The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(108)

“I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t give this up. I care for Lucy too much.”

But my words were raindrops on hard stone. My father’s head was shaking, back and forth, back and forth, each movement getting more violent. Finally, he stood up.

“Don’t make me force you, Khabib.”

I couldn’t bear to look at him, and sat down, my head hung.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Don’t make me do this, boy.”

“My decision is final, take it or leave it.”

Now he leaned down, hissing in my ear.

“You do this—you’re out. Out, you understand? Out. No more Samara Motors. You do this, and you’re no longer a member of this family.”

Silence. His words hung in the air, incomprehensible. Finally, I turned to his now-sitting form.

“Father, you don’t mean to say—”

“I meant what I said.”

“Mother…?”

She gestured a trembling hand at Mahir, looking as stony-faced as ever.

“Look at Mahir. He followed the family way, took a nice wife from back home. He is an honor to his family. Look at how happy he is.”

Mahir’s joke of a forced smile was the judge’s mallet striking down. I rose.

“I’m sorry, Mother, Father.”

My father’s gaze was locked on the spoon in front of him.

“Don’t do this, Khabib; I’m warning you. Don’t do this to your family.”

Now I was the one who could hardly look at him.

“I’m sorry. If you’re making me choose, I choose her, Lucy. Goodbye.”

I left in silence. I walked out of there, away. Away from my family, from everything I’d ever known and held dear, maybe even for the last time.



*

Afterwards, Lucy took me in my arms, holding me while I shook.

“You don’t know for sure, Khabib. Your father was probably just angry, probably didn’t mean what he said.”

“You don’t know my father.”

“Just give him time, Khabib.”

“You don’t know him. We don’t have time. We don’t even have jobs, now, because of me.”

“Really? He’d actually have us removed from the company?”

“He has probably already replaced us.”

And then, as she held me, we shook together, her crying the tears I couldn’t seem to. Then, finally, she asked.

“Khabib, are you sure about this?”

“What?”

I drew back to see that her sweet face was covered in tears.

“Are you sure that you’re doing the right thing?”

“What do you mean?”

She grimaced.

“Khabib, I love you; you know that. But I can’t help but see how much…easier everything would be for you, if you just respected your family’s wishes. I can’t ask you to give up your family for me.”

I nodded, pressing her to me once more.

“I know. And that’s why I have to. I will today, and I would make the same choice a hundred times over. The approval of my family doesn’t—and wouldn’t ever—justify losing myself and the love of my life.”

We held each other until her tears and my shaking stopped. Until she drew back, and searched my face for the answer before she asked the question.

“What are we going to do now?”

I took her hand, lifting it to my lips.

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s going to be together.”





Chapter Twenty-Three





Lucy




This wasn’t going to go well. As we waited in the plastic booth, I fiddled with the mini jukebox on our table so that Khabib wouldn’t see the fear on my face.

Although, it was probably obvious anyway—had been obvious from when I’d first proposed the plan: fake being a car manufacturer who was interested in meeting the owners of Samara Motors. It had been a long shot at best, but at this point, a few weeks unemployed with no contact or returned calls from Khabib’s parents, a long shot was as good as we had.

The location I’d chosen—good old Mel’s Drive-In, a diner—had been carefully selected so as to avoid a public scene. Khabib had told me every detail of the incident at the restaurant, and we’d both agreed that it would be best to avoid a similar scene this time. And yet, wasn’t choosing a lower-class, more casual place already assuming that things would go for the worst, before we’d even really tried?

Khabib took my hand and squeezed it.

“No matter what happens, I love you, and that’s the most important thing.”

I smiled valiantly. Khabib was right, of course, but it wasn’t his love that I was worried about. It was what we were going to do if this didn’t work.

The bin Samaras were on time to the minute. They looked around the diner for a few seconds, wandering right past our table, stopping a few feet away.

Khabib rose.

“Mother. Father.”

They turned around and gaped at us. His father’s eyebrows arched in rage, and his whole body turned around, just as Khabib said, “Wait.”

He froze.

“Please.”