happy she looked like a child’s drawing of a beaming sun. Leila felt as though her sun had just been covered by a huge black cloudbank.
She was on the terrace with Nadia, having a late breakfast—or perhaps an early lunch—while Nadia, who had already eaten, passed the time in her usual way, with her sketchbook. At their mother’s interruption Nadia looked up briefly, then went back to making little pencil sketches of Leila.
While Leila mopped up coffee with her napkin, her mother selected the chair next to her and turned it so that it angled toward Leila before she sat. She took Leila’s hand, holding it in both of her warm, soft ones. Tears sprang to Leila’s eyes. She had to swallow hard to fight down the lump in her throat.
“Your father has given his permission for the two of you to marry,” her mother said in a husky, excited voice. She gazed at Leila with shining eyes. “Oh, my child, I am so happy for you. Mr. Gallagher must love you very much, to honor you so.”
Leila was glad she was no longer holding the cup of coffee in her hands; as badly as they were shaking, she would surely have dropped it—or perhaps hurled it into the nearest fountain. Inwardly she was seething with anger, with outrage. Remembering the way he had thrust her away from him, as if she were something vile. Remembering the humiliation. How dare he!
Why is he doing this? she thought desperately. What can he possibly hope to gain? Is he trying to humiliate me even more?
Because she knew, she absolutely knew, that whatever Cade Gallagher’s motive might be for marrying her, it most definitely was not because he loved her.
“Mother,” said Leila in a choked voice, “I do not want to marry Mr. Gallagher. I will not.” A tear ran down her cheek.
Her mother made a distressed sound and brushed it away. “Oh dear—I thought you would be pleased. But tell me, why not?”
Why not? Because he made me feel like…like I never knew it was possible to feel. Because he opened a door and beckoned to me, showed me a glimpse of paradise, then slammed the door in my face. Because he made me want him…and I cannot stop thinking about him…and I know I will never be able to forget him. How can I forgive him for that?
“He is from America!” Leila cried, brushing furiously at both the tears and her mother’s hand. It was the only thing she could think of to say. “From Texas!”
Her mother looked startled, but only for a moment. Then she put her arms around Leila and patted her on the back as she crooned, “Yes, of course…I understand. Don’t cry, my sweet. Naturally you would not wish to marry someone who would take you so far away from your home…your family. I hadn’t thought, but yes—you would have to live in America—in Texas! Your father and I would hardly ever see you. What were we thinking? Hmm. Well. Never mind.”
She gave Leila one last little hug and rose. “Don’t worry, my sweet, I will explain things to your father.” She smiled and leaned down to kiss Leila’s cheek. “To be honest, I think he will be glad that you will be staying right here in Tamir.”
When her mother had gone, Leila reached for her coffee cup, then pushed it savagely away from her.
Nadia put aside her sketchbook. “Have you suddenly lost your mind?” she asked mildly. Leila said nothing, but stared at her coffee cup with hot, tearless eyes. “Or,” said Nadia, “are you merely being contrary?” She gave a sigh of exasperation. “Did I not hear you say, two days ago, how attractive you thought Mr. Gallagher? And, were you not talking about how much you wanted to go to America? Especially Texas? It seemed like an impossible dream, even I thought so. To have it realized would have taken a miracle. Now, it is as if you had rubbed a magic lamp! All your wishes have been granted. And you would turn them down? Leila—for mercy’s sake, why?”
“Because I do not love him,” Leila said flatly. Her voice was as dry as her eyes. “And he certainly does not love me.”
With an exasperated noise, Nadia flung herself away from the table. “Leila, you are such a child.”
Leila stared at her, stung. Although it was the sort of thing people were always saying to her, for some reason, this morning, it hurt more than usual. She swallowed, then said softly, “I do not think it is childish to want to be loved. You have known love, Nadia. Why should I not have the same?”
For a moment, as she gazed back at Leila, Nadia’s face softened. For a moment. Then her eyes darkened with pain and she veiled them with her lashes before she turned away. “You don’t know what you are talking about. Love brings only pain. Trust me—you do not ever want to know pain like that.”
“I am sorry, Nadia,” Leila whispered, belatedly remembering her sister’s secret heartbreak.
“Besides,” Nadia went on briskly, “we are not talking about love, but about marriage, which is a different thing entirely. Love is a terrible reason to get married. It is a recent idea, this notion that one must be in love in order to marry—don’t you know that? And look at what that has done! So much unhappiness. Inevitably, love leads to disappointment, and disappointment to misery and even divorce. No, thank you.”
“So,” said Leila grudgingly, “what reason do you think people should marry for, if not love?” She was by no means ready to agree with such a cynical point of view, but there was no arguing with Nadia.
“Why, for practical reasons, of course.” Nadia looked as annoyingly superior as an older sister can. “Marriage should be entered into as a business agreement—a contract, mutually advantageous, of course. I, for example,” she said loftily, holding her head high, “have decided to marry Butrus. Why?” Ignoring Leila’s gasp of surprise, she rushed on, ticking off reasons one by one on her fingers. “One, Butrus wishes to marry me in order to gain favor with Father, therefore, he knows he must treat me well—very well—because if I were to be made unhappy, Father would not be pleased. Two, as Father’s advisor, Butrus is away a great deal of the time. So, I would not only have the status of a married woman, but at the same time I would be assured a considerable amount of freedom. And three, I wish to have children. Butrus is handsome and physically well made. So, we would have beautiful, healthy babies. And, he has rather nice teeth, I believe.”
“Nadia,” Leila said, giggling in spite of herself, “you sound as though you are buying a horse.”
“It is very much the same thing,” Nadia said airily. A moment later, though, she was serious again as she bent down to cover Leila’s hand with her own and give it an urgent little squeeze. “Leila—for once in your life, use your head. Think. Cade Gallagher will make beautiful, healthy babies, too. And, he will take you to America—to Texas.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder and lowered her voice. Even so, it quivered with passion. “Away from here. Just think, Leila—in America you can do—you can become—anything you want to. Anything. Do you understand? The freedom…” She straightened abruptly, biting her lip. “Think about it, Leila,” she whispered, and snatching up her sketchpad, walked quickly away without looking back.
Leila did not know how long she stayed there, biting her lip and stubbornly frowning at nothing. Bees hummed among the roses, birds came to drink and play in the fountain and a servant came quietly to clear away the remains of the meal. And still she sat…quivering with the burden of unshed tears.
It was the strangest meeting Cade had ever been a part of. Definitely not what he’d expected. Though he’d have had a hard time putting into words just what it was he had expected.
One thing, definitely—he’d expected to have at least one more chance to talk with Leila. Alone. But clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. Instead they each occupied separate leather chairs facing Sheik Ahmed’s long mahogany desk, with several feet of space between them. It might as well have been several miles. Like a cross between a biblical Moses and a junior high school principal facing down a couple of co-conspirators in mischief, Sheik Ahmed presided behind his desk. His wife, Alima, Leila’s mother,