Page 36 of Queen of Barrakesch
She nodded. “But I won’t.”
Kofi pulled her into his arms, and she rested her cheek against his chest. She inhaled a quiet, shaky breath. Unlike her father, he expressed concern and wanted to make sure she was happy. It was her job to convince him their marriage would be real, because if she gave the slightest indication that she wasn’t happy or was entering into this marriage with any hesitation, he would ask his father to override her father’s decision to give consent to the marriage. Because Kofi saw her as a whole human being.
Dahlia was lucky to have him as a husband. He supported her in a way that she longed to experience from her father but never had.
Kofi pulled away. “I’ll see you later for dinner.”
Imani nodded, unable to use her voice when emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
Kofi walked away without another word, but she knew her cousin.
“Kofi.”
He turned.
“Promise me something.”
He frowned. “Anything.”
“Promise me you won’t confront Wasim.”
His face hardened.
“Please. Promise me.”
At first she thought he wouldn’t. The time between her request and his answer lengthened into an uncomfortable silence.
Finally he said, with great gravity in his voice, “I promise.”
When he left the room, Imani collapsed onto a chair. That was it.
It was only a matter of time before the marriage contract was signed, and she became Wasim’s wife.
16
Only three days left.
The forty-day waiting period was almost over, and Imani was back in Barrakesch.
She perused the crowded room from a seated position near the back. There were no less than seventy-five women in attendance, some she knew and some she didn’t. Dahlia and Angela were there and so were Yasmin and Wasim’s other sisters. Benu, her father’s two other wives, cousins, and friends from both Barrakesch and Zamibia had all come together for her henna party.
Tonight she felt like a queen because her chair looked like a throne and she sat on a raised platform. The seat was covered in bright red velvety fabric and gold tassels edged its bottom. Her bare feet rested on a matching ottoman, and her arms on armrests painted gold. The gold extended to the feet of the chair as well as framed the red at her back.
She remained very still, because on either side of her, attendants drew patterns on her skin. By the end of the night, her hands and feet would be covered in henna designs that symbolized joy, blessings for a happy marriage, and fertility.
She’d spent the thirty-seven days prior making plans for the move to Barrakesch. Her father had spoken to her Ghanaian suitor soon after the signing of thenikahand informed him that she was no longer a potential wife. She heard he hadn’t been happy, but no doubt he’d find himself another potential wife very soon.
In addition to getting ready for the move, she’d made preparations for the wedding. Wasim had sent a team of women to The Grand Palace of Zamibia to prepare her according to Islamic and Barrakeschi customs. In conjunction with her usual aides, they made sure she ate well, bathed in the purest water, and every day was rubbed down with organic oils and scented lotions that ensured her skin and hair were glowing and soft.
During the same period, Wasim had sent the bridal gifts to Zamibia. The gifts were extravagant and her property alone. Per tradition, they ensured a woman’s financial security in the event she and her husband divorced or she became widowed. According to the terms of thenikah, he sent jewelry worth in the millions—necklaces with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, along with their matching earrings and bracelets. Over a dozen rings that also contained diamonds, blue sapphires, and other precious stones. Gold combs for her hair, and a particularly stunning ankle bracelet made of platinum with a round emerald in its center.
Then there was the deed to a building in Manhattan and another to land in the French countryside. Beautiful silk fabrics, as well as a collection of European art, including an original Van Gogh. The final gift came in the amount of a lump sum deposit of millions of dollars into her personal account.
In recent days, her initial anger had melted away and transformed into nervous anticipation. Anticipation of her responsibilities as queen, but also anticipation of her wedding night. She and Wasim had only shared a kiss so far, but it had been explosive, and her thoughts veered toward anxiety and desire every time she considered sharing a bed with him.
But spending time with her mother and friends had been what she needed. Having so many people around her during this period lifted her spirits, despite the circumstances surrounding her marriage.
Three additional henna artists worked the room by putting designs on the hands of the guests. A female DJ played a mix of music, from Middle Eastern sounds to West African beats. The women danced around each other, laughing and talking.
