I look in once on Natalie and the cat before I leave for the private concourse of the JFK airport, where one of my jets is being fueled for the trip to Ohio. I can’t bring myself to walk into the bedroom. I’m too disturbed by the pain I saw in her eyes.
If I were her, I’d leave while I was away on my trip. I wouldn’t blame her if she took the clothes and ran. I fully expect her to be gone by the time I get back.
No stranger to pain, I’m unfamiliar with this kind of hurt and its intensity. It’s almost crippling, like my insides are physically being twisted and put through a sausage grinder.
Instead of staying, I head to the airport a few hours early and sleep in the king-sized bed in the back of the private jet. My dreams aren’t good – of raising a child as fucked up as I am. I wake up and shower just before six, when the plane is scheduled to take off.
My mind is restless again, the way it was before I met Natalie. My thoughts race and my emotions are in the way.
I hate that.
Even knowing she’d say no to the proposal, I can’t help feeling … disappointed. She’s serious about not wanting more to do with me than what we bargained for. Not that I blame her, but I guess I hoped … I don’t know. That maybe some part of her wanted to stay enough to do this with me.
It’s better this way. I know this. The ideal situation is that I can convince my father not to require an heir. The mere thought of children makes me almost sick. I don’t see that changing for any reason.
I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it does tear me up. Natalie said no, and I am disappointed but also relieved. I’d rather break her, free her and give her a chance to heal. It’s better than permanently ruining the part of her that gave me a sliver of hope, however small, that I, too, had a chance at something more, something beautiful.
Someone else deserves that gift from Natalie, someone who can appreciate it. Someone who isn’t too accustomed to living in the dark place I do.
It’s better that I find a woman who won’t compromise my judgment the way Natalie has, someone who understands our arrangement is purely business, knock her up and let her raise an heir. I’d send them away from Nijala, away from me, and rule my kingdom alone. I’d increase its financial standing by threefold in ten years. I have that kind of business sense, the kind that will benefit the stagnant economy.
As successful as I’d be in one area, I’m poorly prepared in another. With no paternal instinct and an entrenched desire not to produce an heir, I’m the last person who should be entrusted with such responsibilities as children.
Unable to stop my thoughts, I emerge from the bedroom in the back to the private living and dining area. This part of the jet resembles a tiny apartment. It’s separated by a wall from the main lounge area.
“They said you got here three hours ago.” George is seated in his normal spot in front of a large television screen. His shoes and socks are off. It’s a tradition I’m too accustomed to seeing to notice it most days.
This morning, however, I do notice, and can’t help think he’s got the right idea. I sit down in the other theatre-style chair in front of the TV and strip off my shoes and socks. I dig my feet into the carpet, recalling when I’d buried them in the sand behind the Winter Palace when I was a child, before I learned how fucked up this world and my family are.
“It’s not the first time you’ve found me here,” I point out.
“The first time I’ve found you here alone. Rough night, mate?” George asks casually. He’ll never pry, though I can tell from his tone he’s open to listening.
“Coffee, Mr. Micah?” One of the stewardesses knocks and brings out a tray of tapa-sized breakfast pastries and coffee.
“Leave the pot,” I tell her.
She sets the tray on the table between us, securing it, before she leaves to the lounge area at the front of the jet.
I prep my coffee then sip, leaning my head back.
George is quiet. He knows I’ll talk if I feel like it. There’s nothing like sitting in the quiet with a friend like him, someone who is more of a brother than any family member has ever been.
The jet’s engines turn on, a quiet buzz. It usually knocks me out, once we’re in the air. We taxi down the runway.
George and I go to the chairs near the window and strap ourselves in, preparing for takeoff. Minutes later, we’re in the sky, soaring above New York on our way to Ohio.
When the jet has finished ascending, we both leave our seats for those in front of the television.
“Decoys noticed by the press?” I ask.
“Indeed. No one knows which to follow, as usual. This jet came here solely to refuel, according to flight plans.” George reaches down for his briefcase and opens it, retrieving a portfolio. “New identities for both of them.”
I accept the folder he holds out and open it. The first set of new IDs, passport and other official documents – such as school records and immunizations – generated in the new name is for a teenage girl named Tanya.
“Wow. Is Layla really thirteen?” I ask. The File, as we call it, consists of my biggest secret, one I’ve spent tens of millions to protect. My sister, Layla, didn’t die in the car accident with our mother five years ago. I’ve been sheltering her from my father and his people after the assassination attempt that claimed our mother’s life.
If he found out, I’d be disinherited in a flash. Worse, she’d be compelled home, voluntarily or not, and there’d be nothing I could do to keep her from going through what I did as a child.
