Page 44 of Queen of Barrakesch
Yasmin’s phone beeped when they left the dead zone where there was no cellular signal. She glanced down at the screen and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Imani asked.
“Farouk sent me a text. This Hilton deal is so stressful. It’s his biggest one yet, and he’s very worried. I have to do my wifely duty and convince him he can handle the project.” She tapped out a message.
They had such a cute relationship. They stayed in close contact with each other and were always holding hands or if they were seated together, Yasmin would rest her head on his shoulder. And it was clear how much Farouk adored his wife and respected her opinions. Her support and ideas were an integral part of their relationship.
Imani tamped down the bit of envy she experienced, disappointed that she was in a very different situation. There was no evidence that Wasim saw her as anything more than his wife and the future mother of his children. He didn’t seek out her opinion and he hadn’t once asked about any of her projects.
Yasmin completed the text and asked, “When does Wasim return?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“I remember when Farouk and I were newlyweds. Any time apart always seemed like forever. I know you’ll be happy when Wasim is back.”
Imani smiled but didn’t respond.
Yasmin’s phone beeped as Farouk answered her message. Her sister-in-law started texting again, and she stared out at the passing countryside, eyes traveling over the green hills, sheep, and horses grazing on the grass, wondering what Wasim was doing now.
* * *
Wasim lied.
He lied so he could exit a very important meeting, claimed an emergency and left two representatives behind because he couldn’t concentrate after his conversation with Imani. He managed to get through most of the day, but toward the end, he made up an excuse and opted out of the evening meal and the next day’s meetings.
As night fell, he stepped out of the elevator on the top floor of the palace and stormed through the halls looking for Imani.
When one of her maids approached, he glared at her. “Where is my wife?” he asked, tugging on his tie. He could hardly breathe. His suit, tie, and socks—every article of clothing on his body constricted him.
“She is not here, Your Excellency.”
“Where. Is. She?” He’d called all three of her phones several times and she hadn’t answered them once or returned any of his messages.
“She left this morning and hasn’t been back—”
“Get her social secretary to my apartmentnow. I will be waiting.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” The maid bowed her head and ran off.
Wasim followed the young woman out the door and stalked to his apartment. He tossed his jacket and tie on a chair in the living room and paced the floor.
She couldn’t have left him, could she? Was she on a plane to Zamibia?
Traveling out of the country took a coordinated effort of bodyguards, airport clearance, and a whole host of organizing that she couldn’t have done on short notice.
Or could she? Imani was resourceful.
A timid knock came on the door. “Yes?” he yelled.
His manservant opened the door. “Zariah is here to see you, Your Excellency.”
“Send her in,” Wasim said, waving his hand agitatedly.
Zariah entered, and his manservant hovered outside the open door.
Poise kept Zariah’s spine straight, but fear pooled in her eyes.
“Canyoutell me where my wife is?” he asked.
