“Still dodging the question Omar.” I stated flatly.
He chuckled, “You are too intelligent for your own good female.” He swallowed roughly a couple of times and then admitted, “I met with a female who’d served me in the past, before you.” I was quiet, but I knew he could hear my breaths since I was fighting with my lungs to work.
“Anna, do not despair my love. I was unable with her.”
“You?” I said in shock, although my heart thrilled at his confession.
“I would wish to never speak of it again. Just know my body failed me for the first time ever. Apparently you’ve poisoned me, or cast a spell on me.”
We talked on for a few more minutes, and finally said our goodbyes. I was much too pleased with his confession and it buoyed my depressed state. I’d not been entirely honest with him. I had gone on one date at Julie’s arguments that I should at least try another guy, just to see if I could shake the cloud of Omar.
John and I had gone out for a nice dinner and even the conversation had been pleasant enough. I liked him and unbelievably we found a lot of similarities between our growing up years and current lives. I had too much wine too, and by the time he walked me to my door, my inhibitions were down. He’d kissed me then, holding me tightly and insisting passionately that I respond.
Much like Omar discovered about his body, mine didn’t react at all to John’s advances. Mine in fact had felt as if it had dried up like a parched desert in reaction to the other man’s ardor. We’d left it at that and even though John had called me repeatedly to go on another date. I’d declined with a small grin, knowing that I did indeed belong, lock-stock and barrel to the Arabian prince for whom I would someday bear his name.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Part of me was enjoying my new found freedom. I was only twenty five and really hadn’t lived that much. My time with Omar had matured me rapidly given all the trauma and drama, but aside from those episodes of horror, I really hadn’t lived. I hadn’t made any huge life choices or subsequently failed or made any major mistakes.
I continued to ponder the ramifications of becoming a Queen to a populous of mostly American hating Arab people. I knew our country wasn’t much better in regards to how the majority felt about the populous of the Middle East and even though the Arabians in general were our allies, I still felt a lot of reverse prejudice. I didn’t have any towards the race of the man I adored, but even the coldness from his sister lingered in my thoughts.
I hadn’t understood her words the day after the attack on the ceremony, but her tone and her meaning were clear enough. She blamed me. It was the American she assumed who had brought this kind of attack on her brother and family.
Was it me, the white skinned invader who’d endangered Omar’s life?
I still felt insignificant to the big picture. I still felt as if I were nothing more than someone Omar kept company with, hidden away in his palace, and that I alone had no impact on their nation. What if I did? What if I was the one who ruined their regime?
I continued to study, and Omar and I talked or chatted every couple of days. He didn’t offer me many details apart from the continued chasing of the infidels. I’d been happy he’d murdered the ones who’d abducted me and then battered my body and injured my sanity. I still had nightmares on occasion and I found comfort in knowing that those men were all dead. I was however, having some trouble with the thought that there was no system of law or justice implemented between Omar’s vengeance and the rebels.
What if he was out slaughtering innocents with mistaken identities? There was no-one to fight for them or argue and plead their cases. I struggled with the reality of the situation. I was warring with myself as I continued to study America’s in depth justice system, and my desire to return to Omar.
I felt split down the middle with what I knew and what my intellect was telling me versus what my heart and body ached for. I wanted nothing less than to be in Omar’s bed again, safe in his protection. How could I judge him for blindly killing any he thought might be rebels?
Julie and I discussed it too, and she seemed to lean more towards Omar’s side and the apparent need to rid the planet of insane terrorists. So, I let it go and decided that what was right in my home country wasn’t correct in Omar’s.
I went home from campus for Thanksgiving and my dad joined us for a private dinner at home. Mom and I cooked all week in preparation and it was nice to sit at a table with just the three of us. We chatted conversationally and my dad even turned off his phone. He and mom seemed closer than I remembered and I was about to concede that maybe he was trying to change.
But then he asked, “Anna, I’ve been thinking about it and I want you to come back and work for me once you finish at Harvard. Whadya say kiddo? Let’s give it another shot?”
“Dad, I’m not permanently back. I still plan on joining Omar after he quashes the rebellion.”
“Anna, they will never be finished. They love to war. There will be one after another of these uprisings. Trust me darling, it will never be over. They are an uncivilized lot. If you ask me I think we should just bomb the whole place and be done with them.”
I was shocked at his attitude. I’d made so many new friends and I felt very close to Omar and his people. I’d in fact begun to think more like they were my people, and less as if I were a visitor.
“Um dad, I’m offended. Sorry, but did you not hear me when I said I was in love with Omar? I plan on marrying him. Someday you will be a grandfather to his children.”
My dad sort of scoffed, “Thank god you didn’t already marry that. Kids? With him? Now you’re just testing the boundaries of my patience. Trust me Anna, they are all liars and he won’t follow through with the whole marriage thing now that he’s had you.”
I was growing ever angrier at my dad’s ignorance, “Do you hear yourself? You sound like all the other fear mongers out there, spreading lies and propaganda. What is different about the rebels in Arabia versus the mob of killers here in the states? Aren’t we fighting a similar war here on our turf? There isn’t a night that goes by when the news isn’t showing another death from a shooting or a drive by. A random child is killed, or an innocent civilian. It’s no different over there. There will always be danger, everywhere.”
I was in full on debate mode now and I was mad. My mom on the other hand was beginning to clear the table and muttered, “Do we have to have this discussion now? It’s supposed to be a day of thankfulness.”
“Melinda, it’s too late. Our attorney daughter has thrown down the gauntlet.” My dad declared. He loved to debate and I was not about to shrink away now.
“Yeah mom, too late. I’m fu
cking pissed off that dad would talk about my fiancé that way.”