have a pet.”
She settled and began a litany of questions, firing them off as if on an invisible checklist—favorite book, movie, activity, color. Did he consider himself close to his family? Did he have special friends she should know about? A hobby that consumed him? How had he done in school? What did he like about his job and what did he wish to change? Who did he admire most in the world?
It was a novel experience to be so questioned. Not once did she ask about material things.
Finally she stopped. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, looking as if she were about to jump to her feet.
Rashid looked at her. “My turn.”
“I thought you had all you needed from the report Starcraft sent,” she said, looking amused.
“Ah, but I didn’t realize all the nuances of information necessary for an almost-engaged couple’s knowledge bank. I do not know your favorites or your passions.”
“Favorite color—blue. Food, anything with dark chocolate. Passions—flying. I have no boyfriend, which is lucky for you or we couldn’t be doing this stupid charade. I am not close to my mother—nor the man she married after she divorced my father when I was little. I love traveling and seeing the world. I have experience shooting down other aircraft.”
She looked adorable as she recited her list ending proudly with her startling fact. He was fascinated by the play of emotions across her face. Now sitting on the edge of her chair, her animation was a delight. Would his mother like her? What was not to like? As long as she didn’t find out Bethanne’s father’s name.
“I hope there will be no need of the latter while you are in Quishari.”
She laughed aloud. “I should hope never again, but it was training I received and just knowing I could do it improves my confidence. If I get into situations that make me uncomfortable, I remember I could shoot down a plane if needed and probably no one else in the room could.”
“A strange way to improve confidence.”
“It’ll help when meeting your mother.”
He laughed at that. This American woman was intriguing. He had even more reason to thank Haile for fleeing. If nothing else, Rashid planned to enjoy the next few days with Bethanne by his side. Without expectations on either part, they were free to enjoy the other’s company without looking for hidden nuances or motives.
He rose. “Come, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon. And tardiness is something my mother does not like.”
“Tell me about her—I want her to be satisfied with the story we tell. Will she be hurt when the truth comes out?”
“Why should the truth ever come out?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. “Truth always comes out. You just make sure you put the right spin on it so she’s not hurt by your deception.”
“I would do nothing to hurt my mother.”
“Good answer.”
They were soon ensconced in the limo and on their way to the city.
“Where does your mother live?” Bethanne asked.
“In a penthouse apartment near the heart of the city, overlooking parts of the old section. She loves being in the center of things. It helps being close to friends since my father died.”
“The soup is delicious,” Bethanne said later, sipping the savory concoction. “So far I’m really enjoying the food here. I have a real sweet tooth and the candied walnuts really appeal. I shall have to buy a large package to take home when I leave.”
Madame al Harum looked at her.
“And when do you leave?” she asked.
Bethanne smiled and glanced at Rashid. “Not for a long time, I hope.”
She also hoped she was playing the role assigned her to his satisfaction. She’d been as gracious as she knew how when meeting his mother. She could tell at once that Madame al Harum did not like her. For one thing, she seemed to disapprove of tall, willowy blondes. She probably wanted a proper Arab woman for her son.
Then she expressed dismay that Bethanne was a pilot. It was too
She settled and began a litany of questions, firing them off as if on an invisible checklist—favorite book, movie, activity, color. Did he consider himself close to his family? Did he have special friends she should know about? A hobby that consumed him? How had he done in school? What did he like about his job and what did he wish to change? Who did he admire most in the world?
It was a novel experience to be so questioned. Not once did she ask about material things.
Finally she stopped. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, looking as if she were about to jump to her feet.
Rashid looked at her. “My turn.”
“I thought you had all you needed from the report Starcraft sent,” she said, looking amused.
“Ah, but I didn’t realize all the nuances of information necessary for an almost-engaged couple’s knowledge bank. I do not know your favorites or your passions.”
“Favorite color—blue. Food, anything with dark chocolate. Passions—flying. I have no boyfriend, which is lucky for you or we couldn’t be doing this stupid charade. I am not close to my mother—nor the man she married after she divorced my father when I was little. I love traveling and seeing the world. I have experience shooting down other aircraft.”
She looked adorable as she recited her list ending proudly with her startling fact. He was fascinated by the play of emotions across her face. Now sitting on the edge of her chair, her animation was a delight. Would his mother like her? What was not to like? As long as she didn’t find out Bethanne’s father’s name.
“I hope there will be no need of the latter while you are in Quishari.”
She laughed aloud. “I should hope never again, but it was training I received and just knowing I could do it improves my confidence. If I get into situations that make me uncomfortable, I remember I could shoot down a plane if needed and probably no one else in the room could.”
“A strange way to improve confidence.”
“It’ll help when meeting your mother.”
He laughed at that. This American woman was intriguing. He had even more reason to thank Haile for fleeing. If nothing else, Rashid planned to enjoy the next few days with Bethanne by his side. Without expectations on either part, they were free to enjoy the other’s company without looking for hidden nuances or motives.
He rose. “Come, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon. And tardiness is something my mother does not like.”
“Tell me about her—I want her to be satisfied with the story we tell. Will she be hurt when the truth comes out?”
“Why should the truth ever come out?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. “Truth always comes out. You just make sure you put the right spin on it so she’s not hurt by your deception.”
“I would do nothing to hurt my mother.”
“Good answer.”
They were soon ensconced in the limo and on their way to the city.
“Where does your mother live?” Bethanne asked.
“In a penthouse apartment near the heart of the city, overlooking parts of the old section. She loves being in the center of things. It helps being close to friends since my father died.”
“The soup is delicious,” Bethanne said later, sipping the savory concoction. “So far I’m really enjoying the food here. I have a real sweet tooth and the candied walnuts really appeal. I shall have to buy a large package to take home when I leave.”
Madame al Harum looked at her.
“And when do you leave?” she asked.
Bethanne smiled and glanced at Rashid. “Not for a long time, I hope.”
She also hoped she was playing the role assigned her to his satisfaction. She’d been as gracious as she knew how when meeting his mother. She could tell at once that Madame al Harum did not like her. For one thing, she seemed to disapprove of tall, willowy blondes. She probably wanted a proper Arab woman for her son.
Then she expressed dismay that Bethanne was a pilot. It was too
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