The boulder that she had imagined rolling off her chest was suddenly back, and this time it was on fire. It took a superhuman effort to quell the shouting she wanted to do, but somehow, she managed it.

  “I thought you understood,” she repeated. “I need to go and be with my family. This is one of the hardest things that we have ever been through. I have been here in Yeni doing nothing for them while they have suffered—”

  “You have been doing your part by working for me and making sure that your sister has the care that I can provide,” he said sternly. “You should not downplay that.”

  “It's different,” she insisted. “I'm not there seeing Andrea pass out or taking her to her appointments. I'm not there comforting my parents and making sure that they're remembering to eat. And Ziad, I need to be there now.”

  “To what effect?” Ziad asked, an exasperated note coming into his voice. “Laura, I have every sympathy. I cannot imagine what your parents are going through. I am committed to sending every specialist to Andrea's aid and to making sure that she receives the best care possible. You can rely on that—”

  “But.”

  “But I do not see what purpose your being in New Jersey will serve. You are not a doctor or a nurse or a specialist. You do not know Andrea's routine, and you will do nothing but exactly what you will do here. You will be worrying and afraid. You’ll only change the place you do it in.”

  “I would be with my family!” she cried. “They need me!”

  “They need specialists and a professional advocate who have the expertise to do right by your sister,” Ziad responded. “Your specialty is with small children, and that is needed right here.”

  Ziad hesitated, and when he spoke again, there was a clipped note to his voice that made Laura think of cold winds over high and distant mountaintops.

  “You know that Jamila and Hasan need you. You know how much they have come to rely on your presence and your support. Even if we have been having a rough time recently, they depend on you. They need you to be a force of stability in their lives. You cannot help Andrea, but you can help them. It is what you agreed to do. It is your duty.”

  The silence between them stretched out. Laura was barely sure she was breathing, barely sure she had not turned to stone. The urge to yell was gone, and she felt cold through the very core of her body.

  “Laura,” Ziad said, and she wondered if his eyes held some kind of apology, some kind of belated understanding. She didn't care.

  “You need to get out,” she said finally. “I have to finish packing, and then I am taking a cab to the airport.”

  “After all this, you are going to leave?” he demanded.

  “Yes. The kids are going to be fine. They are healthy and happy. Andrea may not be ever again. I know what I need to do and what I am willing to live with. If this breaks our arrangement, so be it. Unless you do something utterly monstrous, I am getting on the first plane to New Jersey I can find.”

  She turned away from him, striding back to her suitcase. There was a pane of clear cold glass between herself and everything else in the world right now. She knew what she needed to do, and nothing in the world was going to stop her.

  “Laura…”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Ziad,” she said quietly.

  It only took her another fifteen minutes to get her things together. By that point, Ziad was gone.

  17

  One thing Ziad had to keep learning over and over again was that the world did not stop, not for pleasure and not for pain.

  After Laura had said she was disappointed with him, he had been so stunned that he only watched her from the upstairs window as she got into the cab. He remembered at the last minute to order the family jet for her, but ever since then, it felt as if the entire world had come to a stop.

  Of course it hadn't. Laura had barely been gone for twelve hours before he had to deal with a minor diplomatic crisis, and then came the trade summit that he and Fahim had been planning for the past year. These were not things that could be put off, not for any normal reason, and he threw himself into them and into caring for Hasan and Jamila.

  He kept busy, because if he didn’t, he would never stop thinking about Laura, never stop thinking about the gaping hole she had created with her absence.

  He woke up the following Sunday morning early enough that the light coming in the window was gray and dull. He realized dully that it had been a week since Laura had left. His bed was cold where she should have been, and he realized that he had not heard from her the entire time. It was the longest they had gone without speaking since they had been married, and the lack struck him like a whip.

  I miss her. I miss every part of her. I miss her care and her sweetness and her kindness and her face…

  Ziad especially missed her a few hours later when he was in the nursery and glaring at Imran while trying to straighten the bow in Jamila's hair. Imran and Hasan were both dressed in suits as well, but Imran had turned Hasan upside down, swinging him gently by his ankles as the little boy chortled with delight.

  “Stop that,” Ziad snapped. “You're going to make him throw up.”

  “Nah, he's fine,” Imran said confidently. “He's going to be an astronaut, they have to get used to this kind of thing.”

  “How in the world can you say he’s going to be an astronaut? He doesn't even talk yet—”

  Jamila cleared her throat pointedly.

  “Daddy, my bow, please,” she said with great dignity, and Ziad spared Imran one last glare that went unnoticed before he turned back to Jamila.

  I wish Laura were here.

  He didn't realize he had said it out loud until Jamila reached up to pat his hand.

  “I miss Laura, too,” she said earnestly. “Daddy, you have to bring her back.”

  I would if I could, he didn't say, and then he breathed with relief because one of his secretaries knocked on the door, saving him from having to answer.

  “The preparations have been made and the stage is ready,” she murmured. “You may make your entrance when you care to.”

