him a dream wife who would be the love of his life. He thought since matchmaking was commonly done in the region, why not give it a try? He was single, and his mother had been nagging him to settle down with a woman she would approve of. She was at a late stage of cancer, and he promised her that he would entertain the first suitable bride, if any. He warmed to the idea when he saw Sheikhaâs picture and heard her details. His communication with her was via texts, emails, online chats and the images of her and her life that were sent. He was caught in a net that entangled him more and more every day. Now he was angry at the wasted time and feelings, the insult to his name, and the humiliation of having to involve another royal in this mess. He left in the middle of convention week in the States with several entertaining speakers and many opportunities to discuss business yet to come because he thought he heard his heart calling. He was a straight shooter and wanted to understand better what he had gotten himself into. He apologized again, but felt that he was apologizing to his own feelings. When were they going to invent a painkiller for heartbreak?
Sheikha held back from saying how betrayed she felt but could not stop telling the prince how sorry she was for having been used as the bait, pawn, and carrot in a cruel game. She was ashamed of this ugly action by her friend. She admitted that it would have been an injustice for her to allow this debacle if she had known about it, but swore that she had nothing to do with it. She had heard Lulu speak with bright eyes about women who were given wealth, a title, and a house when they divorced but had dismissed it as silly talk. As she thought back, she remembered Lulu had remarked how it was done all the time and how normal it was. She was sorry she had not heeded the drums of war. The simple girl had devised a strategic plan to achieve her status with no thought of how it might go wrong or who it might injure.
The prince was hurt, disappointed, and insulted; Sheikha could hear it, but acknowledging it further would border on concern that could be misunderstood as affection and tenderness, and she already was red in the face from embarrassment. She was firm but polite, apologizing and praying this would end quietly.
Prince Sultan expressed how much he had enjoyed hearing about her life. He stopped short of telling her how much he would miss her news. He had fallen in love with a spirit, and, as distorted as it was, could not dissolve the attachment to it. His ice was thawing, and his heart was warming. It had been the shortest and sweetest intimacy he had known in his life.
As he closed the phone and fastened his seatbelt, the prince had tears in his eyes. He wished he could have a cigarette to calm his nerves. He had deliberately put the call off until the last minute because he did not know what to say or how to say it. As the plane took off, all he could think about was the images he had pictured while he sat opposite his love at the café. Now he regretted that he could not call Sheikha again, for everything that he wanted to say was said; however, there were things he needed to hear that he could not get closure on now. The call he made to vent his anger had come full circle, completing the perfect image of the independent and beautiful woman he had wanted to have standing beside him for tomorrow and for the rest of his life. He had been so happy, but now he sank to a deep level of sadness. To realize exactly what you have lost before you ever possessed it is a tragedy.
Before the call from Prince Sultan, Sheikha had been walking on clouds. She was soon to be married. Already her trousseau exceeded any girlâs dreamsâa cavalcade of iconic, silk-wrapped boxes: blue from Tiffany, red from Cartier, brown from Louis Vuitton, silver from Chaumet, and navy from Graff; all delivered in a train of luggage from Goyard and Hermès. The excitement had made her lose
Sheikha held back from saying how betrayed she felt but could not stop telling the prince how sorry she was for having been used as the bait, pawn, and carrot in a cruel game. She was ashamed of this ugly action by her friend. She admitted that it would have been an injustice for her to allow this debacle if she had known about it, but swore that she had nothing to do with it. She had heard Lulu speak with bright eyes about women who were given wealth, a title, and a house when they divorced but had dismissed it as silly talk. As she thought back, she remembered Lulu had remarked how it was done all the time and how normal it was. She was sorry she had not heeded the drums of war. The simple girl had devised a strategic plan to achieve her status with no thought of how it might go wrong or who it might injure.
The prince was hurt, disappointed, and insulted; Sheikha could hear it, but acknowledging it further would border on concern that could be misunderstood as affection and tenderness, and she already was red in the face from embarrassment. She was firm but polite, apologizing and praying this would end quietly.
Prince Sultan expressed how much he had enjoyed hearing about her life. He stopped short of telling her how much he would miss her news. He had fallen in love with a spirit, and, as distorted as it was, could not dissolve the attachment to it. His ice was thawing, and his heart was warming. It had been the shortest and sweetest intimacy he had known in his life.
As he closed the phone and fastened his seatbelt, the prince had tears in his eyes. He wished he could have a cigarette to calm his nerves. He had deliberately put the call off until the last minute because he did not know what to say or how to say it. As the plane took off, all he could think about was the images he had pictured while he sat opposite his love at the café. Now he regretted that he could not call Sheikha again, for everything that he wanted to say was said; however, there were things he needed to hear that he could not get closure on now. The call he made to vent his anger had come full circle, completing the perfect image of the independent and beautiful woman he had wanted to have standing beside him for tomorrow and for the rest of his life. He had been so happy, but now he sank to a deep level of sadness. To realize exactly what you have lost before you ever possessed it is a tragedy.
Before the call from Prince Sultan, Sheikha had been walking on clouds. She was soon to be married. Already her trousseau exceeded any girlâs dreamsâa cavalcade of iconic, silk-wrapped boxes: blue from Tiffany, red from Cartier, brown from Louis Vuitton, silver from Chaumet, and navy from Graff; all delivered in a train of luggage from Goyard and Hermès. The excitement had made her lose
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