oh, Bilaal, I know you understand the pattern, because it is the same game of revenge and murder that plays out over generations in wars. You see the effects of it in your world as a Middle Eastern king. You fight the effects of it in the world you inhabit in the shadows. In a way you are right that you do live for other people, and the tragedy has been that you’re so focused on the outside world, that you’ve become blind to the fact that you’re allowing this neverending cycle of violence to destroy all the love in your own life.”
The Sheikh stayed silent, his eyes closed, his fists clenched. When he looked at her Irene was stunned at the vulnerability betrayed by those green eyes that could go to cold stone in a heartbeat.
“So what do I do, Irene,” he whispered, his voice shaking in a way that made Irene want to burst into tears and hug this beast of a man. “Of course I understand the pattern. Of course I see the consequences of my actions. But what can I do to stop the cycle? I still worry that the families or friends of the thirteen men I killed will someday return the favor. What can I do, Irene? It is too late for me to choose a new path.”
“You already have chosen a new path, Bilaal,” she whispered as she touched her suckling daughter’s silky hair and held her hand out to her husband. “And you’re not walking down this path alone. We’re with you. All of us. We’re yours. All yours. And where you lead, we will follow. That’s all I have to say. You make your choice, and I will follow, with our children in tow.”
The Sheikh knitted his eyebrows and cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Irene said, blinking hard as the words came so fast she could barely keep up. Yes, she thought. This was the answer, wasn’t it. Instead of arguing and fighting, just give in and see what your husband does. “I’m not going to leave you no matter what. I’m your wife, and I’m going to stay your wife even if you kill a hundred more men, burn their wives, and drown their children. If we have to live the rest of our lives in fortresses surrounded by armed guards, then so be it. If our children grow up always looking over their shoulders, then that is the price we will pay. You choose, Bilaal. You choose.”