  “All right,” he said to Jamila. “Remember. You must stand still when I am speaking, and when I introduce you, you need to curtsy—”

  “Daddy,” Jamila said with great patience, “I know. You and Laura taught me how.”

  They had, to their best of their ability, and now it was too late, Ziad thought grimly. They had to sink or swim. It was all they could do. If he started thinking too much about what he should have done, he wouldn't be able to stop.

  Maybe if he had spoken more kindly, been more understanding, Laura would be with them now. He felt on the cusp of a realization, but something told him he hadn’t gotten it quite right yet.

  He shook it off, and together, Jamila's small hand in his, Imran following with Hasan close behind, they made their way to the gardens.

  The gardens of the palace were enormous, and rather than staying in the private portion, they went to the larger public section. It was a good place for less formal events, where tents for refreshments could be set up, even a dance floor and dining spaces if they were called for.

  The charitable foundation they were hosting today was one of his late father's projects, and though there would be a small amount of press present, it would largely be members of the board and their families, here for a good meal and the chance to talk among themselves.

  Bad enough, he thought dourly. At least half of them are influential in the running of the country, and they will all be watching Jamila, watching for her to make a mistake, to embarrass herself…

  Then they emerged into the flash of the press's cameras, and it was far too late to worry about anything.

  After a brief introduction from the palace press correspondent, Ziad stepped up to the podium, Jamila by his side, and flashing a bright smile at the crowd, he began.

  “My father started the Khalid Foundation when I was only a boy…”

  It was a speech he could have given in his sleep, and as he spoke, he kept a watchful eye on his family by his side. Jamila was standing straight with her hands still at her sides, composed and with an irrepressible smile on her face. On his other side, Imran was holding Hasan, who was quiet and still as well.

  Imran tired him out a little, Ziad realized even as he spoke to the crowd. Laura said to do that, didn't she? If Hasan has run off a little bit of excess energy, he won’t be so apt to cry or thrash when the cameras are on him. Has Imran been listening better than I have?

  The real test came when he shifted everyone’s attention towards Jamila.

  “And of course, as Jamila grows, the foundation will be her responsibility as well, and she will nurture it and help it grow just as my father and I have done.”

  The gaze of the crowd swung towards Jamila, and for a split second, Ziad was afraid that she might shriek or laugh or even cry, something that would bring the entire event to a screeching halt. Instead she beamed at the crowd with all the genuine generosity in her spirit, and dipped down into a perfect curtsy.

  “I will take very good care of the foundation when it is my turn,” she said earnestly, and Ziad thought their guests had never clapped for him half so loudly.

  After that, it was a little bit of a blur. His speech ended, and as people rose to look over the lunch options, to speak, to simply enjoy the beauty of the gardens, his mother approached.

  “Good speech, my darling one,” she said. “Only I see that you are still on your own today.”

  “You see very well, Mother,” he said with a slightly dire look. “This isn't the place to discuss family matters.”

  “So it is a family matter now,” Maryam tutted. “Goodness. I hope that if you have behaved badly, you take steps to fix it. Wounds do not always heal themselves.”

  Ziad knew with a flinch that his mother spoke from long experience. His parents had been a passionate couple, but sometimes that passion hurt instead of healed. He wondered what reflection she found in his relationship with Laura, but Maryam did not seem intent on lingering today, instead offering her hand to Jamila.

  “That was very nicely done, my little princess,” she said approvingly. “Come, let us go show off that lovely dress of yours and make some new friends, shall we?”

  Ziad might have protested—he wasn't sure that Jamila was quite ready to run the social gauntlet just yet—but then one of the foundation's trustees wanted to introduce his young wife, and then one of the contributors wanted to speak about what programs his money was helping, and the time flew by.

  His duties for the foundation were far from onerous, and Ziad was able to distract himself from his troubles by wandering around and refreshing his acquaintance with people he genuinely liked but did not get to see often.

  Then people started congratulating him on his marriage, and his mind was sent into a spin again. The genuine well-wishing and inquiries about Laura's well-being threw him off, and though he handled it fairly well, he was struck all over again by the happy couple the world saw and the troubled people they really were. No one knew about the friction in their relationship or the fight they had had right before she went home to New Jersey. No one knew how guilty he felt or how he had spent almost every moment of the last week wondering if he had said and done the right thing.

  He managed relatively well until he ran into Mrs. Amira, a woman from his grandmother's set. She was tall, stick thin, and just a little intimidatingly stern. She looked exactly as she had since he was a little boy, and he always got the idea that she disapproved of him on some basic and elemental level. Today, however, leaning on her cane, she nodded at him.

  “Little Maryam tells me you have done quite well for yourself in regards to your new wife,” she said, and while marveling that anyone in the world would dare to call his mother Little Maryam, he nodded.

  “I have been very lucky,” he said.

  “I was lucky as well, you know,” she said quietly. “We did things the old way when I was a girl. My parents arranged the marriage, assured me it was a good one, but I did not meet him until we came to the altar together. Imagine that, if you can, with your modern sensibilities.”

  Ziad didn't tell her that he could imagine it very well, that he and Laura had been little more than strangers when they had married to secure Jamila and Hasan's place in the family.

