17
So do I just knock, she wondered as she stared at the massive teakwood double-doors that marked the front gate of Johaar’s Royal Palace. From her visit three years ago, she remembered that this first set of doors opened into a vast courtyard, with the inner palace far back. There was no fence or barricade or anything other than this one gigantic door that was large enough to drive a semi-truck through. The Palace itself was in the center of the city, and Lora recalled reading something about how these doors were once kept open to the public so they could visit the courtyard freely. Now, however, the doors were closed, and there wasn’t a guard or attendant in sight.
“Maybe he’s skipped town,” Lora said to Damascus. “One night with me can get a king to leave his kingdom and head for the hills.”
Damascus giggled and then reached out and pawed at the smooth aged wood of the door. Lora watched him, smiling and shaking her head.
“You’ll have to knock a little harder than that, Sweetie,” she said. But just as she spoke the door opened as if by itself, and suddenly she and her son were facing that massive open courtyard that brought memories from three years ago rushing in like the wind.
“Um, we’re here to see the Sheikh,” Lora said to the two silent attendants who stood before her in white tunics, the sigil of the Royal House of Johaar emblazoned on their sleeves. They had no weapons, and although their expressions were stoic, their presence was not threatening in the least—almost welcoming, in a strange way. Indeed, Lora had to grab Damascus as the little tyke leaned forward and tried to pull on one of the guards’ long black beard.
“Inaha almar’atu,” said the first guard, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Damascus, his lips moving slightly as if he was trying to suppress a smile. “Yes. Sheikh Amir is expecting you.”
Lora frowned slightly, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she followed the guard past a line of old statues, around a blue sandstone fountain, down a black marble pathway that looked like it would be cool to the touch. They rounded a corner and finally she saw him, Sheikh Amir, seated in a gazebo that was surrounded by desert palms, all of which were exactly the same height and might have even had the same number of leaves.
The Sheikh stood when he saw her approach, and his smile almost melted Lora as the relief washed over her so hard her knees felt weak. It was only then that she realized how anxious she’d been about seeing him again, about looking into those green eyes, about allowing herself to think about what came next.
“How is it you’re expecting me?” Lora said as she stepped up into the gazebo. “Do you have spies at the hotel? Were you listening to me and Carmen talk?”
“I have better things to do than listen to a woman tell her best friend how incredible I was in bed,” Amir said, his green eyes sparkling as he looked her up and down, his gaze pausing on her cleavage for a long moment before he focused on her face. Then he looked down at her son and smiled. A warm, genuine smile that made Lora tremble both inside and outside, on every side. “And you must be Damascus. I am honored to make your acquaintance.” The Sheikh paused for a moment, nodding slowly and looking deep into the child’s eyes. “I see a lot of your mother in you. Not much of your father. Perhaps that is for the best, because from what I have seen, your biological father is . . .”
The Sheikh trailed off, and Lora’s heart almost stopped when she heard Amir use the term “biological father.” What was he implying? That Damascus would have another father someday? That Amir had already considered that if Lora and he were to be together, Damascus would become his son? Had Amir already been thinking about that?
All of what she’d read about the tradition of Sheikh’s Privilege came rushing back to her as she watched her son hold the eye contact with Amir in a way that surprised her. What was happening here? What had happened last night? What was going to happen in this conversation, in this moment, in this . . . lifetime?
The thoughts were too much, and Lora quickly shut them out with a blink and a smile. “Are you criticizing my choice in men?” she said hesitantly, doing her best to match the lighthearted tone he’d used when he made the quip about listening to Carmen and her talk about the Sheikh’s prowess in bed.
“Three years ago I did,” Amir said, looking into her eyes. Then he glanced back at Damascus and shrugged. “But between your handsome son and myself, you are keeping much better company in men now, so I will hold my judgment. Please sit, Lora.”
Lora looked around, realizing that both she and the Sheikh had been standing in the middle of the round enclosure. She nodded and sat on the purple velvet seating that circled the gazebo, carefully holding Damascus in her arms. The Sheikh sat beside her, so close they were almost touching. She’d thought he’d sit across from her, like he’d done three years ago when she’d entered his chambers. Was it symbolic that he was sitting right next to her now, close to her and her son? It almost felt like they were a family, the three of them.
That’s ridiculous, she thought as she watched Damascus reach out and paw at the Sheikh’s thick arm, giggling as he did it. Soon the child was clearly trying to crawl his way from her lap to his.
“No, Damascus,” she said. “Sit still.”
