for you to listen to the wisdom of your father and an older generation, when life was simpler and people were happier.”
She couldn’t argue and say that her parents’ marriage wasn’t happy. She suspected it wasn’t but since her mother wasn’t alive to agree with her, she could only speculate. “I’m not opposed to marrying again, but it needs to be someone I can grow to have feelings for.”
“Samir is a kind man. He hosts a party at the orphanage every year during the
Eid
holiday.”
“I’m sure he’s lovely, but those aren’t the kinds of feelings I’m talking about. We’re both adults here. If I’m to share a bed with my husband I must have some attraction to him.”
Her unruly brain conjured an image of Quasar next to her in bed, languid, his tanned, muscled body against the white sheets, eyes shining in semidarkness.
“Daniyah, I’m shocked at you. Discretion is an essential quality in a woman.”
“I have to speak the truth. I’ve survived one bad marriage and I’m not willing to take a chance on another. You’ll have to tell Mr. Al Kabisi that I refused his kind offer, or I’ll go tell him myself.”
Her father clucked his tongue, his good humor utterly gone. “A father does not expect to endure the burden of his daughter returning home in middle age.”
Stung by humiliation, Dani drew herself up. “I’m hardly middle-aged. I’ll find a job.”
“As an art historian?” He snorted. “You should have studied something sensible, as I always encouraged you to. You could have been an engineer, or a chemist, or even an architect, but no, you had to study something foolish and whimsical with no career prospects, almost as if you intended only to be a rich man’s wife.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Art is my passion.”
“Fishing was my passion, when I was a child. I did not, however, choose to become a fisherman. If I were still inclined to pursue it, I’d fish simply as a hobby.”
She had to admit his words made sense. She’d been so blinded by the cheerful attitude that everyone should follow their bliss, which had prevailed at the small New Jersey university she’d attended. “You’re right. But I’ll find something. I’ll work in a shop.”
He looked doubtful. “At least take the night and think it over. You’ll be very comfortable with Samir. He has a spacious house only a few streets away and he drives a Mercedes.”
“I won’t change my mind,” she whispered. “I have a headache. I’m going to go lie down.” She’d skip dinner and help herself to something later when everyone else had gone to bed. She couldn’t face sitting around with three male Hassans looking skeptically at her every move.
Not for the first time she reflected that maybe she should have stayed in New Jersey, where at least she wouldn’t have elderly suitors shoved down her throat. But how? New Jersey was very expensive. She had no job and no place to live, and she could hardly return to live with her aunt, who had four daughters and now considered her to be a bad influence. Her self-esteem had been shattered by her ex-husband and she no longer believed herself capable of supporting herself and living independently. At the time she’d seen no other option than to run home with her tail between her legs.
Now that she’d had the time and distance to regain some perspective, she could see that coming home actually left her in a worse position. Her employment prospects were dimmer than ever, and she had another domineering male to answer to.
In her bedroom she lay on her soft bed and gazed up at the high ceiling with its ornately carved wood beams. This house she’d grown up in was grand by Omani standards. She’d always been well provided for and treated like a princess, at least by her indulgent and warm mother. She’d seen little of the world outside the filigree wooden shutters and had imagined it to be a brilliant and exciting place similar to the one she saw on American
She couldn’t argue and say that her parents’ marriage wasn’t happy. She suspected it wasn’t but since her mother wasn’t alive to agree with her, she could only speculate. “I’m not opposed to marrying again, but it needs to be someone I can grow to have feelings for.”
“Samir is a kind man. He hosts a party at the orphanage every year during the
Eid
holiday.”
“I’m sure he’s lovely, but those aren’t the kinds of feelings I’m talking about. We’re both adults here. If I’m to share a bed with my husband I must have some attraction to him.”
Her unruly brain conjured an image of Quasar next to her in bed, languid, his tanned, muscled body against the white sheets, eyes shining in semidarkness.
“Daniyah, I’m shocked at you. Discretion is an essential quality in a woman.”
“I have to speak the truth. I’ve survived one bad marriage and I’m not willing to take a chance on another. You’ll have to tell Mr. Al Kabisi that I refused his kind offer, or I’ll go tell him myself.”
Her father clucked his tongue, his good humor utterly gone. “A father does not expect to endure the burden of his daughter returning home in middle age.”
Stung by humiliation, Dani drew herself up. “I’m hardly middle-aged. I’ll find a job.”
“As an art historian?” He snorted. “You should have studied something sensible, as I always encouraged you to. You could have been an engineer, or a chemist, or even an architect, but no, you had to study something foolish and whimsical with no career prospects, almost as if you intended only to be a rich man’s wife.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Art is my passion.”
“Fishing was my passion, when I was a child. I did not, however, choose to become a fisherman. If I were still inclined to pursue it, I’d fish simply as a hobby.”
She had to admit his words made sense. She’d been so blinded by the cheerful attitude that everyone should follow their bliss, which had prevailed at the small New Jersey university she’d attended. “You’re right. But I’ll find something. I’ll work in a shop.”
He looked doubtful. “At least take the night and think it over. You’ll be very comfortable with Samir. He has a spacious house only a few streets away and he drives a Mercedes.”
“I won’t change my mind,” she whispered. “I have a headache. I’m going to go lie down.” She’d skip dinner and help herself to something later when everyone else had gone to bed. She couldn’t face sitting around with three male Hassans looking skeptically at her every move.
Not for the first time she reflected that maybe she should have stayed in New Jersey, where at least she wouldn’t have elderly suitors shoved down her throat. But how? New Jersey was very expensive. She had no job and no place to live, and she could hardly return to live with her aunt, who had four daughters and now considered her to be a bad influence. Her self-esteem had been shattered by her ex-husband and she no longer believed herself capable of supporting herself and living independently. At the time she’d seen no other option than to run home with her tail between her legs.
Now that she’d had the time and distance to regain some perspective, she could see that coming home actually left her in a worse position. Her employment prospects were dimmer than ever, and she had another domineering male to answer to.
In her bedroom she lay on her soft bed and gazed up at the high ceiling with its ornately carved wood beams. This house she’d grown up in was grand by Omani standards. She’d always been well provided for and treated like a princess, at least by her indulgent and warm mother. She’d seen little of the world outside the filigree wooden shutters and had imagined it to be a brilliant and exciting place similar to the one she saw on American
Similar Books
