Page 62 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

T he small mosque sat at the edge of the water, its reflection shimmering in the morning light.

It was modest and unassuming, just as Leila remembered it.

As a child, she had come here hand in hand with her mother. Even then, before she understood anything about marriage, she dreamed of standing here one day with a man of her choosing.

That wish had seemed impossible for most of her life.

But today, the impossible would come true. Or so she hoped.

Her heart hammered against her chest like a trapped bird.

She stepped across the courtyard in silence, her head covered with a soft scarf, her salvar trousers tucked beneath a long indigo coat that brushed the tops of her shoes.

Beside her, Gideon walked quietly, dressed in modest Ottoman fashion—a mintan beneath a simple linen kaftan, dark and undecorated.

Emir walked a few steps behind them, still bleary-eyed from the early hour but alert, watching everything.

They entered the mosque together.

Inside, it was just as she remembered: simple, quiet, warm. The thin carpets muffled their footsteps, and the fresh scent of scented oil and candle wax filled the air.

Her throat tightened with memory.

From a side room, an elderly man emerged—robes layered, beads in one hand and a slim ledger in the other, his eyes lined with years.

He had aged significantly, but Leila recognized him instantly. “Imam Rahman?” she called, her voice soft and uncertain.

The man paused and narrowed his eyes at her. “Leila?”

She blinked, startled. “You recognized me?” she asked in her native tongue.

“Leila! My child, of course I recognize you. Though you were just a girl when you stopped coming, I always wondered what happened to the bright girl who asked so many questions.” He laughed warmly.

Her lips trembled. “It’s been so many years.”

“Too many,” he said, stepping closer. “Where have you been, child?”

Her smile faltered. “It’s a long story… filled with hardship.”

“I can see it in your face,” he said, gently caressing her cheek with his hand, a fatherly gesture. “And yet you returned, masallah.”

“I have,” she said, waving Emir over. “And do you remember Emir?”

“Of course!” the Imam exclaimed. “You were a tiny little thing when I saw you last. How you have grown.”

Emir uttered a greeting, and the Imam addressed Leila again. “I hope you’re happy, child.”

Leila glanced beside her. “Very happy.”

The Imam turned to regard Gideon, who stood quietly beside her. He studied him for a moment, then looked back at Leila with a knowing glint. “And who is this?”

“Assalamu Alaykum,” Gideon said, offering the practiced greeting. Peace be upon you.

“Wa Alaikum Assalam,” returned the Imam. And upon you be peace.

Leila licked her lips. “His name is Gideon. He is my… We’d like to be married. Here. If it’s permitted.”

The Imam’s eyes turned again to Gideon. “Is he a Muslim?”

“No,” she said softly, her heart racing. “He’s not.”

The Imam folded his hands, his expression turning disapproving. “A Muslim woman is not meant to marry outside the faith. The law is clear.”

Leila felt her heart sink. She had feared this, but she had not despaired. They would find another way to be officially married, perhaps in another country. This, being tied to him in her mother’s mosque, was simply her childhood dream.

She had sacrificed much of her faith during the difficult years of her life. By marrying here, accepted by this little mosque, she wanted to reclaim some of it.

She wouldn’t despair. Even if turned away from every religious establishment, she told herself, she would live with Gideon in sin if she had to. It wouldn’t change their love.

Her expression faltered, and Gideon took her hand, immediately noticing her distress. “What’s he saying?” he murmured.

She turned to him, her voice tight. “He says we are not allowed to get married because you’re not a Muslim.”

Gideon was quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod.

“Can you tell him,” he said gently, “that I’d like to speak with him? If you could translate for me.”

Leila blinked, startled, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll tell him.”

She turned back to the Imam, carefully repeating Gideon’s words.

The Imam inclined his head. “Let him speak.”

Gideon faced him directly. “Imam Rahman,” he said, “this woman has lived a life harder than most men I’ve known. She was taken as a child, with stronger, bigger men trying to kill her spirit. They did not succeed. Her faith was tested again and again, but she never truly lost it.”

Leila translated softly, her voice trembling.

“She’s the one who brought faith back into my life,” Gideon continued. “Not religious faith, perhaps, but faith that life is still worth living.”

He stepped forward slightly.

“I want her to be happy. But more than that, I want her to be secure—to know that being with me doesn’t cost her her soul.”

The Imam’s eyes softened as he contemplated Gideon’s words. “This marriage will not be accepted by law,” he said quietly. “But if your intentions to honor our Leila’s religion, if your determination to protect her, are not enough for a holy marriage, then how holy can such a marriage be?”

Leila barely breathed. “Does this mean you will marry us?”

The Imam nodded once. “Allah knows what is in your hearts. I am His servant—not His hand. He alone will decide if your union is valid in the end.”

Leila turned toward Gideon, her heart singing, as she translated the words. They both thanked the Imam profusely.

In the meantime, the Imam called two of his sons to witness the marriage.

“As her brother, you may stand in place of her father, to give permission to this man to marry her.”

Emir blinked, then straightened his shoulders. “I will.” Then he turned to Gideon. “I give you permission, but I’m not giving her away. You mistreat her, and I am taking her right back.”

Gideon tried not to laugh and inclined his head. “Understood.”

“I will tell you the words,” the Imam said, “and all you have to do is accept.”

Leila translated. “The Imam will ask you if you agree to take me as your wife, and you’ll need to say ‘Qabiltu nikahaka,’ which means, ‘I accept.’”

Gideon repeated the phrase slowly and carefully. “Qabiltu nikahaka.”

They proceeded with the short and concise ceremony. The questions were asked, acceptance was given, and then the Imam prayed over their heads. That was it.

They stepped out into the sunlit courtyard together.

The mosque behind them.

The world ahead.

And no shadows between them.

The End