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Her father looked confused. “Arshad was there. I’m not sure what you could have added to the conversation.” He looked at his wife. “There’s a two percent chance of rain. I will let Yahya know we need umbrellas. He should have thought ahead,” he added, seeming pleased at the thought that his host had not. Just then, Kulsoom walked past them with a bagful of golf umbrellas, and his face fell.
Dina wasn’t ready to let this go, however. “Dad, I’m a partner at Haq Law too. More than Arshad, in fact, since I’m a Haq and he isn’t. I should be included in any decision-making done on behalf of the firm.”
Her father was starting to get mad; she could tell from the way he gripped his phone. “Arshad enjoys all this strategizing and the networking. He knows you aren’t good at that part of the business, and so he took it off your shoulders. What is the problem?”
“I didn’t even know you wanted to open an office in the UK,” she said abruptly. “Did it not occur to you to let me know about an office on another continent?”
Her father’s shoulders relaxed. “I see what this is. You will miss your husband when he is away. You can go with him, Dina. Haq Law can get by without you. Or perhaps you can work remotely. The most important thing you can do is support Arshad.” Azeez beamed at her.
Dina felt her stomach turn queasy. “That’s not the point, Dad—” she started, but her mother interrupted.
“Why don’t we head back to the house, Azeez?” she said to her husband. “I’m sure you want to warn Yahya about the weather.”
Her parents turned without giving her another backward glance, and she was left to wander, willing herself to calm down. She admired the fresh florals set everywhere inside the tent, the tasteful lighting and white tables in a separate tent for dining, then walked to where the outdoor ceremony would be held. It would all play great on social media, which she knew would delight Hania. Everyone was getting what they wanted. Everyone except her. But hadn’t that always been the case? She recalled her sister’s words from two days earlier: I know Dad put pressure on us both to become lawyers, but nobody forced you, right?
Her parents had not forced her. They only made it feel as if doing anything else would have broken their hearts. When she had gotten into law school, the next level was unlocked: She had to be the best student, the class valedictorian; she had been expected to rack up job offers from prestigious firms, though not to actually work at any of them, so her parents could tell their friends, See how loyal Dina is to our family? She only wanted to work at Haq Law.
What about what Dina wanted? No one seemed to care about that, not even herself.
She followed a paved path to the smaller tents, each set up to be a food stall. Tiny signs in front of warming stations proclaimed a variety of different cuisines would be served at the wedding: desi, Southeast Asian, western-style, and an entire buffet table of desserts, plus an ice cream station, another one for drinks, hot and cold. This would be a fabulous party. Dina couldn’t wait for it all to be over. Their flights were scheduled for tomorrow evening, and then Dina could get back to Toronto, to her real life.
Which consisted of what, exactly? Being sidelined by her father, manipulated by her mother, and still stuck working alongside Arshad? She came to a stop, surrounded by lanterns, flowers, a profusion of luxury and elegance, and faced the one thought she had been avoiding, one of the main reasons she had delayed telling her parents the truth about her marital status: What if they chose him over her?
Her father loved working with Arshad. Her ex-husband had done everything possible to ingratiate himself with Nasrin, and Hania had been shocked by Dina’s hint that all was not well in her marriage. What if they all turned on her? In the end, who was truly on her side?
A vision of Lucky floated up to her now. The steady expression on his face when he had asked her if she could think of a reason for him not to pursue Aliyah. She shook her head, forced herself to focus. She was spiraling, and it wasn’t useful. There was too much to do. She had to check on Hania, make sure all was well with the arrangements, and somehow write a speech. Maybe Arshad had wormed his way into her family’s clueless hearts and supplanted her as the golden child, but she would be damned if he ended up with a starring role in the wedding video.
The rest of the day was a flurry of activity, between hairdressers, elaborate skin care routines, and hours spent with the makeup artist. Throughout it all, Dina managed to avoid both Arshad and Aliyah, for two very different reasons: She couldn’t stand the former and couldn’t bear to look at the latter. Instead, she managed to spend some time with her parents and soothe their ruffled feathers by agreeing that the walima was “a bit much” and “in bad taste” and that the nikah celebration they had thrown back in Toronto was far superior. She also made sure she had a few hours to work on her speech. She would wrestle the microphone from Arshad’s hands if need be.
When it came time to get changed, Dina pulled the outfit she had brought from the protective plastic it had been wrapped in. Dina had been looking forward to this outfit more than any of the others: a dark-purple sari, embellished with subtle gold-and-silver embroidery, the rich color complementing her complexion. She paired it with a cream-colored hijab, a tika ornament on her forehead, and a chunky gold jewelry set, borrowed from her mother. When she looked in the mirror, the reflection that stared back resembled the old Dina—hopeful, optimistic, excited for the future. She tucked her phone and lipstick in a gold clutch, reached for the special embroidered qusay slippers she had purchased for the occasion, and went downstairs.
Unfortunately, her luck ran out at the front door. “Dina, wait up. Let’s walk to the tents together,” Arshad said. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, the bright-white shirt showing off his smooth brown skin and whitened teeth when he smiled at her. Sighing, she waited. He leaned down to her ear: “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “You clean up well.”
Arshad adjusted the sleeve of his suit. “It’s Prada,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. Of course it was.
They started walking toward the tent. “I think I’ve got Yahya ready to sign a retainer agreement,” Arshad said. “I plan to spend a few extra days in Chicago to finish up the negotiations and paperwork. Try not to miss me.” He flashed her a smile. She remembered a time when the sight of that smile—mischievous, flirty, knowing—would make her knees weak. Now she felt nothing.
“I’ll manage somehow,” she said. “Now that the wedding is almost done, I plan to tell Mom and Dad as soon as we’re back in Toronto.”
The smile slipped off Arshad’s face. “So soon?” he said. “There’s no rush, you know.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “You made such a big deal about keeping our divorce a secret from my family. I believe you called me a coward and then blackmailed me when I asked you to keep your mouth shut during the wedding.”
Arshad shrugged, a move made even more elegant in his new designer suit. He had a fondness for beautiful clothing, spending more than he should on expensive suits, cashmere sweaters, handmade shoes, and a dizzying array of colognes. She had teased him once about it, and he had become defensive. It wasn’t until she had visited Deepak’s home that she realized Arshad had once been a kid in that same neighborhood, the son of working-class immigrants, who dreamed of one day being able to afford fancy clothes and an enviable lifestyle.
It didn’t make him less of a jerk, but she thought she understood him better now.
“I just meant, there’s no rush, if you wanted more time. I’m okay with it,” Arshad said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you up to?”
He looked wounded. “Your distrust is really hurtful. I kept up my end of the bargain, Dina. Can you say the same?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, suddenly on high alert. Her ex-husband always had a plan, some scheme he was running. If he was offering her more time, there was a reason.
