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I’ll let him have it for now. Fi, as usual, will find out from Fariq, then I’ll know.
“Wassup?” I ask as he leads me into his home office. Another recent addition. He works from home most days, splitting his days with kingdom business and the needs of our family.
Babba Al Rasheed, aka the king, decided he wasn’t ready to step down yet, thinking it was better for a slower transition after the speculation of the Jhori Bin Saladin’s disappearance through Moroccan high society sending the deeply entrenched palace interests into an uproar.
For some reason, people associated with Jhori have gone missing. His oldest son, Jhadari, has taken on his father’s empire. When we met with the unflappable heir, he seemed to take the disappearance of his father all in stride.
His “oh well” attitude was attributed by Hassan as business. However, I think it has more to do with the mogul pitting his sons against each other.
One thing I know growing up with a monster is they will use anything to exert control over those less powerful than them.
Like recognizes like, and when Jhadari exhibited little or no concern for his father, that told me all I needed to know.
Khadijah, on the other hand, is grieving. Though we know she had nothing to do with the attack, things pointing to the attempted killing of me and Deacon clearly implicate her. Why her father thought to sabotage her in such a way is baffling.
“Here.” Hassan hands me a sheaf of papers.
Tears fill my eyes when I see all my masters, all the way from my first produced work. FADE and I went in fifty-fifty on everything when I first started my career. I never bothered to ask for my master because I trusted him. FADE always had my best interest at heart.
“I’d never even thought?—”
“A belated wedding gift from FADE.” His voice is somber. His eyes meet mine, absolutely guileless.
“He loves me — but ain’t no fucking way he just gave me these masters. Creative Chaos is a business. One he loves.” I meet his unwavering gaze.
“He loves you more. All you ever had to do was ask FADE, but you never have to ask me for anything. All that I have and all that I am is yours.” His words are emphatic, and I believe him.
Every artist dreams of owning their masters. They both knew I would never do it. That’s why Hassan got them for me.
Speechless, I wipe the tears away, looking at the years of my hard work made manifest in my hands.
Straightening the papers, taping them to line up together. I settle them on my lap. Folding my hand on top, I look up into his gaze. “Thank you,” I say, simply pushing the well of emotions down. I feel like I want to explode with joy even as a wild feeling of disquiet squirms inside of me.
Dropping on his hunches, making me meet his gaze. “One thing you’re going to learn about me, songbird, is I’m going to be your safe space. Too long you’ve had to do it all on your own.Now, you have me and if you let me love you, protect you and be your strength, you will find the ease you deserve. Let me be your strong tower, sparrow.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying. It’s one thing to know what he’s saying is true. It’s another entirely to feel it ripple through my soul with a promise of eternity.
An almost sad little smile quirks his mouth and for a moment, I almost think he knows the secret I still haven’t shared.
“Give me a chance to show my love for you, habibti.” Cupping my face, he presses his firm lips to my brown.
Incandescent joy fills me as I nod, turning my face to his, trusting for the first time in a very long time that I was truly safe, loved and protected.
THE END FOR NOW