thoughts returned to Dan. At the end of their meeting, she’d promised to work up menu selections for his approval by the end of the week. He’d been open to suggestions, which made him the kind of client she preferred, since that allowed her to be creative. He’d made only one request, one she would have no problem honoring since he was footing the bill. He had a fondness for white truffles and insisted at least one dish include them.
The Italian delicacy went for up to ten thousand dollars a pound, which was why Emily rarely cooked with it. Even the Hendersons, who were exceedingly generous when it came to trying to please their guests’ discerning palates, had never requested a recipe that included the pricey tuber.
“I’m in heaven.” Emily sighed as she lugged a stack of books holding her favorite recipes to the kitchen’s island.
It only took the phone to ring for her to return to earth. Then, as soon as Emily heard her mother’s voice, she descended a bit further south.
“My goodness but you’ve been hard to get in touch with lately,” Miranda complained by way of a greeting.
Since her mother had forgone social niceties, Emily decided to as well. “Have I?”
“You know you have. You can try to avoid me, but you can’t avoid the fact that your sister is getting married in August.”
The M word landed like a bomb, obliterating what remained of Emily’s good mood.
“I’m not avoiding it, Mom.” The reply came out clipped, despite Emily’s best efforts to sound blasé.
“I know this is hard for you, but it’s really for the best in the long-term. He and Elle are so much better suited than the two of you were. When are you going to forgive them?”
When they ask me to, she thought.
“On their silver wedding anniversary?” her mother went on dramatically.
“That’s optimistic,” Emily muttered.
“You need to be a bigger person. Your sister is so happy and content. Your father and I have never seen Elle like this. It’s what we’ve been hoping for for years. Can’t you be happy for her?”
Guilt niggled. Her mother was good at planting the seed and then helping it grow. Miranda had been nurturing this particular one since Elle first flashed an engagement ring.
“I really do have to go, Mom.”
“Elle’s bridal shower is next Sunday.”
“You know I can’t come. As I’ve told you half a dozen times already, I’m booked that day.” It was a lie. She had that particular Sunday free.
“Please try. For the sake of family harmony.”
Emily hung up wondering why she was the only one expected to carry that load.
Dan flipped his cell phone closed on an oath as Azeem maneuvered the Mercedes through Manhattan traffic. This message, like the one before it, was from his mother. Given the time difference between New York and Kashaqra, Fadilah must consider the matter to be vitally important. That meant he couldn’t avoid calling her back much longer.
“Is everything all right?” Azeem asked. “Your father?”
“Is well.” Fadilah would not have been so vague if that were the case. “My mother says she needs to speak with me,” he said wryly, knowing that would explain it all.
Azeem nodded. “She is the only woman I know who can make you squirm. But not for long, sadiqi. If you insist on going through with the wedding, Nawar will enjoy that right as well.”
Though the words were offered in jest, the challenge was unmistakable.
“Drop me off at the next light,” he said.
“But Mayhew’s is at Fifth Avenue and Forty-Third,” Azeem reminded him.
“I know. I want to walk the rest of the way.” When his friend frowned, he added, “This is the first warm, sunny day we’ve had in nearly a week. I want to take advantage of it.”
“As you wish.” But Azeem’s expression said he wasn’t buying the explanation.
Madani glanced at his watch after the Mercedes drove away. It wasn’t quite noon, which meant he still had forty minutes before his rescheduled appointment with a potential distributor. He started walking, his pace slow and leisurely. Even with heat rising from the street, the temperature was pleasant and the humidity low after a week of thunderstorms, making him glad to be outdoors and moving under his own steam. In Kashaqra, even with all of the amenities his wealth and position afforded, Madani enjoyed walking. In addition to being good exercise, it gave a man time to think, plan and put things into perspective. He needed to do that now, he decided, his thoughts returning to the phone message.
His mother probably wanted to discuss the engagement announcement or, he swallowed thickly, his wedding. Just thinking about marriage had Madani tugging his necktie loose as he strode down the sidewalk. As his parents kept reminding him, it was the next logical step in his life. He was thirty-two, educated, well-traveled and established. The time had come for him to take a wife and start a family. As the next in line to rule the country, it also was Madani’s duty.
Turning matrimony into an obligation hardly made it any more palatable.
Still, he shouldn’t complain. Nawar, the bride his parents had chosen for him, was beautiful in both face and form. She also was bright, only recently finishing up her PhD in economics at Kashaqra’s leading university. Per her request, all talk of marriage had been postponed until she had completed her education, causing Madani to wonder if her pursuit of a doctoral degree was an indication of her own mixed emotions.
Here in the West, arranged marriages were considered archaic and unromantic. Even in his country many of the younger generation considered such alliances old-fashioned and unnecessary. After all, shouldn’t picking a life partner be left to the two people involved?
Azeem, who to Madani’s knowledge wasn’t even seriously involved with anyone, was surprisingly outspoken on the matter, which in turn made him annoyingly outspoken in his dismay over Madani’s decision to honor his arranged betrothal.
“You have an opportunity to lead even before taking your father’s place,” Azeem had hollered during one of their many arguments on the subject. “If you refuse to marry under these conditions, others would be willing to follow your example.”
He’d considered that at one time, but he’d shaken his head. “It is done.”
Madani hadn’t just been referring to the fact that his betrothal to the daughter of one of his father’s closest political allies had been arranged when he was still a toddler. As he’d told Azeem, it was his father’s wish. What reason did he have to risk his father’s health? Nawar would make a suitable wife. Besides, the notion of marrying for love seemed far-fetched. He’d spent time with plenty of women over the years, but he’d never felt the intense emotion the poets claimed existed.
For no reason he could fathom, his thoughts turned to Emily Merit.
“I was unaware you knew someone in this part of Manhattan,”
