Chapter 31

Rani’s Point Of View

The next morning came with the kind of light only Dubai could offer, honey-gold, clear, and endless. The sun was high by the time we pulled into the private marina, where the sea gleamed like sheets of glass and luxury boats lined the docks like pearls strung on a blue ribbon.

Faisal sat on my hip, his little head bobbing with curiosity as his eyes darted from one sparkling boat to another. I could tell he was overwhelmed by the shapes, the sounds, the glittering water. He kept pointing with one tiny finger, babbling as if he understood exactly what he was seeing.

We stepped out of the blacked-out SUV that had driven us from Lamia’s grandparents’ estate. The heat greeted us immediately, dry and sharp, but not uncomfortable. I wore a flowing white linen dress, oversized sunglasses, and a sunhat that Lamia insisted I bring. She, on the other hand, was the very definition of divinity in motion.

A halter top in beige silk, high-waisted cream trousers, a long sheer robe billowing behind her like smoke, and her hair pulled into a sleek, low bun. Every step she took across the dock echoed with that unmistakable Lamia Al-Gadaffi elegance, cool, distant, and impossible to ignore.

But what struck me wasn’t the clothes, or the way she moved like she was walking a runway on water.

It was her presence.

The way she seamlessly slipped into command the moment we arrived, her voice low and composed, her posture perfect, every word delivered with that signature Al-Gadaffi polish that could shut down a boardroom or freeze a journalist mid-question.

“Captain Amir,” she greeted with a brief nod as we approached the grandest of the yachts, and I do mean grandest.

It was a floating palace. The body was a gleaming pearl-white, sleek and gleaming under the sunlight, with dark-tinted windows and gold trimmings. The name painted on the side read “Sahara.”

Of course she named it Sahara. Leave it to Lamia to romanticize even the desert.

The crew stood at attention as she approached. “I trust you’ve followed the guest protocol I sent earlier?” she asked, her tone effortless but firm. “I don’t want the kitchen serving dairy, my wife is lactose-intolerant.”

My heart clenched a little at my wife.

“Yes, ma’am,” the steward answered, bowing his head slightly. “Everything is in order. Would you like a quick tour before we set off?”

Lamia nodded once. “Rani and the baby will be joining shortly. Prepare refreshments in the top deck lounge.”

She moved like she belonged here, and she did.

I stood a few feet behind, silent for a moment, watching her from under my sunglasses.

This was the Lamia I had known when we first met, poised, unreachable, untouchable. She wielded power like a second skin. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t stutter. She didn’t bend.

I used to hate that about her.

But now?

Now I understood it.

Because the moment her eyes flicked over to Faisal in my arms, softening, just for a second, I realized something that struck me so hard I almost gasped,

She was only soft for us.

She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t cruel.

She was protective. Just like me.

A diva, yes, and one of the most intimidating women I had ever met. But underneath all that armor… was someone fiercely tender. Fiercely loyal. Fiercely ours.

And it hit me, in the stillest part of my chest, she’s just like me.

She wore her sharpness the same way I wore mine: like a shield. To survive in a world that expected us to apologize for being powerful. For being loud. For being women who didn’t shrink.

But when it came to the people she loved?

That shield came down in a heartbeat.

“Rani,” she called out, breaking me from my thoughts. She was already on the first step of the yacht, her hand extended toward me. “Come on, love. The staff will bring the stroller.”

Love.

That word again.

I walked toward her, feeling a strange warmth in my chest as I placed Faisal gently in her arms. She took him easily, pressing a kiss to his forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.

We boarded Sahara as a family.

The moment we stepped on the polished deck, I was hit with the scent of saltwater and expensive teakwood. The interiors were opulent, all cream leather, dark oak, and subtle gold accents. A curved staircase led up to the top deck where a shaded lounge waited, complete with fresh fruits, mocktails, and linen-covered daybeds.

As the yacht began to drift from the dock, I felt Lamia’s hand graze my back, casual, but grounding.

“You okay?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

I turned to her. “Yeah. I’m just… soaking it all in.”

She smirked, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until sunset.”

I smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Faisal squealed suddenly, clapping his hands as the water rippled around us. His tiny fingers reached out toward the sea, and we both laughed, leaning in to press kisses to his cheeks from either side.

And as the yacht pulled further from shore, cutting cleanly through the turquoise water, I realized that this was what happiness could look like.

Not the perfection. Not the wealth.

But this woman. This child. This quiet space between waves and wind where we were no longer enemies… no longer just surviving.

We were becoming something again.

And for the first time in a very long time…

I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The yacht cut through the sea with a smoothness that felt surreal, like we were gliding over silk rather than water. Beneath us, the waves churned quietly, deep and blue, reflecting the burning sky above. We were far from shore now, the skyscrapers of Dubai fading into soft silhouettes behind us, the world shrinking into something simpler, something softer.

Faisal sat on my lap now, his chubby legs dangling off my thigh as he clapped and pointed to the gulls circling above. His laughter was light, unburdened, and maybe for the first time in months, I felt the same.