“Please. Let him come to me,” said the Sheikh, reaching out and taking Damascus from her arms without hesitation, without permission, like he wanted to hold him, like it was natural, real, genuine.
Amir held the boy close to his chest, smiling as Damascus pulled at his flowing white tunic, rubbed his heavy stubble, patted his strong jaw, touched his sharp, perfectly shaped nose. The Sheikh smiled, and soon both man and boy were laughing—for no reason and for every reason.
What’s happening, Lora thought as she watched the Sheikh—this man who in some way had started all of this—play with her son like the boy was his own. Does he really feel like he’s responsible for me and Damascus because of that tradition he invoked three years ago? And if he does, what do I do?
You’ve already done it, came the thought as she recalled the madness of the previous night, how he’d kissed her, loved her, taken her like she was his woman, his wife, his . . . whore?
Doubt flashed through her as she blinked and reached for her son, quickly taking him back into her arms as she reminded herself that every instinct she’d had about a man had proved to be wrong. Maybe Carmen was right: The Sheikh was perhaps as unreliable and untrustworthy as Mark—just in his own way. Just do what you came here to do and leave, Lora told herself. Ask him to void your marriage to Mark so you can be free of all this madness. All of it!
“I cannot void your marriage to Mark,” the Sheikh said matter-of-factly as he leaned forward and poured two glasses of cool lemon-juice from the silver pitcher on the table before them. He handed one to her but Lora shook her head.
“What . . . I mean how . . .” she stammered, wondering if the hotel room had really been bugged or something.
The Sheikh smiled and took a long drink from his lemon-water. “I received a message from a New Orleans lawyer this morning,” he said slowly. “Your husband Mark’s lawyer.” He paused and shrugged. “He appears to be quite good at his job, I will say.”
“He’s a sleazebag ambulance-chaser with dollar-signs tattooed on his eyeballs,” Lora muttered, shaking her head. Of course the lawyer had gotten in touch with the Sheikh. The Sheikh was the target. The Sheikh was the prize.
He’s the prize for you too, isn’t he, came the whisper from her conscience, and Lora felt the blood rush to her face along with a surge of guilt. What was she doing here? Why had she travelled across the world with her son in her arms to this obscure little kingdom? She was here for him, wasn’t she? Why? Because she felt something for him? Something that started three years ago with a kiss? Or because she knew that with a wave of his scepter he could make all her problems go away. Was she following her heart or her brain? Was she a woman falling in love or a gold-digger chasing a big fish? Was she no better than Mark?!
“Regardless,” the Sheikh said. “The lawyer has done his homework. By the laws of Johaar, I cannot void a marriage if the husband expresses genuine remorse for his transgressions and vows to be faithful if he is given a second chance.”
“That’s the most ridiculous law I’ve ever heard,” Lora snapped. “It’s misogynistic, archaic, and downright illegal. You can’t force a woman to stay married to a man who’s cheated on her.”
The Sheikh put down his glass of lemon-water, and Lora watched the beads of moisture roll down the sides of the tall crystal glass. Why was it so humid here, she wondered. Wasn’t this a desert? A dry heat? Was that even relevant?
“There is a way out,” the Sheikh said slowly, and his green eyes flashed as he glanced at Lora and then at Damascus in her arms. “And your husband’s lawyer knows it.”
“What’s the way out?” Lora said, frowning at the way Amir had glanced at Damascus and her.
“Because I invoked Sheikh’s Privilege three years ago and stated that I disapproved of the marriage, I can invoke it again at this point.”
“What does that mean: Invoke it again?”
The Sheikh blinked. “It means that I can hold to the strict tradition of Sheikh’s Privilege, which makes me responsible for any woman in my kingdom whose husband has died or left her . . . or betrayed her. In fact, since I invoked the law three years ago, the strict form of the tradition states that I must follow through. And your husband’s lawyer has made it quite clear he knows that.”
“What does that mean?” Lora said again, but she could barely say the words.
“You know what it means,” Amir said quietly. “It means that if I choose to follow the strictest interpretation of Sheikh's Privilege, I must take you as my wife. And that act will overrule the right Mark has to be given a second chance.”
Lora felt the pillars of the gazebo closing in on her, and she held Damascus tight against her body so she wouldn’t drop him if she passed out. She’d read about the tradition; she knew what it had meant in the old days. But to hear Amir say it in plain English, sitting next to her . . . and after what had happened last night . . . oh, God, what if . . .