Natalie sees the good in me. I know how wrong she is. I’ve done one thing in my life that was worthy: protect my sister. The second will be when I free my farasha from my fucked up world.
“She’ll be fourteen in a month,” George replies. “She sent a message for you, too.”
I already know I don’t want to hear it. Since she became old enough to understand what was going on every time she switched schools, Layla has been asking too many questions and complaining about the moves.
“She doesn’t want to leave this school, and she’s furious you haven’t visited in four years,” George continues with a smile. “She’s got the Micah family temper.”
“It’s for her own good,” I say dismissively.
“She’s old enough to know the truth.”
I glance at him. It’s not his words that I hear, but those from Natalie, when she was telling me how selfish I am and how I need to respect those close to me. My attention goes to the picture of the thirteen year old, and I pick up her passport, studying the photo.
By the time I was thirteen, I was on my way to becoming the twisted monster I am. This girl is smiling in the profile pic attached to the file folder. She’s got the Micah family eyes, black hair, and pale skin. She’s turning into a beautiful girl, one who’s never known how disgusting our family history is, one who forgot exactly who she is after a car accident five years ago left her crippled, without any memory.
I envy her amnesia. I never want her exposed to the world I know.
“When she’s eighteen,” I reply. “She’ll be legally allowed to make her own decisions.”
“And if she chooses to go home to Nijala and be a princess?”
“As long as my father’s alive, I’ll make sure she never sets foot in the kingdom.”
George says nothing, and I turn to the photo of her caretaker, Suleyma, the daughter of the Nijalan nanny who raised me. Suleyma is in her late twenties, attractive and looks enough like Layla – whose many names include Kallista and now Tanya – to pass as her mother.
“Look great. As always.” I pass the folder back. “Same price as always?”
“Four million. I took some extra precautions this time after the Alisha issues. The money was wired this morning out of one of your hidden accounts.”
“Thanks, George.”
He replaces everything in his briefcase and closes it, then sits back and pours tea. He drinks tea, like most Brits I know, while I’m fond of American coffee.
I drink more coffee, not wanting to think about Natalie again. I find myself going back over everything she’s said, everything I like about her, and that unknown quantity that keeps me fucking her like it’s the first time, every time, when I’d normally be tired of being exclusive by now.
“Father is requiring an heir,” I break the quiet at last.
George sets his teacup down. “You’ve known he would for a while,” he starts. “Did you talk to Malika?”
“She’s going to call shortly,” I reply. “Knowing it and seeing it become reality …” I shake my head. “I’ll never subject an heir to what I went through.”
“You aren’t the same kind of man, Elijah.”
“I’m worse.”
“Not like that. You’d never hurt your own child.”
“Most of the psychiatrists and neurologists I’ve consulted admit such behavior is a defect in the brain, one they don’t understand, but which is likely to be inherited like depression,” I reply.
“Have you ever done something like that?” George asks.
I glare at him at the ridiculous question.
“Then what makes you think you would?” He leans forward, showing a rare sign of irritation. “Elijah, those quacks don’t know. If they did, there’d be a cure for mental illness. The truth is that your father is sick, and you are not. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to rape your child for the next ten years.”
“But I don’t know that for sure,” I reply. “I can’t take the chance that I have the same dysfunction he does.”
“You have many dysfunctions, mate,” George replies with a wry smile. “That is not one.”
He knows what I went through, but I lived it. “What if there is something about me? Something that made him choose me over my brother?” I voice. “He never touched Nassir. But maybe he sensed I have his dysfunction.”
“Where is this coming from?” George is gazing at me hard, the way he does when he’s trying to figure something out. “You’ve been over this shit for years. Is this because of your father’s edict?”
I say nothing. He’s right. I’m feeling … raw, and memories and emotions I suppressed are trickling back into my mind.
“It’s Natalie, isn’t it?” he presses. “Is she pregnant?”
“What? No. I asked her if she’d consider a child and she said no. So, I’ve got to replace her.”
“Ah.” Understanding crosses his face. “That’s what happens when you find someone you really click with, mate. She’ll make you question every part of your world.”
“She’s a good person,” I murmur. “I admire her and how she views the world. I want her out of my life, so she has a chance never to lose that. Like Layla.”
George is studying me closely. “This is more than a woman you’re fucking to piss off your father, isn’t it?”
For a moment, I say nothing. George doesn’t know anything about the three-month deal. He won’t ask, but I know he’s unsettled by the suddenness of me getting engaged to a woman he knows for a fact I didn’t know a month ago. He’s the only person whose suspicion is justified.
“There’s more.” I grapple with myself briefly then decide to fill him in on the deal.
He listens as I explain everything and then throws his head back and laughs. I smile, knowing there’s nothing I can say that’ll surprise him.
