Chapter 3 MARRIAGE

Khaled Hashimi

Against my will, and with the threat of imprisonment hanging over me, I was there, waiting for my soon-to-be wife: Miss Sathara Nazal. I rolled my eyes, because, deep down, I didn't want to marry her. To me, all of this was a kind of curse, a direct blow to my feelings, a deep betrayal of everything in my heart.

The thought of leaving Alya alone was driving me crazy, and that desperation consumed me more and more.

Sathara stopped in front of me, and I could see in his clear eyes the same pain I felt. Sadness devoured her, and it was not difficult for me to understand that she hated me. And he understood. If I, as a man, felt broken, I could not even imagine the torment she must be going through as a woman.

I never agreed with the traditions of my country. That is why I was fascinated by America, its customs, its free women, full of life and beauty.

Sathara's eyes flooded with tears. Despite the fact that the master asked us to hold hands to continue with the ceremony, she refused. And in that gesture, so small and painful, I could see how much we had both missed.

"Give me your hand, Sathara," I whispered softly, trying to hide the desperation in my voice.

"Not even in your wildest dreams will I touch you, Khaled," she replied, full of rage.

"Give me your hand, before our parents come and tear us apart like children. It will only be five minutes, Sathara, please."

A tear rolled down her cheek and slid down the fabric of her burqa. Up until that point, I had only seen his eyes and part of his nose, but even that small fragment of his face was beautiful. Although no more than that of my habibi. When I remembered her, the pain went through me, and I wanted to cry.

"It will be just for the wedding, Khaled. When I'm at home, don't even come near me."

"I won't. I don't want it either," I replied coldly.

Reluctantly, he held out his hand toward me. I could notice the henna marks decorating his skin, forming delicate tattoos. I smiled, almost unintentionally. Through it all, her hand felt soft, beautiful.

The master officiated our ceremony while the sky lit up with fireworks that celebrated what for everyone seemed like a great wedding. All around us, chants and dances filled the air, but between Sathara and me there was only an icy silence. We were so close, yet so far away at the same time, unable to utter a single word. And I understood it, because I felt the same.

My wedding celebration was just the beginning of what would soon become a marriage doomed to failure. As the days went by, the few words we exchanged became even more scarce. We avoided any family gathering so we wouldn't have to see each other. Strangely, the more distant he was from me, the closer Sathara got to my daughter, Alya. He didn't talk to me, he didn't look at me, but he threw himself into taking care of my little girl with a devotion that I would never have imagined.

In time, I was declared King of Riyadh, heir to a great fortune. But what good was money when I lacked the most important thing? Happiness, love. My father, with his macho and retrograde mentality, had already designated a second wife for me, a woman destined to fulfill my "duties" as a man and take care of the home. Dammit! Another woman who would suffer the same heartbreak, another soul trapped in a destiny that none of us wanted.

Six months after Sathara and I were crowned, my father sealed a new contract, this time with another powerful sheikh of the nation. Without much room for choice, I was forced to marry for the second time, this time to Osiris, a woman of impressive beauty, blonde, with a spectacular figure and, as traditions dictated, a virgin, ready to give me the children I wanted and to serve me without qualms. With her, everything was easier. There wasn't as much fuss as there was with Sathara, which, in a way, was a relief.

However, in those six months, Sathara had not spoken a word to me. I could barely see his face, and the few times we exchanged comments, it reminded me how much he despised me. Sometimes that hatred hurt me, not because it came from her, but because I never wanted to force her to marry me. Neither did she deserve that fate, nor did I deserve the weight of her resentment.

"My lord, I am going to wash your feet. Spread them out, please," Osiris said as he knelt in front of me, a bucket of warm water and a sponge in his hands. She hated that practice, she hated that she humiliated herself in that way, but she came from the countryside, where traditions were respected even more than in the city, and that was natural to her.

Resigned, I put my feet in the bucket and she, with an almost reverential delicacy, began to wash them. His hands, soft and sure, were not limited to my feet. The sponge slowly went up my ankles, caressing my calves, until I felt the rubbing on my thighs, causing a shiver to run through my body. Since the last time I made love to Jennifer, I had maintained a self-imposed celibacy, swearing to myself that I would not touch another woman. And now here I was, with two wives: one who hated me deeply and one who would do anything to win my favor.

"I like what you do, Osiris," I murmured, tilting my head back, letting myself be carried away by the pleasure of his caresses.

