“Do you hate the idea of forming a family with me that much?”
She looks at her own hands. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m not your choice. It will be a convenient union to fulfill your position as the ruler of Sintarah.”
“Our union will be for the sake of our child. I’m not thinking about my duty as a ruler right now, only that I want my child to grow up with me around. I know we don’t know each other well, Madeline, but I want you more than anyone before,or I would never have agreed to be in a relationship without a deadline. Don’t you think that’s a good start?”
She answers me with another question, perhaps because what I have to offer is not enough. “And what if your people hate me?”
“Is that your concern?”
“One of them, yes.”
“The people of Sintarah will love you when I tell them we have an heir on the way.”
“Will they love our child?”
For the first time, hearing it from her lips, it sinks into my heart that this child is not just mine—it’s ours. A piece of both of us. “I promise you they will, Madeline.”
“And you?”
“I want them. Even though we didn’t plan it, I want this child.”
She looks at me with an indecipherable expression. “Sounds good enough.”
Madeline doesn’t say anything else during the entire journey back to my house. When we arrive and I ask if she wants to give Zoe the news, she tells me no, she’s exhausted and wants to sleep.
I get the message.
Alone.
I take her to one of the guest bedrooms on the same floor as mine, and then I go to my office.
I’m not a drinker—in my country, only arak[13] is allowed—but I pour myself a generous dose of whiskey and let myself sink into a leather armchair.
My phone vibrates, and I’m not surprised when my mother’s name blinks on the screen.
“As-salam alaykom[14], my son,” she says when I answer.
“Wa Alykom As-salam[15], Mother.”
“I had a dream last night that my grandchild is on the way.”
Like all the other times she’s predicted events in my life, including the death of Hiba, my ex-fiancée, I feel a chill running down my spine. “Yes, my girlfriend is pregnant.”
“The girl you’ve been seen with?”
“That’s her. Madeline Turner.”
“English?”
“No, American. We’re heading to Sintarah tomorrow morning. We’ll talk peacefully when I get there.”
“Will she be a good mother to my grandchild?”
It takes me a few seconds to answer that. I’m a realist, not an optimist. Given Madeline’s reaction earlier, I’m not sure of anything.
