by C. L. Donley
“This is about Kim, isn’t it?”
“This is about Kim.”
Bel’s pulse quickened against his will.
He knew it had to be about Kim, because there wasn’t anything else in his life that warranted a time-zone-be-damned call from Dale, who basically hadn’t spoken to him since Kim sent that asinine text from Bel’s phone that weekend.
“Hit me,” said Bel.
“Kim…had the baby.”
Bel sat up in bed.
“Kim had what baby?” he asked, clearly agitated.
“Hold on… that’s not even why I called.”
Bel froze as Dale was obviously hesitant to continue.
“There was… an accident. At the daycare.”
“The daycare??”
“They gave him too much medicine. His liver started to fail.”
Him. Bel had a son. A son that survived the womb, a son that had cried with healthy lungs and likely was pink when he entered the world and not purple. A son that looked more and more like he would be the prince and future heir of Ghassan. And he had missed it. Had missed cutting the umbilical cord. Had missed that glorious woman, round and sweating and likely swearing, bringing his offspring into the world. His mind was dizzy with questions. A black chasm of information he was staring down was becoming his reality.
Dale was about to tell him the child had died. That while his father had pissed his liver away in his life, his son’s had been viciously denied him before he had a say. He braced himself for it. Braced to officially give himself permission to go apeshit on the entire world.
Instead, what he said was almost worse. Because it meant that he couldn’t just go crazy. He would have to keep it together, for the sake of yet another family— his own.
“He’s in the ICU. They think he needs a transplant.”
“He can’t be more than three months old,” Bel managed to say.
“He’s precisely three months old. The machines are keeping him alive right now—”
“Where?”
“Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital.”
“I gotta go, Dale. I can’t be on the phone right now.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking, bro.”
“I’m fine, bro. Thanks for telling me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“We’ll be here.”
“Dale.”
“What’s up.”
“You have to promise me something bro-ham.”
“Name it.”
“No matter what happens after today, you have to treat me the same as you’ve always treated me.”
“Is that a command, your highness?”
“Yeah,” he scoffed.
“Then I got no choice.”
Bel hung up without another word.
Bel rolled his eyes and shook his head, as an unpredictable dosage of emotions coursed through him. He was a father. Inside he felt something bizarre that he supposed was an emotion. It felt like what a tree must go through when it rapidly grows roots. In a millisecond his life was changed. Plans popped and crackled along the paths of his brain like active yeast.
All that running away had only atrophied his abilities to cope. But now it was all caving in on him like a broken dam. Had it been during any other two weeks than these two weeks, he wouldn’t have been capable.
How long did he really think he could go without confronting all of this? How much more did he think he could take? He could hardly bear the thought of a twelve-hour plane ride to lay eyes on his son— his son!— Let alone leaving his family here with conspirators. He couldn’t do that. He had only one option.
He had to take the throne. Tonight.
Then, he had to see his son. The prince.
But first, he needed to pull a Grayson. First, he needed to break some shit.
Thirty Nine
Chapter 39
Kim practically fell on her friends when she laid eyes on them from the private parking garage entrance.
There were so many untold things between them now, the presence of sex and men having rendered their friendship virtually unrecognizable. But it had been no less strong. They’d gone longer without seeing each other in the past, but their absence had cut her deep this past year.
And now seeing them both again brought back a flood of memories, all of which were over the top happy. What had happened between her and Bel, the good and the bad, she couldn’t put into words as it was. So instead she cried. When was the last time she’d had a shoulder to cry on? When had she last even touched a human being, besides her son? Mya and Amara exchanged looks as Kim carried on, alternating shoulders.
Kim was beginning to compose herself until she saw Amara’s son Sam toddling up the walk. He’d been five months old when she last saw him, and now that she was a mother with a sick child, and otherwise attuned to all things baby, she was a blubbering mess again as she crouched down and coaxed Sam into an embrace. Sam seemed to understand she was upset and to everyone’s surprise, began stroking her hair. It was a touching moment.
“He’s never done that before,” Amara smiled.
“It’s ‘cause he thinks I’m his mama,” Kim sniffed, jesting about their similar complexions.
Like that magical day in Spain, she smelled Dale and Grayson coming. They, of course, looked debonaire, and she shuddered, slightly envious. She’d gotten the damn dud. What the hell. She could’ve easily had any of these fucking men in another life. Hell, in this life.
That bastard. Bel was still bonded to her heart even as she thought about it, like inmates in a chain gang.
Whatever. Didn’t mean she still couldn’t have a bit of fun.
She locked eyes with Dale and began shaking her head accusingly.
Mya and Amara were instantly laughing because they knew why. Dale had an inkling. He laughed a bit nervously.
Kim hadn’t seen Dale since the wedding, where he’d innocently flirted with both her and Mya, whom he’d barely known. Bel had already whisked Kim away by then, but Amara had regaled the tale of Mya and Dale dancing dangerously close on the dance floor and then leaving in a rush at the reception. Kim started looking him up and down, circling him like a shark.
“Mmhmm,” was eventually all she said. The girls continued laughing.
“Girl, you’re scaring him,” Mya giggled.
