Queen of Barrakesch Read online

  Wasim shot from the chair. “No. There must be some mistake. We need a second opinion.” He was ready to handle the situation. “We’ll go to Dubai or Malaysia or Singapore. India! We could…”

  The muscles in his throat constricted at the devastating thought of losing his father. He was already grief-stricken and his father hadn’t passed yet. What would he do without him? What would this country do without him?

  King Khalid’s eyes bore the heaviness of sympathy, when in fact he was the one who needed sympathy. He clearly saw Wasim’s fears.

  “Sit, Wasim,” he said wearily. “That’s why I went abroad. To get a second opinion. But it’s too late. Nothing can be done.”

  “How much time do we have?” He remained standing, forcing the question past stiff lips.

  “A few weeks,” his father said in a grave voice.

  A few weeks! This couldn’t be happening.

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you privately. To tell you about my illness and a decision I’ve made. I want you to become the ruler of Barrakesch. I think you would be good for the country, but you don’t have a wife.”

  “Walidi…” Wasim started with dread.

  “Not even a prospect with the chance to start a family. You’ve turned down every potential wife your aunt has brought to you.” Since Wasim’s mother had passed, his father’s sister was responsible for helping him choose a wife. “Before I die, I need to know I’m leaving the country in good hands, with a ruler who is stable and can provide an heir. Since you cannot provide the peace of mind that I—we need—I have made the difficult decision to choose someone else to succeed me.”

  Wasim sank onto the chair with the heaviness of a stone dropping to the bottom of the ocean. He hadn’t expected to have to take the throne so soon, and he hadn’t expected his father to pass him over, either.

  “There are already factions in the Parliament who think you’re too flamboyant, too reckless, and too progressive. With no wife and the possibility of continuing our line, their confidence will be further shaken and could result in unrest, upheaval in the government.”

  “That is ridiculous! You said yourself that I would be a good king.”

  “I have no doubt, but others have doubt. And a good king would make sure there is a clear line of succession in place. That is what I intend to do, and you would be required to do if you were king. I am sorry, Wasim. You’ve left me no choice.”

  “You have a choice. You could do what you know is right for the country, not what a few hard-headed conservatives want. The throne is mine. It is my birthright!”

  “Wasim.” His father’s voice took on an imperial tone, demanding respect. “The decision has been made. I will not change my mind.”

  Wasim stared at the tiled floor of the balcony, anger and disappointment rolling in his blood. “When will you announce the successor?”

  “In a week’s time, when I announce my condition to the country.”

  “Who have you chosen?”

  “I haven’t made a final decision yet, but I will soon. Son, you won’t be king, but I need your help over the next few weeks. There is much to do.”

  He was obligated to help. Not only because this man was his father and king, but because as a son and a subject, he wanted his father to go into the afterlife with his mind at ease. It would be his honor to do whatever he could to facilitate that transition.

  With a heavy heart, Wasim took his father’s hand. “What do you need me to do?”

  5

  Imani lifted herself out of the water and picked up one of the towels she had left poolside on a chair. She removed her swim cap and wrapped a towel around her wet hair and then proceeded to dry her body with the other towel.

  Much of her days were spent in ceremonial tasks, handling visa requests, and negotiating agreements between businesses located in the two countries. Today had been particularly stressful because she’d been unable to get a reliable answer about the environmental report from anyone in the commission’s office.

  A relaxing swim had been exactly what she needed. Tomorrow she would begin the unpalatable task of trying to get an official report so they could make progress on the oil-drilling agreement.

  She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and went into the large shower stall. She took a cool shower, washing her hair and skin thoroughly. After stepping out, she smoothed shea butter infused with the scent of passionfruit into her skin and pulled on a black abaya over a tank top and shorts.

  Her personal aide, Doreen, who’d traveled with her from Zamibia, came into the room as she finished getting dressed. The older woman was of medium height and thick, with light-brown skin and dark eyes. Imani sat in the chair before the mirror and Doreen blew out her thick hair. She made the strands bone-straight and then added fullness with a few twists of a large-barreled curling iron.

  Imani examined the finished product. “Looks good. I feel like a new woman.” She checked the profile view. The light use of argan oil gave her hair a silky and shiny appearance.

  “You’ve been working too hard,” Doreen said as she put away the oil and iron.

  “I want to make sure the incoming ambassador has very little to worry about,” Imani said.

  “Well, they certainly won’t.”

  The intercom phone rang and Doreen went over to the wall beside the bed and answered it. Seconds later, she turned to Imani. “Vilma says Prince Wasim is downstairs and would like to speak to you.”

  She hadn’t been expecting him. “Tell her to take him to my office. I’ll be right down.”

  Doreen nodded and repeated the message. When she left, Imani checked her face and applied lip gloss, which gave her mouth a hint of ruby color and a shimmery, moist appearance.

  “Stop it,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “It’s just Wasim.”