“But why?” she asked, refusing to let the madness of what he’d said take over. “Why would Mark go through all of this? How does he expect to get anything from you? The way I understand it, you can end the marriage if you . . . I mean if we . . . um . . . get married.” Lora touched her hair and swallowed. “But then Mark doesn’t have any leverage. We could even fake a marriage if we had to. So why would he even—”
Amir shook his head, glancing at Damascus and then back at her. “Mark does have leverage, Lora. His son is the leverage.”
“No,” said Lora, shaking her head wildly and pulling Damascus closer. “What do you mean?”
“According to Johaari law, even the Sheikh cannot take a man’s son from him,” Amir said softly. “Which means that even if the two of us marry, Mark can choose custody of Damascus.” He smiled. “But by marrying you and invoking Sheikh’s Privilege, I am still responsible for your son, even if Mark has custody. Which means that Mark will receive monthly payments from me for the next two decades, until Damascus is twenty-one. In effect, I will pay him millions of dollars in child support if he gets custody.”
“That son of a bitch,” Lora whispered, shaking her head as she processed Mark’s scheme. “He’s going to use his own son as a hostage! No way. There’s no way.” But the chill that had started at the base of her spine was now taking over her body, making her shiver with both fear and rage as she thought through the game Mark and his lawyer were playing.
“As you may have worked out by now,” said the Sheikh after a pause. “Mark has made me an offer. I can choose to invoke Sheikh’s Privilege, marry you, and write him a check for twenty-one million dollars for custody of Damascus. Or—like you said—I can walk away from the tradition, waving it off as an outdated law. Which means, of course, that I cannot void your marriage, and you would be at the mercy of U.S. law.”
Lora blinked hard, her jaw tightening. She’d never even considered having to fight Mark for custody of Damascus. American law when it came to custody was very much in favor of the mother, and it certainly wouldn’t matter if she was officially married to Mark or not in the eyes of a U.S. family court. Still, something about the situation bothered her—and not just the thought of Mark using his own son in some hare-brained scheme to extract cash from an Arabian billionaire.
“Why did you say it that way? At the mercy of U.S. law?” Lora asked, her frown deepening to where she was sure she’d have new lines on her forehead by the end of the day.
Amir blinked, his handsome face showing a frown of his own. “You did not speak with your husband or his lawyer about this?”
“About what? I mean, I got an email from the lawyer about how the marriage was technically a Johaari affair and not covered by U.S. law and so would need to be ended according to Johaari law. But there was nothing about . . . about . . .” She hugged Damascus and shook her head. “That bastard. That unbelievable, sick, twisted bastard!”
“On that I will agree,” said the Sheikh, reaching for his phone and tapping on it. “And clearly you either did not get the second email or else it was sent only to me. Why, I do not know. Here. Take a look.”
Lora grabbed the phone and read the email. She read it again, and it was all she could do to not hurl the Sheikh’s gold-plated iPhone into one of the four fountains surrounding the gazebo.
“He’s saying that if I tried to fight him in U.S. family court, he’d present photographs of the two of us kissing: three years ago as well as . . . yesterday! His lawyer will argue that I’m a cheater as much as he is, and so that can’t be an argument to award custody of Damascus to me. Then he’s going to say that my job at the university has been phased out, and my degree in library science is mostly worthless in today’s world.” She gulped as she read the last paragraph again. “Finally, they’d argue that I’m unhinged and impulsive, and use this trip to Johaar as proof that I don’t care how I spend money, and I’m selfish and think of nothing but my own gratification! Oh, God, I’m going to kill him. Ohmygod, I want to kill him!”
Lora handed the phone back to the Sheikh, her hands trembling, her head spinning. She was so angry she couldn’t even see straight. But more than that, she felt like a fool. Some of what Mark’s lawyer had said was right, wasn’t it? At least it would play that way in family court. Sure, chances were she’d still win custody; but she’d need a damn good lawyer. And good lawyers cost good money. And she’d spent a good chunk of that severance payment on this “impulsive” and “selfish” trip.
“Why would Mark send all that to you and not to me?” Lora said, her voice unsteady as she tried to get inside her twisted husband’s head. Or his twisted lawyer’s head, rather.
“Because he is making his case to me, not you. He is negotiating with me, not you.”
“It’s my marriage. And it’s my son! What do you mean he’s negotiating with you and not me?! That’s beyond insulting!”
“Perhaps that is part of their game. To work you up, get you turned around, furious.”
“Furious enough to take these emails to an American courtroom and get Mark locked up and his lawyer disbarred for goddamn attempted child abuse! Or something!” Lora shook her head. She was so furious she was having trouble breathing. For a moment she was certain that if she could push a button and Mark would drop dead, she’d do it. Hell yes, she’d do it!
