Page 7 of Queen of Barrakesch
“Kofi.”
“Oh. He hit me, so I hit him back.” She shrugged.
Imani was the only female child in her family. Between her mother and her father’s two other wives, she had six brothers. She’d learned to fight, including box, since she was young. Since she was a member of the Mbutu tribe, the fiercest and most warlike of the nine tribes of Zamibia, her ex should have known better. What did he think would happen when he put his hands on her?
Though she could take care of herself, if Wasim had been anywhere near, the man would have gotten much worse than a punch. Wasim would have put him in the hospital.
“You’ve always been very good at getting rid of the men in your life,” he remarked.
“You make it sound like it was my fault,” Imani said.
“Not at all. I find your ways to be very efficient. You don’t waste time getting emotional about the decision. You do what needs to be done. Like the one before him—he cheated on you, did he not? And you dumped him right away instead of wallowing in nostalgia and listening to his excuses.” He picked up his tea, which he’d completely forgotten about during their conversation. The minty, warm liquid coursed down his throat.
“There was no excuse for what he did. He had to go.”
“And what about the one before that?” Wasim asked, setting the cup back on the table.
“Too weak.”
“I see. And the one from Mozambique?”
She laughed. Such a lovely sound. “You know way too much about my love life, but to answer your question, we mutually agreed to split. We had no chemistry.”
“Do you ever plan to get married?”
“Of course,” Imani said.
“And what do you want in a man?”
They’d never had this type of conversation before, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d taken it in this direction except that he wanted to know more about her needs and wants. A certain restlessness had pervaded him of late, and she was at the center of it.
“Planning to set me up with someone?” Imani asked.
“Depends on what your answer is. I have to be considerate of my friends.”
She shot him a dark look, and he stifled a laugh.
Imani surveyed the property for a bit, seeming to really think about her answer. “I want a man who is smart, funny, good-looking, but he doesn’t have to be a head-turner. He should be good with children, too, and…”
“Able to handle you?” Wasim supplied.
“I don’t have such lofty expectations. There’s not a man alive who can handle me.”
He let loose his laughter this time.
She smirked. “And you? What are you looking for in a future wife?”
“I’m not looking for a wife.”
“You will eventually. You are, after all, the oldest son of King Khalid. Eventually you’ll be king and you’ll need heirs. You’re not getting any younger, so what’s the delay?”
He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know why he had delayed for so long except that the women he’d met over the years didn’t measure up, and as each year passed, his father became more concerned about his unmarried status. He worried, too, about his antics abroad.
Wasim took advantage of his lack of notoriety outside of the Arab world. Though he always traveled with bodyguards, they were unobtrusive when he wasn’t on official business, and dressed in Western clothes, he easily blended in.
He did activities like take public transportation and eat street food, the latter being a cause of great concern for his family and the aides traveling with him. But what was the point of being the son of a king if you couldn’t enjoy what the world had to offer—both great and small? One day he wouldn’t be able to take such trips, and until then, he intended to enjoy himself.
“I’ll marry when I’m ready.”
