She checked her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes.
The screen was blank. No calls or texts from Ra’if.
What did that mean?
Was he okay?
Had Brent hurt him?
Was Brent okay?
Had he choked on vomit?
She didn’t hear the knock on the door; she was so caught up in her own world.
“Can I, mama?”
“Can you what, darling?” She said finally, drawing her eyes away from the stove top, where she was mixing more lard and flour to create a new gravy, to look at Jordan questioningly.
“Can I answer it?”
“Oh!” She shook her head and turned the heat off the stove. “May you answer it,” she corrected. “And no. Not until you’re tall enough to see through here. You know the rule.” She pointed to the peephole then pressed her eye against it. Her heart gave a little jolt when she saw Ra’if on the other side. He looked … immaculate. No hint of vomit or sleeplessness coated him.
Steeling herself to be strong, she pulled the door inwards.
But when Jordan saw the powerful Sheikh, he grinned. “Ra’if.” He ran towards him. “I knew you’d come!” He threw his arms around Ra’if’s legs and Ra’if lifted him up on instinct.
“Merry Christmas, young man,” he said.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” Jordan grinned. “Come in, come in, let me show you what Santa got me!”
“I’d love to see,” he shifted his eyes to Melinda. There was a reserve in his face and she understood it. “If that’s okay with your mother?”
“Of course it is,” Jordan said with a roll of his enormous, lash-lined eyes.
“Melinda?”
“Yes, yes. Come in.” She stepped back, removing any likelihood that they might touch.
Once the door was shut, Jordan pulled on Ra’if’s hand. “Come here! I want to show you this.”
Ra’if didn’t convey a hint of impatience. He went with Jordan and crouched down on the floor, genuinely appearing to enthuse over the gifts. Melinda watched, something strange lodging in her chest.
It was a feeling she couldn’t name.
“I have something for you,” he said quietly, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small box.
Melinda watched, a little wary that Ra’if might have bought something too extravagant and inappropriate. But when the present inside was revealed, and Jordan’s face burst with excitement, she saw it was just a collection of Pokémon cards.
“There are some rare ones in there,” he said as he stood.
“Mum! Mum! Can I please go show Kelvin?”
Melinda compressed her lips, still not ready to forgive Tara’s son for his insensitive remarks. But she nodded, unable to resist her son’s jubilant face. “Don’t stay long though, darling; they’re going out for lunch.”
“Okay. You’re the best, mum. Thanks, Ra’if.” He barrelled out of the door and loud thumping noises accompanied his journey upstairs.
“He’s had a great morning?” Ra’if commented with a smile, standing and moving closer to Melinda.
“Presents. Food. What’s not to love?”
“And you?” Ra’if asked softly.
She shrugged, her eyes shadowed by wariness. “You know how I feel about Christmas.” She cast a look over her shoulder, as if to ensure they were alone. “What happened with Brent?”
“He’s already at the facility,” Ra’if said, assuming a business-like stance. “I have entrusted his care to one of my most valued servants. He will not leave until he has conquered his addictions.” Ra’if didn’t want to sugar coat it, though. “His situation is … quite dire. He has been addicted for a very long time, and addicted to a lot of substances. Not good quality, either. He’s had drugs that have been cut with everything from glass to fertiliser. He’s lucky to be alive.”
She shivered and found she couldn’t stop. Ra’if wrapped his arms around her. Melinda didn’t fight it. Without his physical strength, she thought she might fall over.
“Thank you. I know money is no issue for you but I’m sure his parents will want to try to make restitution …”
“Please don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t insult me by believing I care about such trivialities.”
“He’s no one to you.”
“He’s Jordan’s father; and you are everything to me.”
She squeezed her eyes. Tears stormed her defences.
Sensing a gap in her defensive wall, he said quietly, earnestly, “I was a different man back then, azeezi. I would not stand before you, knowing what is at stake, understanding what you’ve been through, asking you to trust me, if I did not believe myself to be worthy of your trust. I would sooner die than hurt you and Jordan.”
He reached up, cupping her face. “I saw last night what I was. I remembered how low I sunk. And I am here now with a heart that is full of hope. If you let me into your life I will know that I have come as far from that despair and dark misery as it is possible to come. I will be the embodiment of euphoria.”
“This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice wobbly. “You speak so beautifully that I think I could forgive you almost anything.” She looked up at him, and she knew she was seeing him as he really was. “I’m scared,” she said simply.
He nodded. “I understand that. It will take time to prove to you that I am worthy of our future.”
“That’s not what scares me,” she interrupted, quietly but with a determination that came from her heart. “I’m scared of how much I want you. I’m scared of how completely I trust that you are good and right, even after learning of your past. I am scared of losing you; and I’m scared of a future that might not include you.”
Her words dropped heavily into the room. Only the faint sound of Christmas carols softened the barbed quiet.
“And why would it not include me?” He prompted.
