By now, celebrity gossip columns from all over the world must have reported my engagement to Kamal. Knowing my mother, she probably found out on her own, or one of her numerous friends must have rushed to tell her.
A small twinge of remorse hits me because it doesn’t feel right for my mother to find out about my engagement from someone else—whether from a gossip website or someone else—but then I remember that I tried to tell her about the baby, and all she wanted to talk about was money.
“Good morning, Mother,” I greet, praying for patience. I haven’t even had breakfast yet. It’s too early to get upset. “Isn’t it too early to be up?” It’s barely morning in Boston, which tells me that she knows about the engagement.
“Madeline,” she says, ignoring my greeting, “I must salute you. You dropped a real bomb on the international press. I knew I taught you well how life works, but I admit I didn’t expect you to be this clever. You’re finally applying my lessons.”
It doesn’t take me long to understand what she’s getting at: she’s insinuating that I’ve planned to marry a wealthy man.
“Mother—”
“No, Madeline, listen to me. Now I understand. Of course a well-bred girl who studied in excellent schools and frequented the best social circles would never get involved with a man like him for nothing.”
“A manlike him? What are you talking about?”
“Well, I have to admit his looks aren’t half bad, if we overlook the fact that his skin is too dark, but nobody’s perfect,” she concludes with a laugh.
“I’m pregnant,” I say in a desperate attempt to make her stop.
“What?”
“I’m expecting Kamal’s baby.”
“My God, you’re amazing, daughter of mine. An heir—of course! Much better than I had imagined! Now you’ve secured your financial stability forever. I can’t wait to see the faces of those detractors here in Boston who humiliated us the last few months when they find out you’re going to be rich. How long after getting married do you plan on asking for a divorce? I know excellent lawyers for marital disputes. Enrico Lambertucci, for example.”
It’s the last thing I hear her say before I hang up the phone.
For a while, I just sit there in shock.
Does everyone think like my mother? Do they believe I’m marrying Kamal to pull off a scheme and plan to divorce him with a fortune in my bank account?
I feel my body drained of energy, wondering, not for the first time, whether I was adopted. How can I feel like I have no emotional connection to my own family?
I don’t even realize I’ve started crying until there are tears running down my face as her hateful words come back to me.
“My God, you’re amazing, daughter of mine. An heir—of course! Much better than I had imagined! Now you’ve secured your financial stability forever.”
I get up and walk to the terrace, the warmth of the sun easing the discomfort a little.
Yesterday, during the engagement party, I believed that despite what brought us here, there was a chance that Kamal and I could be happy together, but now doubts hit me with full force.
Does he think the same? Does he believe I’m pulling off a pregnancy scheme to secure a future of economic advantages?
No, of course not. Kamal knows I genuinely love him. I saw the emotion on his face when I pledged my love to him.
I go back to the room, pick up my phone, and try to call him, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Nervous, I call Zoe, then remember it’s too early in Boston and hang up.
I feel lonely and unhappy, and I need to hear the voice of the man I adore telling me that my mother is crazy and that none of those horrible things she said reflect his thoughts about me.
I take a quick shower and decide to take a walk to clear my head.
Minutes later, I leave the room promising myself I won’t talk to my mother again until she apologizes for the awful things she said.
Outside the palace but still within the walls, I sit in the garden.
My phone vibrates with a message. I slide the screen to unlock it, anxious, thinking it might be Kamal, but it’s my mother again, and there’s a link to an article.
