The Sheikh’s Stubborn Bride by Leslie North

12

By the end of the day, Kadir wasn’t feeling much better about how he’d left things between him and Stella. He left his office and walked across the hall to the library, where he found Yusef reading at one of the long tables near the center of the space. Of his two brothers, Yusef should understand Kadir’s frustrations best. After all, he was a law student, and the law was one area where Al-Fatha had made major breakthroughs in recent years, choosing to leave their traditions behind for more modern ideals of justice and equality. If anyone would get the value of progress, it should be Yusef.

“Can we talk?” Kadir asked as he took a seat across from his brother at the table. “I don’t know what’s gotten into my wife. Stella’s been in our country for less than two years, brother. Two years. I’ve lived here my entire life. She should respect that and hear me out about the old city. But no. Instead, she’s been talking to all these kids and artists and gamers, people who don’t understand how the economy of Al-Fatha works, much less how we tie into the global economy. I’m going to be the king, Yusef. I know better.”

Yusef let him rant until he ran out of steam, then said quietly, “Perhaps it is difficult for your new wife to listen to you calmly when you’re screaming at her and accusing her of undermining you, and in front of your family, no less.” He let that sink in a moment before adding. “You know that people tend to get defensive when they’re attacked and embarrassed.”

Much as he hated to admit it, that was true. He’d been unfair to Stella. Shoulders slumped, he sat back in his chair and stared down at his hands in his lap. “Fine. I was wrong. But we’ve had weeks to come to terms with each other, and she refuses to compromise. For her, there is no middle ground. Each time I try to talk to her about this, she either changes the subject or goes on the offensive. She never just listens to me, and it drives me mad.”

“Do you ever just listen to her? Do you see a middle ground?”

Kadir didn’t answer. He’d spent years studying the issues, speaking with economists and business people, innovators and world leaders. He knew his position was right. He knew his country needed to develop new paths. Why couldn’t Stella see more than the fairy tale and romance of Al-Fatha?

His blood pressure was on the rise again and he was well on his way to another fury when he checked his watch and realized it was time to get ready for the opera. If circumstances were different, he’d have said to hell with it, but he couldn’t. Tonight was an important public appearance—the premier performance of the new season for the opera. There was no way he could miss it, so he’d have to go. It was a royal obligation, if also a royal pain in the ass.

* * *

Two hours later, Kadir was sitting beside Stella in his family’s box, waiting for the curtain to rise. It was just the two of them in the plush velvet space, but it still felt crowded—probably because of the huge elephant in the room with them. Neither of them had said more than four words to each other since they’d left the palace.

For his part, Kadir honestly had no idea what to say. He was afraid of upsetting her again, and until they cleared the air between them, it felt like walking through a minefield each time he opened his mouth. He was still aware, however, that cameras lurked nearby, so they had to at least give the impression of having a good time.

Thankfully, the theater filled with the sounds of the orchestra tuning up, followed by a beautiful Puccini overture, and he was able to lose himself in the music for a while, the lights dimming and the paparazzi at bay for a little while.

At intermission, though, the tension returned, this time too much to ignore, at least for Stella. While the low murmur of people milling about below rose around them, she fiddled with her program in her lap and then reached over to take Kadir’s hand.

“Look, can we forget about our fight this morning? I truly am sorry. I didn’t know what the reviewer was going to write.”

Sweet relief flooded his system, and he squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry too, habibi. I was feeling guilty about my own failings and yelled at you first, and that’s unforgivable. I just care so much about the future of my country and…” He took a deep breath and laced his fingers with hers. Stopping now would probably be wise, but he wanted her to understand. Needed her to. Almost as much as he needed them to get back to being happy and loving again. “Please understand, habibi, that I’ve trained my whole life to run Al-Fatha. There is no one, except my father, who knows more about this country and its history, no one who better understands what needs to be done to move us forward into the future and into the global economy. Certainly not the people you’ve been talking to, who fill your head with misinformation.”

She snorted in response, a derisive sound that didn’t bode well. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her, well aware how the move would look to anyone watching them. Stella shook her head, giving him some serious side-eye. “Let me ask you, Kadir, have you ever worked at one of those bazaar stalls outside the planetarium? Or restored an old mosaic to its former glory?”

He shook his head frowned just enough for only her to see it. “Of course not.”

“How about fought to keep your family business from going under? Or watched as the home your family has lived in for generations was bulldozed?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Obviously you haven’t, but you resent me saying that you’re out of touch with your people, that you’re looking down on them from your fairy-tale palace, ignorant of what they go through on a daily basis, of what they really need to make their lives better.”

This time when she tugged on her hand, he let her go, feeling his hackles rise again. How dare she accuse him of being elitist when she had no clue herself. “And you know of these things, do you? You, a white, middle-class woman from America? Tell me, Stella. Have you ever been evicted? Or struggled? Or experienced any of the other things you just asked of me?”

“Maybe not those things exactly,” she said, scowling. “But my parents were divorced. After my father left, Mom and I had to make hard decisions about money every day.”

“But that’s a far cry from poverty, isn’t it? A far cry from losing your home or your business, isn’t it?”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“So you haven’t experienced any of these things first-hand either, yet you feel completely justified in condemning me for them. Telling me I live in a fairy tale when your past is just as sheltered as mine.”

“Bullshit,” she said, her voice low, but no less powerful for it.

The bells dinged to signify the end of intermission, but they continued bickering, cameras forgotten as the lights dimmed once more.

Stella continued, her whispered words cutting through the tenor voice of the male lead singing on stage. “I might not have been homeless, but I understand all too well what your form of ‘progress’ does in action. In America, people lose their homes because the rent gets too high when the tech companies move into the area. Gentrification turns neighborhoods unrecognizable overnight.”

“Bullshit indeed,” he countered in a jagged whisper, glad the darkness hid his anger. “Do you honestly believe I’d let that occur in Jazid?”

He noticed that people were surreptitiously glancing at them and realized that their angry whispers had the same effect as shouts reverberating around the hall.

Dammit. This evening was turning out to be an even bigger fiasco than he’d expected.

Well, no more. He’d made his appearance. Time to get out of here and gain some much-needed space and fresh air. Kadir stood. “Excuse me, I have business to attend to. Enjoy the rest of the opera.”

As he exited their box, he knew he was leaving Stella in an awkward spot, having to cover for his absence, but dammit, he didn’t care. She was being beyond obtuse about this whole situation, and he’d had more than enough for one night.