“Because you’re from Dashan and I live here …”
“Have I ever indicated, by words or deeds, that I wish to return to my homeland?” He lowered his voice, hoping his earnestness would convey itself to her. “I want to be with you. I want to be with you always. I feel more at home here, in your flat, than in any of my palaces.”
“Any of your palaces?” She groaned. “See? This is too much. We’re just from different worlds!”
“So?”
“So that’s a big deal! All of this is.”
“No more so than any two people who fall in love. It is always a big deal, no?”
She stared at him long and hard and finally, she nodded.
“What does this mean?” He asked, tentative in his relief.
“It means that I love you. And that I trust you. That I know someone who’s worked as hard as you have to turn your life around isn’t likely to stuff it up again.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “It means yes. To this. Yes.”
He pulled her tight to his chest, holding her as though if he let go it might all turn out to be a dream.
“Kelvin wants to trade cards,” Jordan said smugly, walking into the room.
Melinda startled, but when she tried to pull away, Ra’if held her tight.
He kissed her cheek then crouched down to Jordan’s eye-height. “Mind if I join you for lunch?”
“Nope.”
“What about if I start spending a little more time here?”
A frown pulled between Jordan’s eyes and Melinda held her breath. “Or …” Melinda held her breath, every cell in her body tense, waiting for Jordan to speak. “I mean, or we could spend time at your place,” he said diplomatically.
She burst out laughing.
“Yes, my place works too.” Ra’if stood and put an arm around Melinda and rested his hand on Jordan’s shoulder.
The ghosts of Christmasses Present and Future stood before him, and he liked what he saw. Finally. He liked it, a lot.
On Christmas day, surrounded by festive decorations, he found love and a wish he hadn’t remembered making was answered.
He had filled the hole in his heart; a grief he had thought would always haunt him had lifted. He would live his life with love; he would honour his mother in the best possible way – by being with his family. And that was Melinda and Jordan.
“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, realising she hadn’t yet said it.
He squeezed her side. “I have a present for you.”
“You’re all the present I need,” she promised truthfully.
“Nonetheless, I wanted you to have a little something.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet pouch. Curiously, she took it from him and opened the drawstring, peering inside. With a frown, she reached in and retrieved a small pendant hanging from a white gold chain. It was glass, with swirls of green through it, just like the ring he always wore.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It comes from the sands of Dashan. Hundreds of years ago, there was a lightning storm and the Sheikh of the time had them all collected for his bride. They are used now exclusively by the royal family, to mark our stake to the claim.” He took it from her, reaching around and connecting it behind her neck. “By giving you this, I am signalling to the world the place you hold in my heart. Let no one doubt how I value you, azeezi.”
It was a promise and a pledge, but it would be six months longer before he would finally fulfil that promise officially.
Jordan looked every bit the royal heir, dressed in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt. “Is she here yet?” He pestered, pulling on Marook’s cuff.
Marook, who adored the young boy almost as much as he’d loved Zamir and Ra’if, shook his head. His professional demeanour was mostly in tact, but he was nervous. How could he not be?
Melinda Higgins, with her engaging smile and loving nature, had worked her way into everyone’s hearts.
“What’s taking her so long?”
“She’s always running a few minutes late,” Ra’if said softly. “It is one of the many things I adore about your mother.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “Gross.”
Ra’if laughed. “I thought you were here to help me?”
“I am, I am.”
“Excuse me, sir. She’s just arrived.”
Ra’if looked at Jordan, and the young boy grinned up at him. “Show time.”
“Yes. Show time.”
The door to the restaurant opened and Melinda stepped in. She’d come straight from work and her cheeks were flushed from the warm afternoon.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She murmured, weaving through the restaurant, not noticing the lack of other patrons. “I got held up right as I was leaving.” She stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she took in her son’s appearance, and then Ra’if’s.
“What’s going on?” She looked from one to the other, an expression of bemusement on her face.
Ra’if stood slowly, his whole being focussed on Melinda and that moment.
“How was your day?” He murmured, moving around the table to stand in front of her.
She shot him a look and then peered around his shoulder to where Jordan was sitting, a smile stretching from ear to ear.
"Did I miss something?”
Ra’if cupped her cheeks, his eyes grabbing hers and holding onto them, whispering the secrets of his soul with the depth of his look. “You miss nothing, azeezi, and I am sure you can be in no doubt as to how I feel about you, and what I want from you.”
Her cheeks were pink and he laughed softly.
“Recovering from addiction was not easy. I awoke as if from a bad dream to discover that I had lost my birthright, my future, and the respect of my family. I told myself that in proving myself sober and recovered, I would have a second chance at life.” His voice was low, made coarse by emotion. “But not this life. Never, in a thousand years, when I was grappling with what I had lost, did I imagine I would be blessed enough to meet you and love you. Never did I think I could find a place for myself that surpassed anything I had ever known before. You are light to my dark and answers to my riddles. You are my answer; an answer to the question I had not thought to ask. You are my Happy Ending. At least, I hope you will be.”