  She exited the bedroom and went downstairs to the office and found him standing in front of the French doors. As usual, her stomach did that odd tightening motion whenever she saw him. He was dressed semi-casually today in a white long-sleeved shirt and black slacks, a combination he often wore. With one hand tucked into his pants pocket, he seemed to be at ease at first glance, but she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t. Tension rested in his shoulders and rigid back.

  “Hi, Wasim.”

  He turned, and his face confirmed her suspicions. Something in his eyes called to her. She sensed all was not well.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I popped up unannounced.”

  “I’m used to it,” she said, softening the words with a smile.

  “I say that every time, don’t I?” He smiled back.

  “Yes, you do. Can I help you with something?” She glanced around the room and didn’t see any folders or paperwork.

  “This is a personal visit,” he explained.

  “Oh.”

  “I called Kofi and Andres, but neither of them were available. So, you’re in luck. You get to hear the news.”

  “I guess being third on your list isn’t so bad,” Imani said teasingly.

  Wasim strolled over to one of the armchairs and sat down. Imani sat catty-corner to him on the sofa.

  “What’s wrong?” She’d never seen him like this.

  A pained smile crossed his lips. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Start where you feel comfortable.”

  Their friendship was such that they could segue into more serious matters even though they typically maintained an easy-going, teasing relationship.

  With a wry twist of his mouth, Wasim said, “I had an interesting talk with my father. It seems not settling down has consequences.”

  “Oh.” Keeping her voice light, Imani said, “Goodness, he’s like my parents. There’s no rush.”

  “On the contrary, there is a rush,” he said grimly, ominously. “He’s passing me over for the throne.”

  “What?” Imani’s mouth fell open.

  “You heard me correctly. There was a time when I didn’t want the posi
tion, but in recent years I’ve changed my mind. There are plans I want to implement which I won’t be able to unless I become king. The throne is mine. If I choose to decline it, that’s a different matter, but to be passed over is…unacceptable.”

  The vehement tone of his voice and the way his eyebrows lowered over his eyes indicated his displeasure. Wasim played hard, but he worked hard, too, and she knew that one day he would be a good king.

  The changes he wanted to make were unpopular ones his father had been unwilling to attempt. Among them was downsizing the monarchy’s Advisory Council by slashing the number of advisors. But to hear that he might be passed over for the throne was shocking. There must be more to King Khalid’s decision.

  “Why the rush?” Imani asked.

  “As you know, I went to see my father yesterday. Almost immediately, the conversation took an unexpected turn.”

  He told her everything they discussed, his responses, and his father’s decision to pass him over.

  Imani sat stunned, with a hand covering her mouth and sadness in her heart. “Wasim, I’m so sorry. King Khalid will truly be missed.”

  The king was tough but beloved because he was open-minded and had made decisions that impacted the country in positive ways.

  Wasim nodded. “He doesn’t want anyone to know yet, so please don’t tell your uncle. He wants to disclose his medical condition on his own terms.” Her uncle, King Babatunde, and King Khalid were friends.

  “A few weeks isn’t a lot of time,” she said.

  “No, it’s not,” Wasim said, his cheekbones sharpening with grief. He sighed heavily. “I’m angry that he’s skipping over me, but at the same time I feel as if I’ve let him down. He’s always mentioned his desire for me to marry, and I didn’t. Now this happens. Yasmin is married with a child and another on the way, and even Akmal seems to have found someone.”

  “What? I didn’t know Akmal was getting married,” Imani said.

  “I understand your shock. He can be quite irresponsible, but he’s had his eye on a member of the royal family in Jordan. The families have been in talks, and now they’re in the middle of negotiating the nikah,” he said.

  “If Akmal, who is younger than you is on his way to getting married, what’s stopping you? And that’s not a rhetorical question. Why haven’t you married? Why don’t you have any prospects?”

  “I’m like you. I haven’t found the right person yet.”

  She glanced out the window and then looked at him again. “What are you going to do, Wasim?”

  “What can I do? I don’t have time to find a wife to put my father’s mind at ease. And then thinking about everything I have to do with him dying…” He swallowed down the pain. “The truth is, there is too much work to be done to worry about marriage. His administration and the family and I need to focus in the coming weeks. We don’t have much time. I will do whatever I can to give my father peace of mind and work with his successor as he wishes to use me.”

  They both fell silent, each in their own thoughts. Imani was in a state of shock. King Khalid was dying and Wasim, his presumptive successor, would not succeed him.

  Then she had an idea—wild and radical and completely outrageous, but…it might work, in both their favors.

  She lowered her voice so that if anyone stood near the open door, they couldn’t hear. “This is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She leaned toward him. “We could help each other. You want the throne and want your father to pass in peace. You can’t have him worrying about the kingdom in his last days, and he admitted he thought you’d be a great ruler. I need my parents to leave me alone instead of trying to force a man on me that I don’t want. A man who will probably try to keep me from accomplishing all the goals I have because I’ll be tied down as his wife and mother of his children. Here is my solution: We should pretend to be engaged.”

