As her father brings the ceremony to a close, I feel her restlessness. I know that by the rules of her country, Jazmina shouldn’t look at me openly, but she does. She shines, happy, looking fulfilled. Her true nature, laid bare.
An important moment arrives. The one in which the groom presents the bride with a gift in front of everyone.
I asked Kaled to guide me about the mahr. I already gave it to her at our civil wedding in Scotland, but traditions are fundamental to her people and to her as well, I believe, even if she won’t admit it.
My friend taught me step by step how to shut up those who still doubt my love for her. To me, gold or any gift I give Jazmina carries no weight—it’s all just things. What truly counts is what I gave my wife from the moment I realized she is the love of my life: trust, love, and the desire to share the future.
So this mahr she will receive now has nothing to do with any idiotic macho notion but everything to do with allowing her to experience a full traditional wedding of her people.
This time, the gift will come in a real chest containing pieces purchased from Vicenzzo, whose principality, Amasitano, is known for producing the most exclusive jewelry in the world.
“Your husband wishes to present you with a gift, my daughter,” the former sheikh announces when the servants arrive carrying the surprise.
She looks at me in shock, and I know she’s dying to say something, but she doesn’t want to give them any more reason to treat her as different. Here, Jazmina is not the vibrant woman I know but the girl who learned to control her nature so she wouldn’t be criticized.
Although the ceremony is exclusively for close family, there are still many people present, and some of them, I notice, look at us with contempt.
The anger I keep buried inside me makes me want to tell everyone to go to hell, but what is enduring others’ judgment for a few hours when afterward I’ll have a lifetime by her side?
“Thank you, my husband,” she says, playing the role of the submissive princess. Only I know the fire that hides beneath her skin.
The servant opens the chest, and the guests murmur.
I know why.
Besides gold holding special symbolism for her people, the mahr is usually not so generous. It typically corresponds to one month of the future husband’s income, which in my case would be a fortune anyway.
This gift has a special meaning. It is a kind of financial security for the bride in case of divorce. The beginning of her emancipation and independence.
What most of them probably have no idea about is that at the time of our civil wedding in Scotland, Jazmina was granted several properties around the world, as well as cash in the bank.
She could leave me, end our marriage, and still have the means to support herself for the rest of her life. I never want her to stay by my side out of necessity, but rather because she loves me.
Kamran brings the ceremony to an end, and after we speak with the guests, Kaled and Adeela approach.
“Congratulations, my sister and my friend,” the current sheikh says.
“It’s a shame the others couldn’t come,” Adeela says, looking embarrassed, as if apologizing.
We are leaving later today, which means our wedding night—the second one—will take place in the air. Kaled doesn’t want us taking unnecessary risks. Every day in Rheadur right now could be dangerous for my wife.
Besides, everyone is worried about the fact that she is pregnant.
“We’ll meet in Kindubh in two months,” I say, calming my wife’s best friend.
“I don’t want to be a killjoy, but the plane is ready whenever you wish to depart,” the sheikh says.
While her relatives head to the dining hall, we say goodbye to the closest family.
Jazmina spends a few minutes speaking softly with Adeela, then kisses Tajj, who has woken up and been brought over by one of the maids.
“Ready to leave, my husband,” she says, restrained, but I can see her poorly concealed smile.
I’m dying to have her in my arms, so those words sound like music.
I lean down to whisper in her ear. “I can’t wait to be alone with you.”
On the plane