An unaccustomed doubt crossed his features. He stared at her, and forced himself to continue, despite the worry that his feelings might not find their echo. “Melinda, fate brought me to you. You said that I saved your life, but the truth is, you have saved mine. I want you to marry me not because I think I deserve you and Jordan, but because I will spend my whole life trying to. I ask you to marry me with only hope, and a heart that is forever yours.”
Melinda stared at him for a long moment, and then shook her head slowly. “How can you even ask me this?” She said softly.
And for a moment, Ra’if felt his heart drop right to his feet. He felt loss and fear spike inside of him, like sharp waves of pain he had thought himself to be inured from. “I …”
She lifted up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his briefly. “I mean, how can you ask a question when the answer is such a foregone conclusion?” She spoke softly and slowly, letting each word sink in. “In my heart, we’re already married.”
His smile was one of glittering relief. “In mine too.” He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his broad chest. “Still, it does not hurt to make it official?”
“No,” she laughed, smiling. “It doesn’t.”
“And the sooner the better. You are my family.”
“And you are ours.” She held a hand out behind his back, reaching for Jordan. He came running to them, his face red, his eyes suspiciously moist. He slammed into their sides, and they both put a hand around his back.
It was a moment of perfection … and a mark of their future. Fate had brought two people together, and nothing, no one, could ever undo the bonds of their love; they had been forged from iron and optimism.
EPILOGUE
“You are nervous?” Zamir’s smile spread from ear to ear, his handsome face the epitome of amusement.
Ra’if arched a brow at his brother. “Like you weren’t, on your wedding day?”
“I was marrying in front of at least ten thousand people,” he murmured.
Ra’if pulled the curtain back a little, his eyes scanning the crowds that had formed beyond the palace gates. It had been growing steadily all day, so that now there were people as far as the eye could see. “I cannot believe there are fewer than that.”
“The prodigal son returns,” Zamir teased, slapping his brother good-naturedly on the shoulder. “This day has certainly attracted a phenomenal amount of interest.”
“Yes. It has been … surprising.”
“Really? I cannot understand why. These are your people, brother. For a long time, you were their Sheikh. They hold great love in their hearts for you.”
Ra’if grunted.
“And you? Does it feel strange to be here? Does it make you wish this was your home again?”
“No,” he spoke quietly. “Melinda and I live in England.” A frown furrowed his brow. “There are things I will always miss about our desert, but my heart is no longer here.” When he spoke next, the words resonated with earnest enquiry. “How is she?”
“Coping like she was born to be a princess. Olivia is impressed by her.”
“I believe it’s mutual.”
“It certainly seemed mutual when I found them huddled over donuts for breakfast.”
Ra’if shook his head, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.
“Why are you nervous?” Zamir pushed after a moment. “You can’t be in any doubt about her feelings for you?”
“No,” Ra’if was quick to dismiss it. “Not for a moment.”
“Well, then?”
Ra’if ran a hand over the delicate golden cuffs that adorned the ceremonial robes, straightening them unnecessarily. “Do you ever feel that life has been … better than you deserve?”
A muscle jerked at the base of Zamir’s jaw. “Yes.” A simple answer. The br
others’ eyes locked and understanding flooded the room.
Ra’if’s answering nod was small. “I was prepared to throw my life away.” He turned, taking in the sea of well-wishers who’d been arriving at the Principal Palace gates for two days. “I threw away my kingdom; my people.” He slid a glance at his brother. “I saddled you with my burdens, because I could not carry them.”
Zamir stepped closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with the older brother he had always admired and adored in equal measure. “I do not consider myself saddled so much as blessed by the duty,” Zamir assured Ra’if. “And I would return the duty to you at your request.”
Ra’if arched a brow, the offer not one he could trivially dismiss. But he thought of Melinda, and he shook his head slowly. “That dream is no longer mine. There was a time in my life when I thought being ruler of this great land was my only purpose. But not now. Besides,” his smile flowed with genuine warmth. “You are far more suited to it.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Ra’if shook his head. “I thank you for the offer. But right now, I want only to think of this day; my duty right here and now.”
“You are to marry,” Zamir said with a decisive nod.
“And you are to stand by my side.”
“I’ll always be by your side.”
“As I will be by yours.” Ra’if grinned. “Shall we?”
A wedding in Dashan was a far cry from the traditional western wedding. But a royal wedding? It was something else altogether. The banquet hall of the palace had been converted into a floral tribute. Every pillar – usually pure gold and marble – was wrapped in ornate arrangements of white desert flowers. They clung to the posts, forming fragrant pillars that met at the ceiling in long, swinging ropes. The altar at the front was gold, carved with the details of the royal family’s past.
He entered the hall and immediately his heart began to thud against his ribs.
He saw his bride for the first time in two days and every single cell of his body began to vibrate. She was dressed in a gown befitting a Dashani princess. Her honey coloured hair was arranged in an ornate style, and a jewelled crown sat perfectly on her head. It boasted one of the streaked glass baubles at its centre, but diamonds radiated from the middle sparkling in a way that, on a less beautiful woman, might have been distracting.
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