“So you thought you were buying a fiancée when in truth, it looks like she might’ve bought you,” he summarizes.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, bristling. I hate the idea of not being in control of my life.
“Right, mate.” George smiles. “This girl ended up being more than you expected. I’m assuming that’s why you asked her about an heir instead of knocking her up.”
“She’s not interested in money, titles, worldly goods,” I reply. “Never met anyone I couldn’t buy.”
“Aside from me.”
“Aside from you,” I agree. George is showing me something else I didn’t realize: that one of the most important people in my life shares a trait with Natalie that has intrigued and baffled me.
From a wealthy family, George is with me because he chooses to be, because we were made brothers by a shitty life, not because he has ever been interested in my money or what I could do for him with it.
“Anyway, Father knows the button to push,” I finish.
George nods. He understands the thirst of a second-born noble for the family title, the need to show he was written off unfairly as a youth where he lived in the shadow of the heralded firstborn.
“Marry a woman from a noble family who knows the game,” he suggests.
“I’m considering it,” I reply. “If Malika doesn’t know a way out of it.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll find a way,” George says with mild sarcasm. “It’ll cost you.”
“I’ll see what she has to say.”
George trusts my family as much as I do.
I glance towards the window at the blue sky then at my watch. “I’m headed back for some privacy on the conference call.” I stand and return to my bedroom. In one corner is a computer on a table that I use for secure calls with George and now, Malika.
Seating myself, I sip my coffee and wait. She’s punctual if nothing else, and I flip on the sound. Malika is seated in what looks like a closet, dressed for her day socializing in New York.
“Your Highness.” She dips her head.
“Aunt,” I reply.
“I’ll admit I’m not surprised to hear from you. The timing is a bit convenient, isn’t it?” she starts. She’s wearing a French twist that makes her head appear bigger on the screen.
She’s entirely too satisfied right now. I always end up with the upper hand in negotiations, though, so I’m not worried.
“For you, perhaps,” I reply politely. “I’ll assume you know why I’m calling.”
“The legality issue,” she responds. “The answer is that yes, he can require anything of you as his heir under Nijalan law. You can refuse, of course, and challenge the line of succession, if he names your cousin heir. It would be taken to a tribunal and probably dragged out for several years. Considering the tribunal approved his bizarre request to require an heir of you, I’d say your chances aren’t so great.”
I don’t mind the wait, but she’s correct about the tribunal. My reputation among those likely to sit on the tribunal – distant members of my father’s family – is not the greatest. I doubt my father had to remind people what happens to those who buck tradition to get them to approve the resolution.
“Or … we can talk about my proposal,” Malika continues.
“The one where we commit treason and depose the rightful king?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
“I think you’re calling it something like, transitioning into a constitutional monarchy,” I add. “Familial treason might be a good pressure point for my father to take my side.”
“He’s not likely to trust you weren’t involved,” she snaps.
“He doesn’t have to. I just have to leak it to the press.”
“You’d destroy both our chances, nephew.”
“If I can’t have Nijala, why should you?” I retort.
There’s a long pause.
“What do you want, Elijah?” she asks finally.
“The throne and no requirement for an heir.”
“You will need an heir when you assume the throne either way,” she points out. “Why postpone the inevitable?”
“Because I don’t believe it to be inevitable. Let my cousin’s son have the throne when I’m dead. I won’t care at that point.”
“You are so very short-sighted.” She’s getting angry. I can see the flush creep up her face.
“I’ll need a wife, too,” I add, somewhat reluctantly. “Preferably one that fits the traditional traits to become a queen.”
Her gaze narrows. “Your American isn’t working out?”
“Not as such.”
“She’d fix the perception problem you’re inheriting from your father. He steadfastly refuses reforms of any kind, and it’s crippling the economy and social programs. The international community has been pushing the transition to a constitutional monarchy for years. I thought you mad for wanting to put an American queen on the throne, but I think it’s brilliant now, after discussions with my counterparts from Western countries.”
“Surprise. Elijah got something right,” I mutter.
Her patience for me is waning. I can see it. “You want the throne, your father’s requirement for an heir removed and a wife. What assurances are you offering me?” she asks.
“Transition to a constitutional monarchy, once I’m on the throne,” I reply slowly.
Another long quiet then, “So none of the mess of pushing your father out of power, all of the glory of changing the government.” Malika shakes her head. “No. If you want the throne, you’ll work with me to reform Nijalan government openly and soon.”
“Or I can simply produce an heir,” I remind her. “I don’t want to. It doesn’t mean I won’t, Malika.”
“A man like you should never have a child.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Elijah …” she trails off. She’s furious – but troubled as well. “About Natalie.”
