Jebal had always been kind and easygoing. Alex had never seen him angry before. “I … I didn’t realize the henna would darken my hair, I thought it would brighten it—pleasing you even more.” She attempted a smile and failed.
“You are not allowed to change your hair—or any other aspect of your appearance—without asking me first,” Jebal said. But his expression eased. “You wished to please me?”
“Yes,” Alex breathed, relieved. Jebal was her own age, but immature, in many ways a sulky child. She had nothing to worry about, except her own twentieth-century nature, which hated being subservient to him.
“Perhaps you can think of other ways to please me, tomorrow night,” he said. “Zoe, leave us.”
Zoe managed to smile. Alex watched the way she swayed her plump hips as she left the room. Zoe reeked of sexuality. Alex knew from all the harem gossip that she was outrageous in bed with Jebal—and probably with other lovers, as well. Alex had a strong intuition about that—and Murad was positive she was involved with a lover right now.
“Let us sit. I wish to speak with you.” Jebal’s smile was boyish, friendly.
Alex managed a smile in return, worried now about his reference to tomorrow evening. She sank down on a plush cushion, Jebal sitting beside her. “Zohara, do you not know why I asked you here today?”
Alex’s mind raced frantically. “No.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
Alex hesitated. “Not precisely.”
“It is July thirteenth.”
Alex stiffened.
“Tomorrow is our first wedding anniversary,” Jebal said.
Alex closed her eyes. How could she have forgotten?
“If I recall correctly, we agreed that you would have an entire year to grieve for your first husband.”
Alex wet her lips. “Yes, of course, how could I forget?” Her smile was ragged. “You have been terribly kind to me, Jebal, and incredibly understanding.”
He smiled. He began stroking her wrist. “You have mourned more than a year. Tell me how you are feeling.”
Alex forced down the panic. She must not panic now. Surely there was a way out of the rising dilemma. “I am homesick, Jebal. I miss my country and my countrymen,” Alex said carefully.
Jebal stopped caressing her. He stared. “Still?”
Alex held her breath and nodded.
“I thought you liked it here,” Jebal finally said, appearing dismayed. “I thought you were happy.”
“I do. But I will always long for my home, my people.”
“I cannot let you go, Alex. You are my wife. I am far too fond of you. I will not let you go. You have yet to give me a son.”
Alex remained silent. Zoe had three daughters, but not a single son.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” Jebal asked.
Alex imagined that she lost all of her color. She stared at Jebal out of wide eyes. “Wh-what?”
“Stay with me tonight,” Jebal said, dropping to his knees. He caressed her cheek with one hand. Alex was frozen, paralyzed.
His fingertips drifted down her throat, to her shoulder. Their gazes met.
He had never touched her this way before. Alex was outraged, yet she did not dare move away from him. “I … I have a terrible headache.” She knew her excuse was pitiful.
“I see.” Jebal stood abruptly, scowling.
