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The very thought of it was too upsetting to entertain for long. She tried to prevent her mind from going there, but the fact that it did betrayed the fact that she was very much enjoying her marriage to
Fatim.
But was he falling as deeply into it as she was?
“Just in time,” he said as she settled into her spot in front of the large round table where lunch was laid out. “For the good news.”
“What’s that?” She hungrily eyed the different plates and poured herself a glass of cucumber juice to start.
“There’s a new gala on the agenda.” Fatim’s white teeth flashed as he settled in next to her. His cologne wafted her way and her heart sputtered as it always did when she caught a whiff of it. She was attracted to every inch of this man. Even his micromanaging tendencies and the fact that he never, ever remembered to put the toilet seat down.
“Ooh! What sort of gala?” She spread hummus, spinach and cherry tomatoes across her flatbread and then rolled it up. Fatim always called this the Calla Specialty.
“One to celebrate the forward direction of the tribe. The merging of the modern and the traditional.” He poured himself a cup of tea. “And believe it or not, this was not my idea. But all of the tribal leaders agreed it should be done.”
“It sounds amazing.” She took another bite of the flatbread, chewed, and then asked, “So when will it be?”
“That’s the part we haven’t quite decided on. Consensus is that it should be by the fall. And the other thing we haven’t figured out is who will plan the thing.”
Calla ran through her mental calendar. Amatbah’s Fashion Week was slated for the fall, and she was technically slated to run her designs, though she hadn’t yet committed to how many.
“I would like to oversee it myself, since this is a very big event. A very big event,” he said. “But I just don’t think I can stretch myself any thinner.”
Calla finished her flatbread wrap and touched his hand. “Fatim. You know I will.”
He expelled a burst of air past his lips. “I can’t ask you to take this on.”
“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, swirling a spoon in his tea. “But do you think you’re capable of overseeing something this large, with everything else going on?”
“Of course.” She swatted away his concern. “We planned a wedding in a week. This is over a month away. I got this.”
“But you had me helping with the wedding,” Fatim countered.
“True, but this is important to you, and I’m your right-hand woman,” she said, sending him a grin. Truthfully, the additional responsibilities made panic wind through her, but helping Fatim was of the highest importance. It was her duty as his wife, as his advisor, as his lover.
She was making progress on being a people pleaser, but she would always want to please Fatim, no matter how much progress she made.
“I’m helping give you your time back,” Calla said when his doubtful look didn’t pass. “I can handle this. I’ll even delegate responsibilities if I need to.”
A small grin snaked its way over Fatim’s face, and he finally reached for the spoon in the small bowl of rice. “All right, Queen Calla. If you say so.”
Calla whipped up another Calla Specialty, feeling even more accomplished. Earning her spot in the palace was one thing, but earning Fatim’s respect, his adoration, and even his love was a priority of the highest order.
She didn’t want this arrangement to end.
Not ever.
When dinner rolled around, Calla was conspicuously absent. The kids asked after her, and Fatim wasn’t sure what to tell them. When she still didn’t show up after the kids’ plates were half-cleared, Fatim decided to investigate. This wasn’t like her, and truthfully, he wanted to see her. Six hours apart since their lunch meeting was just a bit too much for his liking. Sometimes it seemed like he could have her at his side constantly and it might still not be enough.
“Children,” he said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Finish eating. I’ll be back quickly.” Fatim advised the nearest palace employee to keep an eye on the kids while he stepped out for a moment, and he headed straight for the royal tents.
Of all places, he figured she’d be there: her design outpost, her creative sanctuary, the sprawling series of tents that gave birth to her newest line of designs.
He pushed aside the heavy flap and immediately spotted her, hunched over the sewing kit while her friend and assistant, Rasha, organized something on a nearby shelf.
“There you are,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he sauntered in. Rasha whipped around, a shocked look sliding over her face, followed by a big smile. “Hello, Rasha.”
