“These are my people.” His voice is strained with emotion, and it becomes evident that this is his true home, no matter how Western he may seem dressed in expensive clothes. I think about what he told me about his mother being a Spanish Romani woman. Perhaps that’s what makes Zarif look moreWestern, while Irfan and Kamal are fully immersed in the local culture.
“Are you ready to meet my family?”
I know there’s much more to that question than the words convey. I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
I carefully descend the stairs of Kamal’s private plane, holding on to the handrail and trying not to lose my balance. I’m so focused on performing the task well that only when I raise my head upon reaching solid ground do I notice an older woman approaching.
Her skin has the same golden tone as Kamal’s. The similarities end there, though, making me believe that, physically, the children took after their father.
We don’t need to be introduced—I know she is Princess Amapola Hafeez Shariq Najjar Shadid, his mother.
The woman is beautiful, but what truly impresses me are her incredible eyes. They have a tinge of yellow I’ve never seen before, like a cat’s eyes.
I observe her discreetly. I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps because he told me his mother was a Romani, in my crazy mind, I thought she’d be warmer. However, she studies my face attentively before turning to her son.
“As-salam alaykom, my Sheikh,” she greets him. That, I know, means ‘peace be upon you.’ She surprises me by pulling him into an embrace.
“Wa Alykom As-salam, mother,” Kamal replies—’peace be upon you, first and foremost’.
I studied a few basic phrases just so I wouldn’t feel completely lost, but I swear to God their language sounds like a secret code. It’s very difficult.
I feel awkward, like an intruder witnessing this moment between just the two of them. To distract myself, I look ahead.
I notice three more women and at least two dozen bodyguards, and Adil, who I know arrived earlier in Sintarah. Princes Irfan and Zarif are also expected, probably because Kamal will soon announce our engagement.
“You must be Madeline, my grandchild’s mother,” she says directly, turning to me. “I am Amapola.”
“Not Princess Amapola or Your Excellency?”
Her expression relaxes a bit. “Only when we are in public, Madeline.”
“Pleased to meet you, Amapola.”
She shakes my hand with a firm grip, firmer than I expected after the initial reception. “Welcome to Sintarah, Madeline. I am happy to know I have another grandchild on the way.”
I feel Kamal’s eyes shifting between me and his mother the whole time. When I meet his gaze, I can’t guess what he’s thinking.
I wish he would hug me and share some of his self-assurance, but I know I can’t act like a fragile flower. I learned to toughen up as I grew up, thanks to my parents’ coldness, so I force myself to maintain an impassive expression, as if this whole situation is natural for me.
“And you, are you happy about the baby?” she prods, not very subtly, and I’m sure she can see all the doubts on my face.
“It’s still too early for her to fully grasp this new situation, Mother,” Kamal intervenes. His defense surprises and touches me at the same time, even though I didn’t take offense at the princess’s question.
“I’ve always dreamed of being a mother someday,” I answer honestly, implying that I’m still assimilating the recent events related to my pregnancy.
“That’s a good start,” the princess says.
Over her shoulders, I see his three sisters smiling—yes, definitely his sisters because as they approach, there’s no doubt they’re related to my fiancé. I get a moment to breathe again.
“Madeline, these are Djamila, Iesha, and Nawra, my sisters. Sisters, this is my future princess, Madeline Turner-Miller.”
I notice the last one, Nawra, is very pregnant. She must be no further than three months away from giving birth, in fact.
“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you all,” I say carefully, not wanting to mix up any words. My anxiety is sky-high.
“Welcome, Madeline,” they say almost simultaneously, but they sound friendly.
I’m relieved to see that the fact their mother is Western has brought more informality to the family. I wouldn’t know how to deal with a “royal” version of the Turner-Millers. God knows I’ve had my fair share of arrogant people in my life.