She smiled softly and pulled up the fabric of my pants a little higher, continuing her play with the sponge, prolonging the course of her attention beyond what I had imagined. Every gesture of his ignited something in me, something I didn't expect. She knew that, according to our customs, he had every right to her as her husband. But for me, passion was only worthy if it was truly felt, if it won me over.

And in that instant, Osiris was accomplishing just that.

I looked into her eyes and noticed how she had subtly pulled down the fabric of her dress, letting me see more of her cleavage. A gasp escaped my lips. I didn't want to feel like an abuser for lusting after her, let alone a traitor, so I took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"Osiris, that's enough," I said, trying to regain control.

But she didn't stop. She let go of the sponge, and with her wet hands she moved closer, sliding her palms across my chest, caressing each muscle with a dangerous softness.

"Husband, I am your second wife, but I also deserve to be made your wife. When will that day be? I want you to fertilize my womb."

The words of Osiris pierced me like lightning, and I felt a lump form in my throat. My body reacted before my mind, a current of desire invaded my crotch, and she, noticing it, let her hands go down my waist until they reached my member, which was already too lit.

"Husband, tell me, will you make me yours?" she whispered in a pleading voice.

I dropped my head back, letting myself be carried away by the moment, as his caresses traveled through every corner of my body. But suddenly, the image of Jennifer appeared in my mind, like a ghost that broke the spell of that instant. Everything collapsed inside me. And just then, the door slammed open, letting in a voice that I didn't hear often, but this time it resounded like thunder.

"What's going on here?!! "It was Sathara, my first wife, the queen of Riyadh. She was in front of us, and seeing us in that compromising scene, she ran towards me, her gaze full of fury.

"She's your second wife, Khaled Hashimi, but I'm the first. Since when you started disobeying the laws?" Sathara stood with her hands on her waist, looking at us with disdain, while poor Osiris lowered her head and clenched her hands, embarrassed.

"What are you demanding, woman?" If you don't even talk to me. Until today, when you finally do it... And by the way, you have a beautiful mouth," I said, sincerely, because I could seldom see her like this, her whole face without her burqa, exposed before me.

"But I'm your first wife. You can't fall into her arms without first making me yours," Sathara snapped, as if she were jealous.

Oh, well. There she was, the woman who for six months had silently hated me, claiming her place. And me, trapped between two worlds I never wanted, trying to find some kind of meaning in the midst of so much chaos.

My eyes lit up like fire when I heard her words. Six months of hatred, indifference and silence had been enough for Sathara to awaken something deep within me. Although my heart was still anchored in that cold sanatorium, where Jennifer's memories were kept alive, a strange sensation tied me irremediably to my first wife. Of course I wanted to make it mine. After almost five years without the warmth of a woman, he was nothing more than a man in need of love and closeness.

I turned my gaze to Osiris. She, understanding the change in tone in the situation, lowered her head. I slowly approached her, knowing that Sathara, with her fiery gaze, was up to something. However, I decided to stay in control of the situation. I kissed Osiris on the cheek. She looked up, and in one slow motion, I ran my index finger over her lips before merging them with mine, letting my tongue taste the sweet taste of her mouth.

With that kiss, Osiris understood. She bit her lower lip gently, and showed resignation, aware that, at that moment, the first wife claimed a higher place. It was the rank, it was the law, it was the destiny that they both shared. Osiris quietly withdrew, realizing that the queen, Sathara, had a more powerful presence at that moment.

Sathara, seeing the scene, squeezed her eyes in anger. Her fists clenched as well, trembling in frustration. I knew that the battle between us had only just begun. But now, for the first time, I felt that, in that hard look, there was something more. Something that provoked me, that called me, and that, deep down, I longed to unleash.

"Little Alya is with Doroteo in the main courtyard, two of the nannies are in charge." She blurted out indifferently

"Thank you very much, wife, and also thank you for interrupting the moment with my second wife. I really had no intention of sleeping with her, but-" I approached slowly, brushing my nose against her neck, inhaling the sweet amber scent emanating from her skin. But... She managed to make me, after many years of celibacy, return to the desire to love. I exaggerated, expecting some reaction.

I felt her breathing quicken, but Sathara didn't relent. Her pride was an impenetrable barrier.

"Well, you're going to fuck you, Khaled Hashimi, because as long as I exist, you won't be able to have sex with the second wife, let alone the third. Because, yes, I know they're planning to find you a third wife to bring your children and your clothes. And you know what? No one is going to take away my position as queen, but you are not going to touch me."