She took several deep breaths and considered her options. Yes, the emails would count against Mark in court. Certainly the email about Damascus and how they would make the case against her in family court. A judge would see that and immediately award custody to her, wouldn’t they? Why would Mark’s lawyer put all that in writing and hand over a smoking gun in evidence?
She glanced at the Sheikh, and when she looked into his eyes she understood. Mark hadn’t sent her the email about custody—he’d sent it to the Sheikh. He was indeed negotiating with the Sheikh, not her. And if she wanted that email, she’d have to get it from the Sheikh.
“Forward me that email,” she said firmly, even though she was a mess inside. “Forward me that email, and I’m going to get a lawyer and destroy Mark in family court.”
“It will be complicated,” Amir said thoughtfully. “American law does recognize marriages that occur in other countries. And so if you and Mark are still married, the custody issue will be complicated. Chances are the best you can do would be joint custody. Unless the divorce or annulment is completed according to Johaari law.”
Lora took a breath and shook her head. “Joint custody isn’t an option. Mark isn’t coming near Damascus again. Not so long as I’m alive. And even if I’m dead, for that matter. I will haunt that man for eternity if I have to.”
The Sheikh laughed, and so did Damascus, who’d been watching Amir with his big brown eyes ever since Lora had brought the two of them together. Does he think Amir is his father, Lora wondered for a moment. Oh, God, wouldn’t that be . . .
But she killed the thought before it completed itself, and she steadied her breathing and looked right at Amir. “All right,” she said. “So Mark has asked you to pay twenty-one million dollars for him to walk away from me and Damascus.” She touched her hair and looked away. “Which, of course, is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” said Amir, an easy smile breaking on his dark red lips, those same lips that had . . . oh, God, stop!
“Of course it is! Twenty-one million dollars! Are you insane?”
Amir shrugged. “I could pay it. I would barely notice.” He waited a moment, his eyes moving from her to Damascus and then back to her. “But then what?” he said softly.
“Then what?” Lora said, not able to hold the eye contact with him. What was he saying?
The Sheikh shifted in his seat, stretching his arms out wide, leaning his head back and gazing up through the patterned roof of the gazebo. The sky was a startling blue, cloudless and pure like an ocean without a ripple. “Your husband has put us in an interesting position. On the one hand I could follow through on my impulsive decision three years ago to invoke Sheikh’s Privilege. In that case I am bound to you and your son by the tradition, and your husband will make me pay . . .” He paused and blinked. “Pay for the privilege.”
The Sheikh’s tone barely changed as he said the words, and a sickness rose up in Lora’s throat as she listened. Oh, God, she was a whore, wasn’t she? She’d flown here, child in arms, to be rescued by some wealthy dude who’d shown an interest in her three years ago, hadn’t she?! Could she be any more shallow? Was she chasing a fairytale or a payout? Was she a wide-eyed innocent or a devious harlot?
Maybe I’m both, she thought as she listened to the Sheikh go on. But she felt calm now, because she already knew what she’d do. The only logical thing. The only decent thing.
“The other option your husband offers,” Amir said, “is for me to walk away from all of this, in which case you will stay legally married to him in the eyes of U.S. law, which could make things complicated in a custody battle. At the very least, it will cost you significant legal fees, and the end result will still very likely be joint custody. Your husband and his lawyer are, of course, betting on the fact that I will not choose that option. That I will not walk away. That I cannot walk away.” He paused, his green eyes shining in the golden sunlight streaming through the slats in the old teakwood gazebo. “And he is betting correctly.”
Lora’s heart skipped a beat as he said the words, but she swallowed hard and steeled her resolve. Slowly she shook her head, her lips trembling as she tried to speak, her knees shaking as she tried to stand. “No,” she said softly as she rose, Damascus in her arms. “Coming here was a mistake. All of this was a mistake. There is a third option, Amir. And I’m choosing that third option. I’m taking my son and I’m leaving. To hell with Mark, and to hell with all of this madness. I’m going to make the bet that when Mark sees I’m not going to give in to his blackmail and I’m not going to give up my son, he’ll back off. There’s no way he gives a damn about actually raising a child. I can’t let you pay him off. I could never live with myself. I’m not a whore, Amir.” She took a breath and glanced at him, doing her best to ignore what she saw in his eyes, what she’d felt in his kiss, what she’d sensed in his touch. “But I’m not a Disney princess either. Goodbye, Amir. I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I’m sorry I ever came here. Three years ago, and three days ago. Goodbye.”