As we step out, a dull thud of bass vibrates under my toes. Somehow, this wasn’t what I’d’ve expected, if I’d thought to expect anything at all. Loud Arabic pop music blares and arrhythmic lighting bounces from the walls of the high ceilinged hall. I also couldn’t have anticipated our reception as some of the women turn to greet us with a vocal sort of high-pitched trilling. Ululating, I think it’s called. It’s shocking for a moment or two, but also deeply primal, as the music—being played by a female DJ—dissipates in the room. We’re sprinkled with more petals and I’m passed almost from hand to hand, greeted, while being told how beautiful I look,marsha’allah,as I’m blessed and kissed. Some faces I recognise—Sadia and Hala, and some of Kai’s female cousins from my henna night—while others are unfamiliar, but they’re all happy faces, all the same.Wedding fever must be infectious!They’re also dressed to kill; the room is overflowing with evening gowns of all colours and designs. And there’s more flesh flashing than is appropriate onOscarnight!
Eventually, we reach a raised dais where a silver cushioned love-seat sits under a canopy of white flowers. Candelabra, at least eight-feet tall, stand on each step leading to the platform and the whole stage area is bathed by a soft glow. Mum seems in awe of the, no doubt, tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers, gowns, and richly adorned women, as the music begins again. Niamh is cajoled into joining the dance floor, and she’s surprisingly good, too. She’s all sinuous hips and graceful arms. She even drags me into the fray, and though entertained, judging by their giggles, I doubt anyone was impressed by mywhipandnae nae.
We’re fed cake and served exotic fruit juices, when the DJ announces something in Arabic and a sense of urgency sets in.
‘Watch, my dear, you don’t want to miss this.’
Mishael’s expression is serene as the women stop dancing—those on the dance floor hurrying, those dancing near tables already pulling on their dark cloakingabayaat, and hastily fasteningshaylascarves over their hair, until it’s hard to recognise anyone.
‘Is that it? Is it over?’ As much as I long to be back in Kai’s arms, it does seem a bit abrupt.
‘No, dear. We’re about to be raided.’
‘What? Not the police!’
Mishael covers her laugh with her hand as the grand entrance doors swing open, and the slow beat of a drum sounds. Drawing closer, the beat begins resonating somewhere in my chest. In the crowd, a woman ululates, the sharp noise gathering in pace and volume as others join in. The drum beats louder, nearer, as a group of traditionally dressed men step inside of the room. Some carry ornate sticks with which they accompany the beat, some sing and chant as the drummers enter. Then, two men with large, Arabic-style drums strapped to their waists join the others in a sort of musical guard of honour, when in steps Kai.
Cheers break out as he stalks the path I’d earlier taken, the women calling out in their obvious delight, his musical entourage falling in behind. His gaze is locked to where I’m sitting, his mouth curved in that half-amused expression he wears so bloody well. I find myself clapping in time to the beat, my heart thumping more rapidly than any drummer could play.
Reaching the stage, Kai holds out his hand for me and pulls me into his chest.
‘That was some entrance,’ I whisper, as he kisses my cheek rather chastely.
‘That was the sedate version. Left up to them, I would’ve come dancing in.’ He moves his shoulders, and for a minute, I think he’s going to break out into someBollywoodmoves, when he just laughs. He leads me to the dance floor, where we’re surrounded by such happiness and clapping hands as he whirls me around and around. I’m giddy, in both the physical and mental sense, especially as Kai pulls me close, whispering in my ear and telling me how beautiful I look. How he can’t stop looking at me, how he can’t wait until we’re alone, when he can get me naked, and watch me come undone. Crushed to his chest, lost in the fugue of his unique scent—the delicious combination of Kai and cologne—I can almost feel myself there, naked, pressed close and panting breathlessly into his damp chest.
‘Kai.’ I tilt my head back and stare into his face, and I’m pretty sure it’s with a lust-glazed gaze. ‘Today has been awesome—’
‘We’ve my mother to thank for that. The whole thing is her doing.’
I slide my hands under his jacket, my fingers spanning his back, my nails meaningfully sharp.
‘It’s been fantastic, but when can we leave?’
I’m so close to him I can feel the hitch in his breath.The stirring in the vicinity of my stomach.The muscles in his neck move as he swallows; an invitation for my lips, but for our conservative audience. We’re pressed so close, we’re probably already on risqué ground.
‘Make your goodbyes, and I’ll meet you outside. I’m afraid we’ll have to make our way to the function downstairs—’
‘For quick goodbyes?’
‘The quickest.’ With a knowing smile, Kai leads me from the dance floor as the song ends and he leaves.
Mishael, Mum and Niamh are set to return to the mixed function, and after our goodbyes, we make for the door. The evening is still warm, the band distant but audible as we reach the ground floor and step outside once more. This whole day has been like a fairy tale, equal parts enchanting and exotic. A day I’ll remember forever, that’s for sure.
As we walk, we’re discussing the merits of throwing my bouquet from the stairs versus the stage, when the sound of an argument drowns out the distant strains of the band.
Like a fairy tale. Just magical.
Arabic. It’s such a strange dichotomy to me; whispered words of love, and harsh demands. I suppose it’s all in the delivery. I suppose most languages are the same.
My musing is halted, my footsteps just the same, as I realise I recognise the voices, more particularly, I recognise a derisive Kai.
One moment I’m living in a fairy tale, the next, the nightmare is back.
‘Thank you,Father.Thank you for choosing tonight of all nights to give me such unwelcome advice.’
Faris’ response is in Arabic and devoid of Kai’s tone. Backwards and forwards more unfamiliar words and sentiments are exchanged as, confused and worried, I look to Mishael.
‘What is it?’ I whisper-hiss. ‘What’s going on?’