Her voice was firm, cold, calculating. There she was the queen imposing her law. She wasn't going to give me anything, but he wouldn't allow me to receive anything from anyone else. I was not wrong in thinking that I had already deciphered her sudden attitude. Her plans were clear.

"Sathara, tell me, why do you hate me so much? What was it that I did to you that wouldn't allow you to be my wife?"

She looked at me as she snorted in anger.

"Because of you I lost the great love of my life. A man she was blindly in love with. Because of you they denied me happiness, but I will not suffer alone. No, you're going to suffer with me, 'husband,'" she spat out that last word with contempt, full of bitterness.

"I would like you to know my story, Sathara. I didn't even want to marry you. Haven't you noticed? It's been six months, and I haven't touched you. We don't even share the same bed."

"But I can't be with my love. I don't even know where he is, if he's still alive or if I lost him forever. Do you know what it's like to live with that uncertainty? Being separated from the love of your life... that is selfishness."

"Yes, I know what it is, and I know a lot more about that pain. Don't you know who Alya's mother is? She is the love of my life, and she will always be in my heart. But what do we do about it? We are doomed to be unhappy, my dear Sathara," I reproached her angrily, because her judgment of me was unjust, based on her own suffering, ignoring mine.

We looked at each other in silence, two wounded souls, trapped in a fate neither of us desired.

Tears welled up in Sahara's eyes, and she covered her face with her hands, trying to drown out the anguish that consumed her. She began to sob, as if the whole weight of her suffering suddenly overflowed.

"I don't want this for my life," she said, her voice breaking. "I want to be happy, I want to be loved. I don't want this, Khaled Hashimi. Let me go."

The desperation in her words struck me deeply. I wanted, at that moment, to be able to give him what she asked for, but it was not that simple.

"I would like to set you free, Sathara. I really would, but I can't. If I did, they would put us both in jail. I'm not your enemy, you have to stop treating me like I am."

She glared at me, with her fiery and hateful.

"You are my enemy," she spat. Because of your damn fault, I'm the unhappiest woman in the world. I swear I'd rather be in the dungeons than stay married to you, Khaled Hashimi.

Her words were like a dagger. They were harsh, cruel, but I couldn't deny the reason behind their fury. I understood their discomfort, I understood their bitterness. Worst of all, he knew that he was relegated as a man in spite of everything, trapped in a marriage without love or desire.

"Then I can't sleep with my second wife?" I asked in a tone that tried to be light, although I knew that the answer would be negative.

"No!" She replied through clenched teeth. If you do, I'll report, to you. I'll have you put in jail, do you understand me? "

I raised my hands in surrender, drawing a mocking smile on my lips.

"Understood, you are the lady," I said, winking at her.

Sathara kicked angrily, like a frustrated little girl, and pointed her finger at me, threateningly.

"You've been warned, husband. Very warned."

I rolled my eyes and sank back into bed, resigned. She left the room, leaving me alone, caught between the hatred of the first wife and the impossibility of being with the second. My head was still tangled in Jennifer's memories, wondering if life could be more unfair to me.

Just then, the door burst open, and my heart, which until that moment had felt dull, beat strongly again.

"Dad! My dad! " Alya's voice filled the room, and her embrace healed my soul in that instant.

"My sapphire, how has your day been?" I asked, holding her tightly, as if her small body was the only thing keeping me standing in the midst of so much chaos.

"Good, Dad. I love you," Alya said, her voice sweet as always.

"And how does Sathara treat you?" I asked, curious to know how my daughter saw her.

"I love her, I love her very much," she replied, as she hung on my neck and hugged me tightly. How twisted it all was. While Sathara made war on me, she silently soothed my heart by devotedly caring for my little girl.

The love between the two of them was an irony that never ceased to amaze me. Despite the hatred Sathara had for me, the bond she had created with Alya was genuine, almost maternal.

In a week my third marriage will take place. My father, always ambitious, believed that I would be able to have at least fourteen children, as if my destiny were written in those traditions that he despised so much. What I didn't know was that my first wife, Sathara, forbade me any kind of intimacy with my other wives. Although Osiris managed to ignite dormant desires in me, he was not the saddest man to continue in celibacy.

My heart and love were still anchored far away from here, wandering through the memories of America, entangled in Jennifer's face. As my life in Riyadh continued, laden with handcuffs and responsibilities I never wanted, my mind kept crossing oceans, searching for a lost love that, perhaps, I would never get back.