  “It sounds like it must have been a frightening experience,” he said, and she gave him a thin and wintry smile.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” she said. “But as time went on, I realized that my husband was a good man. I was not sure of what he felt for me. Men of my generation did not speak easily of such things. He was kind. He was gentle. But I did not know what he felt beyond that.”

  Ziad waited, and it was as if the rest of the garden party had receded into the background. Mrs. Amira's words took on a peculiar resonance to him, and he found himself listening as if his life depended on it.

  “A year passed. Two. I grew to admire my husband. He was respected among men, but I suppose I do not have to tell you that other men’s admiration was no reason to think he would be a good person. He was kind to my nieces and my sisters. He was kind when he did not have to be, and I could feel my regard for him only growing.”

  “But did he love you?' he asked softly.

  “What a question,” she snorted.

  Ziad thought that he might have pushed too hard, been too rude or too direct, but then she started speaking again.

  “One day, almost three years after we were married, we went riding, just the two of us, along the northern strait. I was a fine rider then, you understand, and so was he. It was one of the reasons our parents thought we would suit. Close to the cliffs, my horse threw me. I broke my leg very badly.”

  She gestured with the cane, which Ziad now saw was carved with a horsehead on the handle. It was a gorgeous piece.

  “He never left me. He wouldn't. He stayed with me, and when the searchers came for us, he personally saw me lifted up and placed in the ambulance. He sat at my bedside like a hawk, watching everyone who came by. He was not cruel, but he was strict. Every medication and procedure had to be explained to him, as if he were guarding his own health.”

  She laughed, a soft sound.

  “It was the worst pain I had ever been in, but when I turned to see him, it felt as if he were suffering it right along with me. You know, he never said he loved me. Perhaps I said it to him once or twice. But after that day, I never, ever doubted how he loved me. It was in what he did, not what he said.”

  Mrs. Amira uttered a deep sigh.

  “He has been gone for almost five years, and I will not call myself unlucky for being without him. Instead, I was lucky to have a man who loved me as much as he did for so very long. I hope you and your new wife share my luck.”

  As abruptly as she had stopped him, Mrs. Amira gave him a brisk nod and walked away. He gazed after her, slightly disoriented by everything that he had been told. He felt as if he had lived her life with her, and then he felt a deep and terrible pit open in his belly.

  Laura was so afraid and so grieved when she left. This is the worst pain she has ever encountered. Does she think she is alone? Does she think that I do not care?

  The only thing that kept him standing was years of palace training and his own desperate strength. The idea that Laura was across the world, not knowing how deeply he cared for her, thinking that he didn't, was a physical pain across his heart.

  He made his way through the garden party, and he only came back to the present when he realized he was in the children's play area, where tables and chairs sized just right had been set out for the kids. Maryam was dandling Hasan in her arms, talking with one of her friends, and Jamila sat at the head of one of the tables, a cluster of small girls around her.

  “Now remember,” she was saying, “we must all take turns when we speak. It would be awful if someone was left out, wouldn't it?'

  The little girls around her, some the daughters of foundation trustees, some the children of the leading voices in industry, nodded sagely, and Ziad wanted to laugh.

  That's one of Laura's. That's how she makes sure Jamila won't speak over me or Hasan. She remembered.

  With the force of a lightning strike, Ziad could see how very much Laura had influenced all three of them. Her influence didn't leave simply because she had. The thought of her disappearance being permanent filled Ziad with despair, but no matter what, he and Jamila and Hasan would always remember her.

  Abruptly, Ziad looked around. Jamila was being a perfect lady, and Hasan in Maryam’s arms was giggling as he played with a soft plush turtle she had gotten for him. His children were going to be all right, and it was all because of Laura. He could not say the same for himself.

  Somehow, he made his way over to Imran, who hovered attentively close to Sarah. Sarah had come out for a few moments to be sociable, and she was an immediate hit with her friendly ways and obvious pleasure at her pregnancy. The tender way Imran kept his hand at her lower back and the sparkle in her eyes made Ziad wince, and he pulled his brother away.

  “What's the matter, big brother?” asked Imran. “Did Jamila get a stain on her dress and it’s crashing the economy?”

  Is that what I sound like? Ziad thought with dismay, and then he brushed it aside. He couldn't wallow like this any longer. He had done it long enough—all week—and now it was time to act.

  “Very funny,” he bit out. “I need you to make my excuses to everyone who might miss me.”

  Imran opened his mouth, likely to make some smart remark, but then, swallowing, he abruptly seemed to think better of it.

  “What's going on?” he asked quietly. “What's the matter?'

  “Nothing,” Ziad said. “Just…please.”

  “Of course.”

  He turned abruptly from the look of concerned pity in Imran's face and staggered back into the palace. It felt as if the great doors closed behind him not a moment too soon.

  It was funny, he thought bitterly, making his way to his room. He had been so very worried about Hasan or Jamila making a scene and ruining the day, but in the end, he was proving to be the greatest liability to the peace and calm of the event.