“I’m not even gonna say what I wanna say right now.”
“We all appreciate that,” Amara smiled.
“That’s okay. I’mma get the tea today, though.”
“Get it, girl,” Dale said. Mya and Amara cackled. They suddenly realized Dale was the perfect foil for Kim.
“Oh I intend to,” Kim insisted.
“Don’t burn your lips on it,” Dale warned her.
Mya and Amara had to just completely walk away on that one. They were pretty sure he had no idea what he was talking about, but with Dale, one never could tell. Mayhem was already ensuing, and they were only in the parking lot.
“And this one…” Kim directed her attention to Grayson who returned her gaze with a slight smile. She went in for an unsolicited hug. Before they could recover, the girls were cracking up again.
“You so fine,” she complimented him warmly.
“Thanks,” Grayson answered diplomatically.
“You smell like… God’s plan for my life.”
“Wow,” he giggled.
“Yeah, just… good things and joy…” she took another big whiff. “There’s a little bit of Christmas in there, like…” she made a winding-up gesture with her hand trying to waft more of the scent to her nostrils.
Amara and Mya were beside themselves. Finally, Kim took a long deep whiff and wrenched herself away while the girls laughed.
Grayson still had the same effect on all women and didn’t know how to shut it off. Now that he was devoted to Amara, the surrounding female energy had become decidedly more aggressive, which scared him on some level. Because it made him realize that he didn’t know everything there was to know abo
ut women, and he was continuously fighting off the curiosity. The only thing that saved him was Amara’s own curiosity about the phenomenon. She liked to see women try and fail to turn his head. She got off on it. Which in turn got him off.
“I oughtta climb you like a tree,” Kim suddenly added.
Dale cringed.
“What the hell, Kim,” Mya said.
It was a bit too much, but she hadn’t had sex in 11 months and couldn’t help saying what was on her mind. If Amara was salty about it then so be it. Kim thought being friends with a man was an utterly ridiculous concept. Sure, he was sorta like her brother in law, but all that translated to in her mind was that they weren’t related. She didn’t know what else to do with any of them other than flirt.
“I don’t think Bel would appreciate that,” Grayson simply said.
Kim smacked loudly and rolled her eyes.
“…The fuck is a Bel,” she spat out bitterly.
Everyone was silent, except Mya who didn’t know much about Bel to begin with.
“Um, what about Amara?” Mya laughed with a furrowed brow.
“Amara doesn’t mind,” Grayson simply said looking over at his wife, not using her nickname.
Amara looked back at her husband, Sam on her hip.
“Whaaaaaaaaat…” Kim squealed, giving the couple an exaggerated look back and forth. Mya and Dale exchanged wide-eyed looks with each other.
It was a dare, Amara knew. But just what was he daring her to do? They would have to discuss that later tonight. Perhaps sooner.
“On that note… shall we?” Amara deflected.
“Y’all nasty,” Kim calmly concluded quietly as they made their way inside.
“We’re married,” Amara corrected.
As they wandered the halls of the PICU Kim noticed that she hadn’t thought about her baby in a solid five minutes. The notion made her feel like garbage, and she was suddenly conflicted about having her spirits lifted. She felt even more guilty when they got to Jabari’s room, and he was already awake and being fed by Nurse Mindy. She tried not to let it show.
“Jabari!” Kim squealed. The baby squirmed and turned his head in response to his mother’s voice.
They all tried to put on brave faces looking at the bright yellow skin and eyes of her little boy invaded with tubes. Amara thought she could hold it together, but she handed Sam off to Grayson and excused herself, searching for a Kleenex box. The on-duty nurse at the nurse’s station extended a box to her, anticipating the need. No one looked at her twice for openly weeping in the PICU.
She still felt responsible for the conception of what appeared to her as the most bizarre love tornado. She sensed an ominous dread, thinking of Bel coming here to see his own son for the first time in such a condition.
If they all weren’t mutually acquainted Amara wasn’t even sure she would’ve ever bothered to tell Bel that she was pregnant, judging from Kim’s flippant air. Amara beat herself up about it continuously when the miscarriage supposedly happened, because it set off a whole bizarre chain of behaviors in her boss that might’ve been avoided if she’d have just stayed out of their business. She’d assumed all the secrecy was evidence of the burgeoning of a serious relationship, but it turned out to be the polar opposite.
Now, Kim had landed her in a whole ‘nother heap of trouble with this damn secret baby. What in the fuck was Kim thinking?? And knowing Kim, her careless attitude about whatever must’ve happened between them would do nothing but set Bel off.
Whenever Bel showed up, she had to convince Kim not to be there.
* * *
The last thing Bel wanted was for his immediate family to know any of his business. Even though he knew they would ultimately be thrilled about the one true heir apparent finally having another son, it turned everything into a matter of national security. The fact that Bel had an illegitimate son that he hadn’t known about made him out to seem a worse scoundrel than his father, who at least had the decency to give his illicit affair and their results a title and a place in the palace.
Things in America were different, but explaining that was useless. At any rate, it was the only other legitimate cause to wake the king in the middle of the night that everyone could believe, and it helped that it was also true.
“Is this woman to be Ghassan’s next queen?”
