The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(33)
Then, it was my turn. “Dad and Mom, thanks for being here and for supporting me all these years. And thanks to Kyla being the perfect maid of honor and an incredible friend, too.”
The minister turned to Rashid. “Rashid, will you have Lacie to be your wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, keep her—in sickness and in health—and be faithful to her? Do you vow to do this?”
Rashid’s eyes were intense yet happy as he spoke. “I do.”
“Lacie, will you have Rashid to be your husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him, keep him—in sickness and in health—and be faithful to him? Do you vow to do this?"
“I do,” I said.
The older man smiled at both of us. “You may now make what promises you will to each other.”
Rashid was the first to speak, taking a moment to close his eyes and compose himself. When he opened them, they were fixed on me, fully.
“Lacie, I don’t know where to begin. To say that you surprised me would be the understatement of the century; to say that I love you would not do justice to the feeling I have every time I look at you. The first time I met you, I felt drawn to you. Drawn by merely duty, or so I thought. And yet, the more time I spent with you, the more I got to know the beautiful person that you are, the more I grew to realize that duty was the least of it.
“When I look at you, I see my partner, my confidant, my friend. I see a woman who challenges me, complements me, makes me a better man. A woman who makes me laugh and consoles me when I cry. A woman who I am honored to join hands with in marriage. This last year, you’ve made me the happiest man ever, and I look forward to many years of happiness to come.”
His hands were grasping mine, his eyes looking at me adoringly. The crowd was in a hush, and it was my turn.
“My darling Rashid. My darling, wonderful man. I…I’ve rehearsed this about 17 times by now…” I turned to the crowd and froze up. This was too much; I couldn’t do this. But then, Rashid squeezed my hand, and more words came out.
“Yes, I rehearsed this 17 times because I was afraid. I told you that I’ve always hated public speaking, and this is no exception. But what I didn’t tell you, is just how little I fear when I’m with you, how you’ve helped me overcome the greatest of life’s challenges—all through your love.
“Yes, this, here, now. Even standing up to my enemies masquerading as my friends, going back to school, being in the water. Life used to terrify me, but now, it doesn’t. Not anymore. No, when your hand takes mine, with you by my side, I can do anything. Such a man as you, such a loving, tender, kind-hearted, good man, it will be my pleasure to call my husband. I love you more than words can say.”
The silence brought applause, the applause, more silence. And then, the officiant said, “Rashid, you may now kiss the bride.”
And when our lips touched, the room became electric—applause was everywhere, vibrating through the floors, through us, through our very veins. Our whole bodies were alive with love—not just ours, but everyone’s, our friends and families too.
Love was what flowed back and forth from my lips to his and back again, through our clasped hands, through the very walls of the tent.
When we separated, the party began. By the 12th course, I had lost track of all the delicious dishes we’d eaten, a mix of traditional foods from each of our home countries, plus some personal favorites. Rashid’s influence was obvious in the large bowls of mango sauce on the table (mostly untouched, except for me, of course).
He made sure to point out that, “There’s no salami either!”, a statement which caused me to burst out laughing, much to my parent’s confusion. The cake Rashid cut so poorly, that he and I were forced to finish a huge, towering slice, while our first dance we bungled so badly, we had to gesture at our family to join in and save us the total embarrassment.
And so, we danced. Rashid, his family, me, and mine. All of us danced until our feet hurt from the joyful movement and our faces ached from smiling. And then, at the end of the night, we collapsed into bed together. Rashid and I, man and wife.
*
Rashid
I awoke to her. To her soft, vanilla-scented skin, those parted lips. She giggled when I poked her, and giggled some more, even when my phone rang. She didn’t giggle when I told her who it had been.
“It was Nabil, from the council. I’ve been crowned ruling sheikh.”
Lacie frowned, turning away as she rubbed her eyes. “Oh, go away.”
“I mean it, Lacie. They just called now.”
She sighed. “Can’t we just enjoy this morning, the two of us, newly married, without one of your practical jokes?”
I sat up straight in bed. “Seriously, Lacie, I’m not joking. Look.”
I turned on the TV and gestured at the screen.
There, on the TV, was me. Rather, a picture of me, looking about as happy as I felt now. Behind my picture was the image of a joyful, thronging mass, a sea of waving hands, jubilant cries.
“…celebration today in Zayed-Kharan for the announcement that Sheikh Rashid will be named ruler. After much contention with the council regarding an archaic law and a bride who didn’t meet the criteria…”
The newscaster’s voice faded to nothing as Lacie’s and my hands clasped and we whooped together. Lacie’s blue eyes were wider and more sparkling than I’d ever seen them.