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presentation for her job. She had given her number to him, and he intended to call her tonight and make sure he secured another date with her. Hell, he was only calling Mother today because he wanted to see if he could arrange to be the main liaison in New York with the new construction until at least the New Year. He couldn’t justify being gone for so long, especially with Father’s illness, but a couple extra weeks when Fareed had almost as good a head for business as he did surely wouldn’t hurt anything.
    Of course, that meant contacting Mother at all, a process he loathed. Intellectually, he understood that his mother meant well, that she was working to secure their power as well as their safety as both a family and ruling house. Sometimes, however, that bled into ruthlessness that he despised, actions that he would never have taken on his own. Sometimes, he thought Medea had treated her children better back in Greek myth.
    As her face came into view on the computer screen, he offered her his most professional and charming grin. Of course, she was the last person on Earth he could charm. Maybe she’d been inoculated by all his schemes and quick talk as a teenager. Still, he wanted to request this chance to stay a bit longer in New York. Now that he had found Jennifer, the last thing he wanted was to lose his princess.
    “Mother, how are you?” he asked, frowning.
    Something wasn’t right.
    His mother looked impeccable. The Donna Karen dress was finely pressed and her makeup had been applied with only the artistry that Anwar, her attendant, could provide. But a shadow hung over her eyes, dark circles that told him she hadn’t slept nearly as well as she wanted him to believe.
    “I’m fine.”
    “But?” he asked, knowing there was something else under that iceberg’s tip.
    “Your father’s health is declining. Dr. Hassan says his heart is failing faster than they anticipated.”
    “Dear Allah,” he said. “Fareed and I can have the jet powered up and ready to come to Yemen in a few hours.”
    “I’d appreciate that, but you know what bothers me most, my son?”
    “That time grows so short?” he asked.
    “No, that you aren’t married. The doctors know his heart has taken a turn for the worse, but he could still live another six months or a year in this weakened state, and you have not done anything to fulfill the laws and customs of our people.”
    “I think they’re antiquated,” he huffed.
    His mother narrowed her eyes back at him. “You have no idea what you speak of. The marriage clause has been the rule of our lands for centuries. Your ancestors devised it for very specific reasons, and if you think they were being foolish to do so, then you clearly haven’t considered their ramifications.”
    “The ramifications,” he said, raking a hand through his hair, “are that I’m under pressure to marry anyone, someone I might not even give a flying fuck about, because of ancient rules that say without a legal chance for an official heir, the power will go to someone else, to the next married-and-ready-to-produce male member of my family.”
    “And I refuse to let Haddid have that honor,” she hissed. “Your cousin hasn’t earned it. I see you bring one girl after another home, sometimes more than one. I am mortified by the headlines of various tabloids. You’ve played this dangerous game too long. Your father’s health is failing and our branch of the family may yet lose the throne of Yemen. You need a wife, Bahan, and you need one now .”
    “So will you have one waiting when I get off the plane? Perhaps that girl with the personality of wallpaper who is the sheikha of Lebanon?”
    “She wouldn’t be a bad choice. We always have to think about the best political alliances.”
    “Believe me,” he said, ignoring the bit of spittle that flew from his lips, “I’ve been taught my whole life about how important it is to think about the ramifications of every action I take. I didn’t