A Family Affair Read Online Free PDF Page B

father was beside himself. He simply did not understand or refused to understand. In the end, he thought Malik was becoming too Americanized. They had sharp words, with Malik threatening to stay and not return. Then my father had his accident. If that had not happened, I think Malik would have stayed in your country.”
    Trish thought Soraya was too chatty. It almost seemed like she had a list of things she wanted to talk about and was in a rush to get them all out. Things her brother wanted her to speak of. Why? On the other hand, Soraya was young, and maybe she just liked to chatter to another female near her own age. Though Trish thought she was perhaps five or six years older than the young woman sitting next to her.
    “We’re home. This is the palace, Trish.”
    She was there! At a palace! Trish strained to see through the heavily tinted windows but was unsuccessful. In a minute, she’d be outside. Then, a few minutes after that, she’d be inside the palace. A real palace.
    Oh my God! I’m actually in Dubai.

Chapter 3
    A ND THEN T RISH STEPPED INTO ANOTHER WORLD. S HE FELT like a tourist must feel when visiting Las Vegas for the first time. She needed sunglasses to ward off the glare from all the gold she was seeing. It appeared that everything was trimmed in gold, coated in gold, or was gold. She knew she was gawking like a rube, but she couldn’t help it. She wondered if she was supposed to say something. Like, “How beautiful,” or maybe, “I never dreamed I would see something so opulent, so unbelievable.” So decadent. So tacky. In Las Vegas, at least you knew it was make-believe, a place to have fun and games, with all the gilt and noise.
    And then she said something so stupid, she couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of her mouth. “Who polishes all this gold?”
    Soraya stopped in her tracks, her expression puzzled by the fact that a guest should ask such a question. “I have to admit, I don’t know. I would imagine the servants. If it’s important for you to know, I can find out.”
    Trish flushed a rosy pink. She shook her head and mumbled something as she followed her host to an elevator whose interior was as big as her living room back in Las Vegas. Inside, there was seating for four with satin-tasseled, gold-covered chairs. Ankle-deep carpeting. Art hung on the walls. In an elevator no less. Absolutely mind-boggling. She hoped she would be allowed to take pictures, because she knew her friends and her sister would never believe it when she tried to describe the incredible wealth she was seeing.
    The operator was dressed in a kubaya, and he pressed a button the moment the doors slid soundlessly shut. Evidently, royalty didn’t press buttons on their own. What did royalty do to pass the time? Did they do anything for themselves? How had Malik survived in California for seven years on his own? How had he blended in with the other students? She wondered if she would ever find the answers to her many questions. Then again, maybe questions were out of bounds, off-limits. She made a mental note to play things by ear.
    The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Soraya stepped aside to allow Trish to go out first. The servant bowed, his face expressionless.
    “This is your suite, Trish. You will have three servants, Zahra, Nada, and Ara. They will see to all your needs and tell you how things are done. Later, we will introduce you to Mustafa, who will be your bodyguard. Samir will be your personal driver. Hasim is your backup driver and bodyguard in case neither Mustafa nor Samir is unavailable.”
    “Six servants! Oh, Soraya, I don’t require all that. I’m used to taking care of myself.” Crap, another verbal screwup, according to the expression on Soraya’s face.
    “But who will draw your bath? Who will turn down your bed? Who will fetch you your early morning coffee? My brother ordered all this. One does not argue . . . ever, with Malik. His words are law.”
    Trish felt