Epilogue
One Year Later
Muhammad sat next to his wife on the sofa, grinning as he bounced their five-month-old daughter on his knee. Ensconced in the palace’s communal living room, a place where the entire family could spend time together, Viviana grumbled that she couldn’t figure out the remote to the new theater quality television he’d purchased.
“I couldn’t either.” His mother threw her hands up. “Nor could Aaliyah. Momo, give me Darya so you can fix this.”
“I just got her,” he said, keeping his voice as happy as his face. Darya was giggling and he didn’t want her to stop. “I can never pry her from your hands, ummi.”
Viviana smiled. She leaned in closer and kissed their daughter on the nose. “Such a happy baby,” his wife cooed. “Ummi’s happy girl.”
Muhammad’s trusted servant Hani appeared. He cleared his throat. “My apologies, Sheikh. Sheikha, you have visitors.”
All three women who bore the title looked at Hani. He could have sworn even the tiny sheikha on his lap glanced over.
Hani’s face flushed. “Sheikha Viviana.”
“Me?” Viviana asked, puzzled.
“Naam.”
She sighed. “Is it someone I need to put a hijab on for?”
“There is a male with a female.”
Viviana looked at Muhammad. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Why would a man and a woman come here to speak to her? His wife had turned out to be quite the homebody so she didn’t venture into the cities often. Whenever she did, it was usually with him. “Put it on until we know who it is,” he muttered. “The same for the rest of you.”
His wife had made it clear a long time ago that if he wanted servants in the house then he better not mind them seeing her hair. As a consequence, he employed only men who had been exceedingly loyal to him and his father before him. He would take no chances with gossipy types—it would cause quite a stir if his people knew he permitted the women in his household to reveal their hair to male servants. Not that the servants gazed at their hair overly long. They’d gotten that out of their system within a week or so.
“It looks like you get your wish, ummi,” Muhammad said, standing. He kissed Darya’s sweet head. “I will bring her to—”
“I’ll take her!” Aaliyah interrupted. She jumped to her feet, much quicker at wrapping her hair than their mother. “My niece adores her auntie.”
It was a wonder Muhammad ever got to hold his daughter at all. If she wasn’t nursing at his wife’s breast, his mother and sister were quick to claim her. Not that he would complain. He couldn’t have been blessed with a happier life. He winked at Aaliyah as he handed the baby over.
It was his sister who had first suggested to Muhammad and Viviana that they name their daughter Darya. In Arabic, her moniker meantsea—the color of eyes she shared with her mother. His wife had loved the name, as had he, and so the youngest Sheikha of Raqqah had been christened thusly.
“I believe we’re ready, Hani,” Viviana said. She smoothed out her kaftan. “You can show them in.”
Hani inclined his head and retreated. Muhammad stood next to his wife even though he was aware the visitors would have already been scanned for gunpowder residue, patted down, and checked for weapons again by x-ray before nearing the front doors. The sheikh took every precaution these days, the thought of losing his wife and daughter too desolate to contemplate.
Within a few minutes Hani returned with the mystery guests in tow. An Arab man as tall and muscular as Muhammad stood next to a woman wearing the beekeeper’s dress—a black burka that covered even her eyes. The male looked to be in his late thirties. The woman’s age was anyone’s guess.
“Sheikha Viviana al-Raqqah?” the man asked.
“Naam,” Muhammad interrupted, speaking for her. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t normally so overtly territorial, but then he wasn’t accustomed to a strange man smiling at his wife. He decided he didn’t like it. Especially when the strange man’s physical attractiveness rivaled his own, he conceded, frowning. “The sheikha is my wife. Who the hell are you?”
“Muhammad!” Viviana whispered harshly. Her eyes widened in embarrassment. “Hashtag WTF?”
“My apologies, Sheikh Muhammad,” the man said, his smile never faltering. “I am Aariz. My wife and I have travelled far to see the sheikha. I was uncertain of your customs so she donned the burka to cover all bases. May she remove it?”
“Of course,” Viviana said. She elbowed Muhammad in the ribs. “Right?”
He cleared his throat and found his manners. “Yes, of course.”
“My husband gets a little grouchy when he hasn’t had his dinner yet,” Viviana lied as the woman slowly removed her veil. “You’ll have to forgive him.”
Muhammad grunted. “I’m not a gremlin.”
