“Say ‘Hi’ to your niece!” Janna smiled as she offered me the baby in pink.

  “Oh, my God!” was all I could say, not able to hold it together to actually take the baby from her hands.

  It took me a moment too long before I was able to take my hands away from my mouth and reach for the tiny little girl and take her from Janna’s hands. My tears were dropping from my eyes uncontrollably. A different kind of tears than the ones from earlier.

  The feeling of having my niece in my arms was something I couldn’t put into words. I was overwhelmed with so many feelings, rushing to my heart all at once.

  Joy, happiness, adoring, loving and … and longing.

  “Oh, my God!” I said for the third time, a lot lower this time. The sweetness in my arms looked up at me as she sucked on her thumb in the cutest way. “She looks just like Joseph.”

  Her eyes were bright blue, and it looked like she was completely bald, but I could see a few blonde hairs. Her tiny lips were the most beautiful shade of pink, and her cheeks appeared rosy against her pale skin.

  “She does,” Janna agreed.

  It felt as if the whole world disappeared as I looked into the little girl’s eyes and studied her soft features. “She’s so beautiful,” I commented, not really saying it to anyone, but expressing my thoughts. “What did you name her?” I asked Janna without moving my eyes away from the angel in my arms.

  “Marie.”

  “Yes?” I responded, my eyes still looking at my niece’s.

  “Marie,” Janna said again, and I had to look up at her so she would know she had my attention and didn’t have to call my name again.

  “Yes, Janna?”

  “Marie. We named her Marie, your majesty,” Janna smiled brightly, and my tears grew heavier. Happy, grateful and overwhelmed kind of tears.

  Apparently, baby showers in Arabian countries happened after the baby was born, not before it. I found it a bit odd given the fact that they made bedrooms for the kids even before marriage. But I wasn’t going to complain; anything that was related to little Marie only managed to make me happy, even hearing her burp.

  Baby showers happened on the seventh day after the baby’s birth. So, two days after Janna’s arrival, we were in her wing waiting for the party to start.

  The baby shower was limited to close family members only. And so far, it didn’t seem like Talia was close to Janna – she wasn’t there. And I couldn’t have been happier or more relieved.

  What bothered me was that my seat was in a very special spot, making me stand out among the rest of the guests. I really didn’t want to be the center of attention – little Marie was. I wanted to sit with the others and have fun watching the beautiful things they were doing, but there were things we simply shouldn’t argue about.

  It was the first time I’d met the newest generation of young princes and princesses, since it was the first gathering that included a baby. The baby shower was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was chaotic and very loud with all of the kids around, but so beautiful.

  It looked like a fun indoor birthday party in America, minus the cake. There was a crazy amount of sweets being given to the kids and a special box that was shaped like a baby bottle, and a very large candle.

  The kids were so happy and eager to open the box. There was some popcorn and candies inside it, and when they ate everything inside, they held the candle in their hands, formed a line and waited.

  “What are they waiting for?” I leaned in a bit to ask Rosanna, who was sitting on a chair beside me.

  “For Marie to show up,” Rosanna smiled, though there was something in her eyes that I couldn’t figure out. It seemed like sadness to me, but I knew that she was happy with little Marie almost as much as I was, so I didn’t know if it was truly sadness that I was seeing in her eyes.

  Suddenly, the kids cheered and there was Janna, looking as beautiful as always. She was holding a small bed, decorated ridiculously with shiny stuff, and little Marie was in it.

  Janna stood back, all smiles and grins as the kids circled her. Nora – Janna’s servant – started to light the candles for the kids and they began singing such a beautiful song as they moved around Janna while she held the baby.

  They went on like that for some time, and then the grownups joined in. I couldn’t just stand there and had to get up and join them, though I didn’t know what they were doing, but I was happy with it.

  Little Marie was then placed on Mazen’s grandmother’s lap and she started shaking her little bed heartily. My eyes widened as I watched the scene in front of me, and I almost ran to take the baby away, but Rosanna held me back, laughing.

  “What is she doing to the baby?”

  “Relax, she’s not hurting her.”

  “But – you’re not supposed to shake a baby that way!”

  “She’s going to be fine, trust me,” Rosanna laughed again.

  I watched for a minute more, but then couldn’t as the shaking became harder and I had to take a step back. “Is that in Islam?” I asked Rosanna.

  “No, it’s a culture thing. She’s going to be fine, I promise. We all went through this, even King Mazen.” She winked.

  I listened to Mazen’s grandmother’s words as she shook little Marie. Her words were so funny that I actually chuckled hearing them, despite my worry. She was telling her not to listen to anyone but her because she was the oldest, and if her mother was hard on her to come to granny’s arms straight away. Then she told her something embarrassing, like how Janna used to wet her bed until she was four, and to use that information against her if she didn’t treat her well.

  I had no idea why things like that were being said, but the way she said it made it funny. And Janna was actually laughing really hard as she listened to her grandmother’s jokes.

  A while later, things seemed to settle down, and the kids weren’t as loud as before. Only grownup princesses were standing up, and then Nora gave a silky white cloth that was folded neatly to Janna.

