Forbidden Love by Norma Khouri Read Free Book Online

opportunity to get to know each other through chaperoned visits.
    “Dalia claims that she felt the same way towards you,” I said.
    “Oh, that’s such a relief. You have no idea how many nights I’ve stayed awake wondering if she felt anything for me.”
    I plunged on, hardly able to believe my own forwardness. I think the three of us had been so bottled up, so ready to explode with tension, that this chance to talk was like a dam
    bursting. “Well, I don’t know exactly what you two plan to do about it. She’s Muslim and you’re Catholic. If you were Muslim, you could ask for her hand, but as it is, you can’t. I can tell that you both want to see each other. But why would you want to invite all the problems when nothing can come of it?” By this point, though, I already knew I would be playing the go-between as events unfolded, since the feelings between them were clearly deep, and also mutual. So, I acknowledged to Michael, “I’ve promised to do all I can to help her.”
    “I know the dangers, but I’m willing to risk it. Is she? I don’t care that she’s Muslim, she could be Buddhist and it wouldn’t matter to me or change my mind.”
    “I feel the same way you do about religion, and so does Dalia, but her parents are more traditional and won’t understand. She’s willing to risk it, though.”
    “We can worry about that later. First we need to figure out how we can see each other. Do you think I could come to the salon?” he asked.
    \020Looking back, this was the moment when I should have paused and reflected. Whatever I answered would be the beginning, the first act, of a conspiracy I could scarcely imagine being part of. This was the moment when I should have been suspicious of his garrulousness, of why he’d waited three weeks-of why, if he loved her, he could care so little about the risk he was putting her in. He was Arab, he knew the code, the dangers. We all did.
    Yet, with hindsight, I realize that I trusted his confidence. Coming from a long line of military men, he was trained from birth to win not just battles but anything he attempted. He was not trained to face the possibility of losing. I knew he’d probably travelled and been schooled abroad, lived in freer cultures where women were not crushed, where honour crimes did not
    take place. Just talking to him made me feel our prison was a little less inevitable, our risks a little less real, but what if his emotions had blinded him to some of the dangers? Or if he was fooling himself that in his absence Jordan had progressed beyond the primitive codes?
    Maybe we were all naive. But as I talked to Michael, I was sharing what Dalia had felt from the first; I could feel our dreams, our stifled rebelliousness, being fanned into fire by his optimism and strength. I didn’t have it in me to deny either of them this chance to be together. And part of me was drawn in by the thought of living this dream vicariously.
    “You, come to the salon? That’s out of the question. Dalia’s brother Mohammed, the one who walked in as you and Jehan were leaving, is here every day. He conics and goes as he pleases so we never know when we’ll be alone.”
    “Well, what if you and Dalia befriended my sister? We could see each other through her. Jehan and I are very close, and she’s willing to help me. I’ve already told her how I feel about Dalia.”
    “That might work. It would take time, though, and Mohammed would have to see her here a lot before he’d trust her to go anywhere with us. Is she very busy?” I asked.
    “Don’t worry, she can juggle things if she has to. She’s continuing her studies so my father doesn’t force her into an arranged marriage, as he did my other sisters.”
    “Really? Are your other sisters older or younger than you?”
    “They’re younger and what he did to them is terrible. Aida is twenty-eight and has a beautiful two-year-old daughter, Jasmine. Her husband’s OK, he’s not a hakeer (jerk) or anything,