Bel hadn’t thought that far ahead. Or rather, he had, only he couldn’t get past the amusement of the idea to take it seriously. He didn’t even know what kind of king he would be. But then, he hadn’t known what kind of CEO he would be, and it turned out he was a good one.
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is the life of the prince, if he lives.”
“This one will live,” the king simply said, as if he could decree it. He knew that Bel could be counted upon to have more children, just as he knew that his son must love the woman to have so casually allowed her to become pregnant. Bel despised his father’s indiscretions and would not easily let the opportunity arise to follow in his footsteps.
“So you have decided to accept your fate as king.”
“I have.”
King Hafiz hid his emotion.
“Good. You must realize that tragedy will surely strike while you are gone. Your presence has made them anxious, and your sudden absence will make them sloppy. Expect there to be an announcement of my death.”
“Abba—”
“You and I both know that this will be the last time we will see each other.”
Bel broke down at that. He’d run hard and far, and it was all for naught. In the moment he didn’t consider it a waste. He saw his life clearer than he’d ever seen it: it would’ve happened this way no matter what.
And yet he cried. He was prepared to lose his father, but not his king. His king would leave an intense vacuum, and to fill it would be the challenge of his life. He simply wasn’t ready.
“After that, you will have 40 days. They will allow your mother to mourn the customary period before she is no longer safe. It may be cut short, but whoever is behind this, if they are smart, they will not give the people cause to revolt.”
“I understand.”
“You will have to say goodbye to your little company,” said his father, letting a bit of his resentment show. Ghassan’s GDP was still seven times what MeTv was worth. “Sell it for a fair price. Your attention belongs to the people of Ghassan.”
“I already have a plan.”
“Your family is everything you have in the world.”
“Yes, abba.”
His father smiled. Just at the 11th hour of his life, not unlike the middle of this very night, he’d gained a successor, and his successor had gained an heir. It was far too brief a moment, but considering it was happening at all, he relished it. Like the patriarchs to which they attributed direct lineage, Bel would continue in the holy tradition, orchestrated by the hand of Allah. The firstborn would be passed over in favor of the second. The king’s achievements meant nothing if they stopped with him. Now he could rest his worry-free soul all the way to the grave. Now he could be at peace with his enemies.
“Belkacem, I have many things to tell you but not the time. You are wise beyond your years. You have watched your king, so now do likewise. You have also watched your father. Now go and do the opposite.”
Fahid, his younger half-brother, was also there and weeping.
“Fahid, my son, you have not been groomed in vain. Serve your king faithfully.”
“Yes, abba.”
“Go. Take my ring. My enemies will be too gleeful over their triumph to notice it is gone.”
Bel took Fahid’s chain from around his neck, took his father’s signet ring and put it on the chain and around his own.
“King Belkacem, long may he reign,” Hafiz said.
“Long may he reign,” Fahid repeated.
King Belkacem threw his arms around his shrunken father and wept.
Forty
Chapter 40
Bel sta
red at the worn leather on the couch of his private jet where Fahid slept.
How many women had he pleasured there? The many glasses of champagne that were spilled. Twelve years after his wife’s death, the philosophy behind loving them and leaving them was a faded memory. It was merely a habit now, and he was getting older. He was drowning in nieces and nephews. He’d amassed a fortune with no one to leave it to. He hadn’t considered it a betrayal to his stillborn son for him to have a little brother or sister, but the business of a wife, or even a girlfriend, had been out of the question for him. Even if he wasn’t a playboy, he was hard-pressed to find a woman he wanted to attach himself to for 18 years, let alone forever.
Then he saw her. All 5 feet 10 inches of her, wearing that skin-tight navy and white striped dress, that nautical pattern that would never fail to bring a smile to his face, the colors of the wind heavy sails of the boats in his dreams. “Are you my guy?” she’d asked. The question ricocheted through his brain. “You’re breathtaking,” he’d confessed. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She’d wanted to get pregnant. She was so beautiful in fact that it numbed him and he was ready to oblige. Had it been a gift from God?
The chain around his neck that held his father’s signet ring was absentmindedly twirling around in his fingers as he was lost in thought. So he was the king. Feeling real wasn’t a necessity, it simply was real. And honestly, it felt about the same. He was a king already in the states after all, where kingship was earned, but the rules were not much different. Like he’d done in his youth, occasionally in his adulthood, he busied himself with thoughts of what kind of king he would be. Not “would be” anymore, is.
Allah, help me, he thought, without hesitation. There were two million people that were now his responsibility. Not a Fortune 500 company. Five hours behind him were vultures that couldn’t wait to get their hands on such power. His father’s words came back to him in a wave of comfort: he would make a great king precisely because he didn’t want it.
By now they probably knew he was gone and why. Probably accelerating his father’s decline. Would the doctor have been in on it? He was sickened as a new line of thinking began to invade his mind, a new game called “who can I trust?” As far as he was concerned, the only person he could trust was on the plane with him. The other he’d left in the palace, circled by ravenous wolves. Taking his mother with him risked raising red flags, which he wasn’t willing to do as long as he didn’t know who he was dealing with and what they were capable of.
