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“We women want a more active role in this tribe,” another wife, Uli, spoke up, her huge eyes rimmed with kohl. Calla remembered her from the wedding and how she was so enchanted by Calla’s wedding dress. “But that can only happen if you set the precedent.”
“None of this semi-traditional garbage,” said another.
“That totally misses the mark,” agreed someone else.
“Your personal designs are the ones that we need to see more of,” Sharisi added. “Because those dresses are what will lead the way.”
With the barrage of pointed constructive criticism about her attempts to fit the mold, Calla’s kneejerk reaction was to get upset. But really, the women were hitting the nail on the head. And all of this input could really lead to a lot more.
While the ladies happily ate stewed beef over leafy greens and jasmine rice, Calla let her mind swirl with possibilities as the wives continued to air their grievances. Not with Calla, but with the tribe overall. It was high time for some changes, but their traditional husbands wouldn’t allow it until the king made his moves. Calla being the Westerner that she was—and clearly a progressive, inspired, creative one at that—was the opening they’d all been waiting for. King Fatim’s first wife had been European, but she’d been mostly absent. The wives never got a chance to even connect with her.
All of the insights and sometimes borderline gossiping helped Calla in ways the wives maybe couldn’t even imagine. Not only was she creating relationships with these women, she was establishing herself as an authority in the tribe. Thank God Fatim had suggested this.
By the time the luncheon wrapped up and Calla was headed to Fatim’s office, she was floating on air. She knocked on his office door, awaited that glorious, gruff, “Come in!” and sashayed toward his desk.
An arched brow awaited her. “I take it the luncheon went well.”
“Extremely.” She plopped into the chair facing his desk, her skirt billowing out around her. “The wives and I have finally connected. And I understand what the issue was.”
“Oh?”
“I was trying too hard to be somebody else,” she said with a wistful smile. “The perfect sheikh’s wife I thought you and they all wanted. But it turns out, they want to see the real me. The one who designs my own non-traditional wedding dress, the one with Western ideas, the one who doesn’t entirely fit into the traditional mold of a king’s wife.”
Fatim nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face. “This sounds very promising.”
“And very modern. If the women are ready for change, and the king is ready for modern steps forward, it sounds like the tribe is about to be entering a new era.”
Fatim expelled a burst of air past his lips. “Perhaps. If I can ever decide on my assistant.”
Brimming with accomplishment and positivity, Calla leaned forward. “Let me help you solve this. Right now.”
While Fatim hemmed and hawed about his ideal future assistant, Calla tried to narrow down what he needed and what he didn’t. Someone within the tribe was ideal, and close to Fatim even better, but his youngest brother was out since Nasser had decided to take up the challenge of cultivating donors for the royal charities. Calla thought for a moment, and then had the idea that popped like a spark.
“What about Taran?”
Fatim lifted a brow. Taran was the son of a high-ranking tribal leader, and he’d recently started something of an internship with Fatim as part of his university studies. The young man was studying politics—and what better formal experience than the right-hand-man of the king himself?
“You don’t have to divulge huge secrets on day one or anything,” Calla went on, “But he’s halfway to being your assistant as it is. You should give him a try.”
Fatim smiled wide, all teeth and dimples, the type that made her chest ache. Working at his side had become something of an unexpected treat. A blessing, really. And it was in moments like these that she was so grateful she’d decided to take the leap and marry this man.
Fatim came to his feet, bridging the distance between them in just three steps. He cupped her face in his hands, and then pressed his lips to her in a deep, time-stopping kiss.
“You are quite the genius,” Fatim whispered when they broke apart.
“I know.” She winked and then sashayed out of his office. This whole royal marriage thing was fun. And she couldn’t wait to see where else it took them. “See you later, king.”
14
The next week and a half was a blur of activity. In addition to changing her designing schedule to focus almost entirely on progressive, modern outfits for both men and women, keeping up with the children’s busy schedule, and overseeing various daily tasks in the palace, it turned out that Fatim’s delegation style was still a bit micromanaging. And he still frequently brought to the table the matters that he supposedly had delegated.
The man had been used to a certain style for his entire rule—it would take time to adjust, she supposed. But he often insisted on reviewing things himself, even when the task was clearly designed for his new assistant, Taran.
Still, she liked that Fatim felt comfortable enough to turn to her. That she was a confidante—a trusted advisor, in a sense. She relished this aspect of their relationship. Even though the assistance took time away from her designing, she was hesitant to say anything to Fatim. Clearly, if he knew he was demanding too much of her time, he would immediately retreat. But Calla didn’t want that. Not even a little bit.
Calla knocked gently on his office door for their daily lunch meeting at noon. They’d recently started doing this—having a lush Mediterranean-style spread delivered to his office so they could pick at food while brainstorming for the future. Hummus and carrots—Calla’s favorite—was always on the menu too, along with freshly squeezed cucumber juice—another one of Calla’s preferences—and flatbread.
Fatim smiled up at her as she came in. She’d never tire of seeing that handsome face waiting for her on the other side of the door. In fact, in recent days, she’d already started dreading The End Of This. That inevitable point when all these newly established routines and sweet moments would vanish, because he no longer needed to be married.