  “What are they doing now?” I whispered my question to Rosanna.

  “Another tradition. For the sake of the next baby in the family.”

  I frowned, watching as Janna came closer with a soft smile on her lips, then stood in front of Rosanna and unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a cloak.

  Rosanna stood up and when Janna was about to put it over her head, Rosanna stopped her. Then she took the cloak from her hand and stood in front of me.

  “Your majesty, please accept this instead of me. There’s nothing that could make the whole kingdom happier than for you to bear King Mazen’s child,” she said and I swallowed thickly.

  The fact that Janna had gone to her first signaled to me that this practice was for women who were yet to have a child; of course since Rosanna had been married for years, Janna offered it to her.

  My throat tightened just thinking of Rosanna doing this for me instead of accepting it for herself. The practice most likely was nothing real, but I still felt highly overwhelmed to be offered something like that.

  Standing up, I nodded, knowing that the sparkling unshed tears in Rosanna’s eyes matched my own. Janna took the cloak from Rosanna’s hands as she offered it to her and then started putting it on me.

  The grandmother’s wheelchair was pushed closer as she held the baby, and then she gave little Marie to Janna. Janna then took the baby from her hands, kissed her forehead, then offered her for me to do the same – which I did with trembling lips.

  Janna carefully held the baby up over my neck, and then Rosanna reached for the cloak’s neckline and stretched it for Janna to put little Marie inside it. More princesses came and helped as Janna started lowering the baby slowly to my chest then to my stomach and held it there for a few moments.

  I bit my lips hard, trying to swallow back my tears as I felt the baby this close to me, right above my stomach – as if I was actually pregnant with her. Janna’s and the princesses’ hands held her there as her grandmother started a prayer with everyone saying ‘Amen’ to everything she was saying. A prayer for mine and Mazen’s happiness, and for God to bless us with a child sooner rather than later.

  My heart was beating really hard as they carefully lowered the baby further until they got her out from underneath the cloak, as if I’d just given birth to her. The cheers and noises they made with their tongues whenever there was something to celebrate filled the air around us.

  In that moment, and when they put her over my chest – outside of the cloak this time – and told me to hold her, it seemed like I didn’t care if they saw their queen crying.

  There was nothing worse than accusing a Muslim husband of cheating, Rosanna told me. In Islam, cheating on your spouse is punishable by death, she added.

  Three days had passed since the last time Mazen and I spoke. Three days. It was the longest I’d gone without talking to him since we were reunited almost seven months ago.

  The first day he refused to speak to me, even after I’d apologized. And by the second day, I knew I must have done something horrible, because it wasn’t like Mazen to be so cold. I’d never been treated this way by him before. Never.

  On the third day, when he got up and left before I even woke up – the same as he’d done the two days before – I knew it was going to be another day without him speaking to me.

  What killed me the most was that his back now faced me while we slept, and not once did he allow his hand to touch me. That hurt, most of all.

  I craved hearing his voice as he spoke to me. Craved it. I wanted to tell him about what had happened at the baby shower. I wanted to talk to him about what I was feeling and why I had acted that way. I just wanted to talk to him. But we didn’t spend any time together. He’d wake up and leave before I got out of bed, then come back at night and go straight to bed without even glancing my way.

  I’d freaked out, I know. But I wanted him to forgive me.

  “He’ll speak to you today,” Rosanna had assured me. Her declaration made me frown – how could she know something like that?

  “Muslims can’t cease to speak to another person for more than three days, and you’re his wife,” she’d said. Her smile was kind, and what she said sparked hope in my heart. I really missed him.

  Opening up to Rosanna was something I couldn’t regret. I needed a friend to talk to, and Terri couldn’t be that friend for one reason or another. She might just say he was a jerk in order to please me and that would be it. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted someone to understand. I’d obviously hurt him, and I didn’t know why it was so bad this time. Mazen already knew I mostly had no control over my emotions, and he was always forever patient and understanding with me. I wanted to understand why it was different this time.

  Rosanna listened, explained and assured. It was all I needed, and I couldn’t have asked for more.

  The night to this day couldn’t come fast enough. I counted the minutes until I could return to my wing again and see if he’d speak to me. I’d like for him to speak to me because he missed me, not because he was forced by an Islamic rule. But I wasn’t going to complain. I just wanted to talk to him.

  It was like I’d been choking and someone pumped air into my lungs again when my phone vibrated with a text from my ‘Prince Charming.’ I couldn’t open my inbox fast enough, or read his question any faster – would I like to go out for dinner with him tonight. My one-word response took less time than actually opening the message.

  ‘No,’ I texted back, a smile plastered on my face. Not a minute later, my phone started ringing, and my smile turned into a grin.

  “Hello!” I answered after I’d dismissed everyone in the office.

  “Listen, I know it’s not something to discuss over the phone, and you’re probably busy right now, but I– … uh, I just want to …” I listened to the love of my life as he stumbled over his words. The forever calm and collected speaker who always knew the right thing to say was not able to form a sentence, because I’d said ‘No’ to his offer of going out for dinner, and it made me grin even wider.