  Wasim stared at her. “Pretend?”

  “Yes. Think about it. I’m a noblewoman—a member of the royal family of Zamibia, one of Barrakesch’s most trusted allies. I’m accomplished, I know your family, and they know me and my character.” She stopped talking and waited for his response.

  He frowned doubtfully. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  “You’re not talking about actually getting married, but pretending we want a future together?”

  Imani nodded.

  “And then when my father passes…?”

  “We wait a while and then split up, going our separate ways, amicably. What do you think?”

  6

  He thought she was crazy.

  Despite that, Imani’s idea could work. Though Wasim hated to think about it, his father only had a few weeks to live. He’d considered putting together a list of potential wives, but the truth was, he didn’t want to get married now, and with less than a week to find someone before his father’s announcement, that idea had quickly been dismissed.

  But this idea—pretending he and Imani were going to get married—would allow him to accomplish everything he wanted to—take the throne which was rightfully his and ease his father’s concerns.

  “We already know a lot about each other,” Imani continued, pressing her advantage. “How many siblings do I have?”

  “Six brothers,” Wasim answered.

  “What’s my favorite color?”

  “Lavender, though gold runs a close second.”

  “What’s the one thing I want to accomplish more than anything else?”

  “You want to close the deal on the oil drilling project.”

  “See, you know me.” She grinned at him.

  “And you know me.” He sighed heavily and thrust his fingers through his thick hair. “I wish we didn’t have to do this. I wish I had more time.”

  Imani stretched her fingers toward him but quickly pulled back and let her hand fall to the seat beside her.

  His jaw tightened because he wanted her comforting touch, but he understood her reluctance. Though no one could see them, they adhered to the rules of the country when here. They were not married. Except to shake hands, they were not supposed to touch.

  “I can’t remember the last time I lied to my father,” Wasim said quietly.

  Imani looked at him with kind and thoughtful eyes. “Don’t think of it as a lie. You deserve to be king, Wasim. There is no one else better to lead the country than you. Your father knows this, so think of what we plan to do as a way to give King Khalid the peace that he needs. ”

  The plan involved deception but would be best for both he and Imani, as well as his father, and allow Wasim time to concentrate on learning as much as he could before having to take control of the kingdom. He would be the one to lead his country into the next decades. He would be the one to take up the mantle of his father’s projects and see them through to the end. And he would be the one to continue their lineage when he found the right wife.

  There was so much for him to learn, and the expectations would begin right away—had already begun. The past two days had been filled with private meetings between Wasim, his father, and his father’s closest advisors.

  “Your parents would be pleased. Your potential husband would be a future king instead of a businessman.”

  “Certainly an upgrade, and would get them off my back for a while. When you and I break up, I’m sure they’ll leave me alone so I can nurse my broken heart. There’s so much I could accomplish during that period.”

  “What about your Senegalese suitor?” Wasim asked, the thought of her and any other man souring his stomach.

  “He’s not a problem now, and we could start dating and getting to know each other later.”

  Wasim stood and moved restlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So we break up, at a time of our choosing?”

  “Yes. Amicably, of course.”

  “There is one problem that we haven’t considered. You’re not Muslim, and while my father and aunt pr
obably won’t have a problem with that, there are conservatives in the Parliament who would. Any chance you’d be willing to convert to Islam?”

  “Any chance you’d be willing to convert to Christianity?” She arched a brow.

  Wasim let out a soft laugh, the first since he’d received the bad news from his father. “We’re not really getting married, so it shouldn’t be a problem. But I thought you should be prepared for some backlash.”

  She tilted her chin higher. “I can handle it. So we’re all set. You’ll get your birthright, and when you’re ready you’ll find and marry that intelligent, obedient woman who’s good with kids.”

  “And you’ll be able to marry your funny, smart businessman,” Wasim said, the words tasting like the remnants of burnt ashes on his tongue. “We both get what we want…eventually.”

  “Yes,” Imani said quietly.

  The air became unnaturally heavy with the softly spoken word and her eyes veered away from his. Wasim could often read women, and there were times he believed he saw interest from Imani. Were those moments his imagination or not? Had that kiss in Estoria affected her as much as it affected him? Did she think about the way he made her feel, the way he frequently relived the pleasures of her mouth and the softness of her body wedged between him and the wall?

  “So, do we have a deal?” Imani asked.

  “We have a deal.”

  “As soon as you give me the all-clear, I’ll let my father know to expect a call about our pending marriage, though I don’t expect any objections from him. It will be quite the upgrade, going from a businessman to a crown prince,” Imani said dryly, standing.

  “We’re really going to do this? You’re sure you want to do this?” Wasim examined her face for any sign of hesitation.

  In some ways they were very much alike. He was drawn to her rebellious nature and the way she did as she pleased, running headfirst into any problem and tackling it with skill and calm.

  “Positive. Are you?”

  No, he wasn’t positive. Something in his gut warned that their plan could present problems for them both. They had to be very careful.