“I’ll ensure she’s taken care of.”
“She deserves it.” Malika nods, albeit unhappily. “I’ll think on your proposal and contact you later today.”
How does Natalie leave such a mark on people?
I sit back, satisfied enough to feel like I won’t lose this round but not quite happy about this kind of maneuvering. In business, a deal is negotiated and over with. With this, we’re talking about the potential for incredible civil unrest whether we succeed or fail, an issue that can go on for the rest of my life. While I love the idea of turning the tables on my father while he’s alive to see it, I don’t like the idea of cleaning up a mess like this.
I rarely spoke to my older brother as an adult. I can’t help wishing I could ask him a few questions about what he’d do. In business, I’m the master, but he was groomed to govern.
After a few minutes of thinking, I leave and join George in the TV viewing area. Uncertain what will happen in too many areas of my life, I take some refuge in what he’s playing.
“I love Duck Dynasty,” I tell him.
He smiles. “I know.”
We spend the hour and a half flight watching television and land in Dayton by mid-morning.
Within an hour, we’re on the road in an SUV rented under a false name. George takes care of these types of arrangements. He’s the master at covert activities, a skill I’ve needed several times over the past few years, since taking on guardianship of Layla. Our destination is only thirty minutes from the airport and we arrive to the comfortable house.
Grabbing my overnight bag, I get out, sunglasses and ball cap on.
George stays, and I know he’ll scope out the neighborhood quickly before stepping foot in the modern ranch house with a one acre fenced yard. It’s one of many on the borderline rural area, just north of Dayton.
Suleyma opens the door to greet us, stepping out onto a porch. She’s dressed in jeans and a light sweater.
“Elijah,” she says and hugs me quickly. I’ve long since told her not to refer to me by anything that identifies my title, especially in front of Layla.
“Good to see you, Suleyma.”
“Layla will be so pleased to see you!” She opens the door and shoos me in.
A golden retriever puppy bounds towards us, dragging a blanket. It drops it to jump on me then whirls and grapples with the blanket.
“Hmm. A dog,” I say, raising an eyebrow at Suleyma.
She blushes. “Layla really wanted one for her birthday.”
Figures. More baggage to take with them when they move, and something outsiders can use to identify them. George won’t be pleased for security reasons, and I don’t think a thirteen-year-old is responsible enough for a dog.
I wasn’t.
“I take it if you’re here, we have to move again.” There’s a quiet note in Suleyma’s voice.
She leads me into the living room, a cozy area with a large window looking out over the front yard. She sits, and I drop onto the couch.
“Yeah. Time to move,” I reply.
“Layla’s happy here, Elijah,” she ventures.
“Her safety is more important.”
“Your father hasn’t found us, has he?”
“No. If we keep moving and quiet, he never will,” I assure her. “How’s she doing?”
“Great.” Suleyma’s face breaks into a smile. “Top of her class, chased by all the boys. She’ll be wearing braces on her legs until she’s eighteen and her bones stop growing, according to the doctors.”
I listen. Layla is well provided for – this I know. She’s got a trust fund hidden away in offshore accounts and money for her care is held openly in accounts Suleyma owns. On paper, the woman before me is a multi-millionaire, which she claims was an inheritance, when asked.
She lives smartly, spending money on average homes in average towns around the Midwest. They moved every six months the first three years and then once a year after.
“Where do you want us to go?” she asks.
“George has a spot picked out in Colorado,” I reply.
She sighs.
I can’t get Natalie’s words out of my head about how I run over the people of importance in my life. I can see the distraught look that crosses Suleyma’s features at the thought of moving again. I can’t imagine it’s easy for her to live the lie she must to keep Layla from finding out who she really is.
This life is so much better than mine was at her age, even if it’s hard in a different way.
“Unless … is there a place you would prefer to go?” I ask. I don’t know if this is what Natalie had in mind when she told me about being more respectful to people’s choices.
Suleyma eyes widen in surprise. She’s quiet for a moment then smiles. “Layla constantly talks about Texas and cowboys. If it’s too late to change the plans to Colorado, can we go somewhere in Texas next time?”
“I’ll have George move you to Texas this round.”
“Thank you for asking. Sometimes it’s a little overwhelming not to know or have any control over our lives.”
Wow. So maybe Natalie is onto something. One simple question, and the strain is gone from Suleyma’s features.
She begins speaking again, telling me about Layla’s classes. My mind, however, is elsewhere, on Natalie. On how hurt she was pretending not to be last night when I mentioned my father’s edict.
On how, of all the things in life I should probably regret but don’t, losing her before we see where this relationship can go is the one thing I’ll probably never get over.