  I wasn’t waiting for him to apologize for the three days of silent treatment. I knew I’d hurt him, and though I wished he had spoken to me earlier – I understood he needed his time. I was only enjoying his voice a bit too much; that was why I didn’t interrupt him as he spoke.

  “Marie …” he breathed, “Please, let’s go out tonight. It feels like years since we– …” I heard him huffing, and I was evil enough to enjoy hearing him struggling for words, thinking I was mad at him for not speaking to me or something.

  The thing was, I knew he wasn’t talking to me because he was upset and hurt, but I’d never doubted his love for me. I knew that right now he was worried sick that I would give him a hard time before I spoke to him again, and I wouldn’t let him suffer any more.

  “Your majesty,” I started, “Going out would prevent me from hugging you and kissing your lips the way I want. I would like to have dinner with you in the intimacy of our home.”

  His sigh of relief was followed by a soft chuckle, and it felt like I couldn’t love him more in that moment.

  Mazen was hurt mostly because I had doubted his faithfulness to me. It wasn’t about doubting how good of a Muslim he was, as much as doubting how good of a husband he was to me.

  “Marie, I’m in love with you. The thought of touching another woman makes me sick. How could you think I would do that?” he’d said, and it made me feel awful. Putting myself in his shoes, I would be beyond mad if he accused me of cheating, and I wouldn’t be as collected as he was – I’d be a mess.

  With time, Mazen was slowly teaching me how to be a better person. He didn’t say it out loud. He was always telling me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. That life without me was nothing but pure torture. He told me he was in love with everything that was me, from my laugh to my stubbornness, and even my toes. But deep inside I knew, he was turning me into a much better person.

  With time, I learned to be more considerate, more patient. I learned to wait, ask and learn before I judged or made a decision. Most importantly, I started to learn how to control my feelings.

  I wasn’t as good as Mazen in that aspect, not even close. But I was getting better at showing my poker face and holding back my tears. I became more measured and trusting, not jumping to conclusions right then and there in every little thing.

  Mazen taught me. But not in a ‘Do this, don’t do that’ kind of way. He taught me through living with him, watching him act and interacting with him. He taught me through our fights and how he dealt with them, through our arguments and how he kept them at bay. He taught me how to be a better person through his unconditional love for me.

  With time, I learned to ask him or someone else I trusted to explain things I didn’t understand. I learned to ask for help and to admit to being wrong. I learned how to deal with emotionally charged situations much better than I used to.

  Months passed, and I felt myself growing, maturing. My love for Mazen was even stronger, and his love for me was indescribable.

  May arrived, and on the thirteenth, we celebrated my birthday. A chapel built just for me inside our wing was one of my birthday gifts. This was a gift that I couldn’t put value on, or describe in words the amount of happiness it gave me.

  The old Marie would’ve felt awful because Mazen’s birthday was in November and I hadn’t even known. I wasn’t even there in the kingdom that day. But the new Marie knew that things like that didn’t matter. Mazen taught me that every day of our lives together was worthy of celebrating. The new me made him feel even more special than he already was every single day by just telling him and showing him how much my world revolved around him.

  He was my everything. Simple as that.

  The new me shared with Mazen her deepest thoughts, concerns and worries – things I’d always kept hidden away, tucked away safely in my heart and mind, heavy on my shoulders. I learned that speaking of them to Mazen and how we dealt with them together made everything brighter, lighter and easier.

  Things weren’t as hard once I shared them with him.

  On my birthday night, he woke up to find me crying next to him. He simply took me in his arms and kissed my forehead repeatedly. He let me cry, and then he stayed silent as I poured my soul out to him about things that were bothering me.

  I’d turned twenty-three, and my life was nothing like I had planned. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, and Mazen knew that wasn’t the case. But sometimes, life happened and I felt like I wasn’t what I’d always wanted to be.

  I’d never wanted to be a CEO. Before my parents’ deaths, I absolutely knew nothing about running a company. I’d forced myself to learn, because Archer Enterprises was the result of my parents’ hard work and I didn’t want it to fade away along with their bodies. I wanted their memories to last forever.

  Months were spent learning about things I’d never cared to know about before – importing and exporting, managing and organizing. Things I didn’t really feel passionate about. But I’d done it for my parents.

  And then there was you, I told him. I trusted our love enough not to fear that my next words would damage it. I knew Mazen would understand. And I knew I had to tell him, to feel at ease I had to tell him. Because sharing my worries with him made things much better, and I wanted to feel better.

  I told him how I found myself facing a new challenge with my life – I had to learn how to be a queen, a ruler. To people from a different culture and religion, no less. I told him how I was always afraid I would mess up somehow, that I would embarrass him, or cause trouble.

  I told him how hard it had been, and how hard it was to keep going, that it was a struggle. And with both – the company and my duties as a queen – things weren’t at all easy and were forever stressful.

  “When I look at my life now and reflect on what I’ve accomplished for myself and my own dreams – I find nothing, Mazen. Zero,” I said. “I’m trying my best and more, but it’s all for others, because of what was put upon me, not what I chose.”

 

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