“
Oh, uh, I…” My mind raced for an excuse that would not blow our cover—we were so close to solving Rafiq’s problems—but all I could do was rub my hands together and stutter helplessly.
But my love came to the rescue, as he always seemed to do.
“Father,” said Rafiq in a firm voice, “I have something to tell you. Evangeline is not wearing her ring because, the truth of it is, we are not actually engaged.”
Mehmet started, and I turned to Rafiq feeling alarmed. What was he doing?
“What is this?” said Mehmet. “Has something happened? Have you decided not to get married? There is really no reason to delay this event, Rafiq; I’m sure we can arrange whatever venue your beautiful bride desires…”
“No, father, it has nothing to do with that. We were never engaged. In fact, before last night, Evie and I had never been anything more than business partners,” said Rafiq. “I tried to deceive you, father. I’m sorry. I hired Evangeline to pose as my future wife because I didn’t want to reject your legacy—but I didn’t want to follow it, either. I hired Evie to help me.”
I could only stand there in silent shock as the tension mounted between Mehmet and Rafiq, so palpable it was like a force in the air.
But Rafiq was not the man he had been before. Standing with his back straight, he faced his father with calm assurance and a steady gaze. There was nothing insecure or afraid in his eyes, not anymore. It made my heart sing to see him so confident, so sure of himself.
“This is outrageous,” said Mehmet finally. I learned in that moment that Mehmet didn’t have to yell to be intimidating. There was razor-blade sharpness in every syllable, and his dark eyes burned into his son. “I should have known that you were never going to change, Rafiq. You have always been hell-bent on defying me, even when I know what is best for you. So be it! You can have the rejection you have always craved. I am cutting you off from this day forward. You can starve and struggle your way through the world like everyone else, and ignore everything I’ve built to keep you safe. That is clearly the life you have always wanted for yourself, no matter what your mother and I sacrifice to keep you safe.”
Even though he wasn’t my father, hearing the Sheikh’s words still cut me. I could only imagine what they were doing to Rafiq. Without looking, I felt for his hand and grasped it tightly in my own, to let him know I was here and with him. He squeezed back lovingly without looking away from his father.
“You can do whatever you feel is right, father,” said Rafiq. There was no hint of fear or even bitterness in his voice. “You’re right. I have always defied you, and I’m truly sorry for the heartache I’ve caused you and mother over the years. But I didn’t understand why I was doing it; not until I saw what real courage, real bravery was. Not until Evie showed me.” He looked down at me, and then back at his father. “I’ve always tried to have it both ways—to be your legacy, and to be my own man—but I see now that I can’t.”
Mehmet made a move to interrupt, but Rafiq put up a palm to silence him, and shockingly, his father obeyed, as if he too could sense the change in his son’s demeanor.
“Father, I respect the life you’ve built for yourself and our family, but I have to be my own man. I’m going to live by my own choices, not yours. If I fail or starve, it’s going to be because of my own efforts and decisions, not because I was trying to please you. I’m not going to be held hostage by the family money and trudge through life hating myself and everything I do. Not anymore. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you want me to be, but if you put your faith in me, I know I can prove to you that I can still be a good man, and a worthy son.”
Surprising us both, Rafiq removed the black cotton shirt he had been wearing, exposing his tattoos to his father. Mehmet’s eyes widened as he realized just how much body art Rafiq had hidden from him over the years.
“These are my choices,” said Rafiq, running his hands over his skin. “These are my design, all of them. Evie only covered for me. I made these, father, and I bled for them. They all represent something I’ve been through, something that has made me a better man, and yet you shame me for them, based on what? Some old-fashioned idea of respectability? Shouldn’t it be more important to you that your son has a strong heart and his own passions? Or do you really want me to be just another cog in the machine?”
Tears stung my eyes. There was pain in Rafiq’s voice; he’d been waiting so many years to say these things to his father. Mehmet could only stare, stunned, and I realized his entourage, scattered throughout the room, was doing the same. I wondered silently if they had ever seen anyone talked to the great Mehmet Al-Zayn in such a way.
“You do what you need to do, father. You’ve earned your fortune, and it is yours to deny me.” Rafiq put his shirt back on. “But I’m going to live my life according to my own rules. I would love to have your support, but I understand if I do not.”
Mehmet blinked at his son. He looked over at me, as if I could explain any of this. His gaze drifted over to behind where Rafiq was standing, stopping when he spotted the new painting on the wall, next to the portrait of Rafiq he had already seen.
Frowning, Mehmet walked away from us and toward the painting. He stared at it as Rafiq and I slowly walked up behind him, hands still joined together.
Mehmet pointed to the signature at the bottom right corner of the portrait. “This signature… Rafiq, is this your work?”
“It is,” said Rafiq. “It was a gift for my love.” He pulled me into his side and dropped a kiss on my head.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I said. “It’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. Rafiq has been hiding this talent from all of us, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make him show it to the world.”
When Mehmet turned around, there were tears brimming in his big, dark eyes. He had the same dark eyes Rafiq had, and now there was no more anger in them, not anymore.
“My son,” he said, “this is extraordinary.”
The way Rafiq squeezed my shoulder told me he wasn’t expecting that response.
“You like it, truly?” he asked his father.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you exhibit such passion, Rafiq. True passion, not the masquerade you have been living for so long.” He gestured toward the portrait. “I wish you hadn’t lied to me and deceived me about your marriage. But this, I can see now…your love for her is real. And she’s found a way to uncover the passion inside of you that I knew was still waiting.”
“Father…”
“And your technique! Your talent!” exclaimed Mehmet in sudden animation, as if now he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “Rafiq, you have improved so much since the last time I saw you create. You’ve found your style, your voice. This is a feat I was never able to accomplish.”
Rafiq’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve never heard you talk like that, father.”
“It’s the truth,” said Mehmet. “If this is a day for truths, let it be so. I’m sorry I pressed you with such intensity to try and make up for my own artistic failures, Rafiq. I saw your talent and I must have lost my mind. But…” he looked back at the painting. “At least I can say now for certain that what I saw was true. You were born an artist, my son; a true artist, just like the beautiful woman at your side.”
I blushed as Rafiq pulled me closer and looked down at me with a jubilant smile.
“I’m proud of you, Rafiq,” said Mehmet. He walked up to his son and clapped both hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “I’m so proud of you. This is the beginning of your life, my son. Now that you understand the kind of man you want to be, nothing will stand in your way. You and Evie will make a beautiful life together, full of art and passion and beauty. That is all I ever wanted for you, son. I only wanted you to be happy.” Tears escaped from his eyes as he embraced his son with strong arms.
Shocked at first, Rafiq moved his arm from around me and hugged his father back. It was clear to me that they hadn’t shared a moment like this in a very l
ong time, and it made my heart soar.