I glanced at Khalifa, whose eyes had hardened, though he didn’t flinch, didn’t rise to the bait. Something in me tugged unexpectedly, an instinctive wince at the bluntness of his father’s words. I’d teased him about his job too—lightly, thoughtlessly, called it boring and useless—but hearing the dismissal spoken aloud like that made the jokes feel thinner,meaner. I did an awkward little wiggle of discomfort, suddenly aware of the weight of them.
“History nurtures people in ways you can’t measure,” I said without thinking. “And anyone can feed a family with money. Feeding their minds is harder.”
Khalifa’s gaze snapped to mine, no longer unreadable but scathing. His expression wasn’t gratitude—it was anger, silent and tightly contained, like I’d stepped into a battle that wasn’t mine to fight. His jaw flexed once before he looked away, and the message was clear: he didn’t need me to defend him.
My mother clapped her hands together, the gracious hostess smile stretched across her face. “Shall we head to the dining room? Dinner’s ready.”
The transition from living room pleasantries to the long table set with steaming dishes was smoother than I expected, but the atmosphere was still strained. The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled in for small talk that never quite found its footing. My brothers needled each other, Amina asked pointed questions, and Khalifa’s father’s silences spoke louder than anything he said.
I tried to keep my focus on the meal, on passing the rice and replenishing the breadbasket, but every lull in conversation seemed to land on me, like I was the one expected to haul the burden of everyone’s standards.
By the time dessert plates were cleared, the awkwardness had softened the slightest amount. My father pushed back his chair and rose with a smile that was uncharacteristically wide. “Khalifa,” he said warmly, “we’re excited to welcome you into the family.”
The words fell like a gavel, sealing a verdict I already regretted agreeing to—even as everyone else seemed perfectly satisfied.
There were hugs, cheek kisses, last-minute discussions of the kitab ketab and wedding details exchanged like grocery lists. I stood at the fringe of it all, nodding when I needed to, smiling when I should, and then I caught it—his dark eyes on me from across the room. He gave the smallest tilt of his head toward the door.
My heart thudded once before I slipped outside.
The night air was keen against my skin, almost cleansing, until Khalifa turned on me, closing the distance with every curt step, forcing me to retreat until my back met the cool siding ofthe garage. He didn’t dare touch me, but he didn’t have to. The space between us was barely a breath, heavy with his anger.
“You were out of line in there,” he said.
I blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t ever speak up for me—especially not against my family.” His jaw worked as he stepped even closer, as though proximity alone could make his point clearer. “Do you realize how much of a fool you made me look like? I hold no shame in my career, in the life I’ve built. That job youmocked? It pays for my father’s comfort. It carries my family.”
Heat surged through me—fury, defense, something far more dangerous tangled underneath. “What about you?” I snapped, refusing to shrink. “You think I needed you to defend me from my brothers?Please. I’ve lived with their words my whole life. It doesn’t affect me.”
It was a lie, but I’d rather choke on it than let him think a man’s words could ever break me.
Khalifa scoffed, his breath ghosting against my cheek. “You’re right,” he murmured. “I only did it for your father's sake, but I wish I could take it back.”
“Don’t worry,” I bit out. “Your opinion is the least of my concerns.”
We glared at each other. For a second, I was worried he might try to close the distance entirely. Instead, he pushed away.
“I’ll see you at the wedding. Don’t be late this time.”
He turned toward his car, shoulders rigid, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him walking away like that, of him having the last word.
“And you,” I called, louder than necessary, “don’t forget to wear a suit.”
He didn’t look back, but I saw it—the faintest quirk of his mouth.
“Asshole.”
Chapter Five
THE WHITE DRESS WASpristine, graceful, and entirely not my choice—something born from the fantasies of little girls, twirling in tulle and lace in their bedrooms, who once believed love arrived with a prince on horseback, all light and sweetness and impossible promises.
I had never wanted any of that. My dreams had been smaller, quieter,realistic: the day I would move out, finally escape the gilded prison I’d been sentenced to for thirty-two years, and yet, here I was, on the brink of trading one confinement for another. A man I barely knew, a man I could barely stand, was tied to me for eternity. Not a charming prince, but a closed-off troll who held me captive with a glare and a word.
The last several days had blurred into a montage of nerves, banter, and convincing our families we were madly in love—which was difficult, because Khalifa was, by all measurable standards, the most difficult man alive. Once my father had officially accepted him, everything moved with dizzying speed. Suddenly there were flower arrangements, guest lists, and more opinions than oxygen. It felt like the entire Lebanese community of Vancouver had been holding its breath, waiting for this union to happen just so it could collectively gossip about it.
First came the kitab ketab, the signing of the marriage contract. Two families gathered in a living room scented with cardamom and coffee, the air thick with expectation and formality. I sat across from Khalifa, my palms damp, mymother’s stare drilling into the side of my head like a warning not to ruin this.
The mehr discussion began politely enough—until Khalifa opened his mouth.