Lamia had disappeared for a moment, speaking to one of the crew about the food being prepared below deck. I watched her silhouette from the lounge chair, her hand resting elegantly on the railing, the wind gently catching her robe. She looked like a painting, regal, poised, untouched by the chaos of real life.

But I knew better now.

That grace wasn’t born from ease, it came from fight. From years of being cornered by expectations, of being shoved into glass boxes and told to smile for the cameras, of family pressure and political alliances and being raised to perform, perform, perform.

And yet… here she was, slicing through open water with her baby and her wife beside her. Not as the heiress. Not as the business magnate.

Just… as Lamia.

She returned moments later, sliding into the plush lounge chair beside me with a sigh. Her arm curled behind my back as if it belonged there, no hesitation, no thinking. It just was.

“Chef Omar says lunch will be ready in twenty,” she murmured. “He’s doing grilled seabass and couscous with pomegranate glaze. And he made a separate plate for Faisal. No salt, no citrus.”

I blinked at her. “You remembered all that?”

She shrugged, sipping from her mocktail. “Of course. I’m his mother.”

The words sat heavily between us, not in a sad way, but in a way that held weight. A reminder. Of everything we’d become.

I looked at her profile, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheek, her lips slightly pink from the hibiscus syrup in her drink, and it hit me again just how much she’d changed. Or maybe she hadn’t changed. Maybe I was just finally seeing her for real.

“Lamia,” I said softly.

She turned her head to me, raising a brow.

“I know I’ve said this already, but… thank you. For everything. The birthday. This trip. Even this yacht.”

She smiled slowly, eyes flicking toward the sea before coming back to me. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted this. For us.”

For us.

The words were sunlight in my bloodstream.

I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until Faisal squirmed in my lap and I shifted him gently to the cushioned playpen that had been set up near us. It was fitted with toys, plush pillows, and a canopy to keep the sun off him. He plopped down, squealing as he discovered a stuffed seahorse.

I leaned back, sighing. The sea breeze wrapped around us, and Lamia shifted her chair closer until our thighs were touching. She tilted her head, her eyes squinting slightly in the brightness.

“You’re glowing,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” she laughed. “It’s the light. Or maybe it’s Dubai. You always look softer here.”

I quirked a brow. “Me? Softer?”

She nodded, lips curled. “When you’re not in heels stomping down a hallway, yes.”

I pretended to be offended, clutching my chest. “I’ll have you know, my heels are my therapy.”

She chuckled, and before I could tease her more, she reached for my hand. Our fingers interlaced instinctively.

“Do you ever think about… how we got here?” she asked.

I nodded slowly. “All the time.”

A long pause passed between us. The sea whispered against the yacht’s hull, and Faisal giggled to himself in the playpen. Somewhere below, the soft clink of cutlery and dishes echoed faintly as the kitchen crew prepared our lunch.

“I never thought I’d kiss you again,” I murmured suddenly, surprising myself.

“You already said that last night love.” Lamia’s head turned sharply, her eyes catching mine.

“I know but I wanted to repeat it. After the wedding… after everything…” I continued, my voice small. “I used to lie awake some nights and wonder if we’d ever look at each other and not feel that… weight.”

She nodded, her thumb stroking circles over my knuckles. “I felt that too.”

“And now,” I breathed, “we’re on a yacht… in Dubai… with our baby.”

“Our baby,” she repeated.

I leaned my head on her shoulder.

A long silence.

Then…

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“If… if none of this happened. If we didn’t lose the baby. If I didn’t mess up with Peterson. If we didn’t have that awful year, do you think we would’ve gotten here?”

I blinked at the horizon. The water stretched infinitely ahead of us, calm and merciless and unknowable.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But maybe… maybe we had to break first. So we’d learn how to build something real.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then she lifted my hand and pressed her lips to my knuckles, soft and reverent.

“That’s what I want now,” she murmured. “Something real.”

“You already have it,” I said.

She looked at me like I had given her the world.

Then Faisal let out a triumphant squeal as he managed to crawl toward a plush ball and the spell was broken, but not in a bad way.

Lamia stood first, walking toward him. She lifted him into her arms, twirling him gently. The wind caught her robe again, and for a second, she looked like a goddess pulled straight from the old Arabic legends, fierce and full of fire, holding the sun in her arms.

I watched them, smiling, heart bursting at the seams.

And I thought, how strange, how beautiful, how wildly lucky I am to love and be loved by her.

Tomorrow we could fall back into old rhythms. The real world. Deadlines. Schedules.

But today?

Today, we were just us.

On the sea.

Under the sun.

Unbroken.

——

The wind danced around us, warm and salty with the scent of the Gulf, brushing past my shoulders like invisible fingers. I stood near the edge of the deck, one arm cradling Faisal against my hip, the other hand instinctively brushing his little hair back from his face. He was babbling nonsense, baby talk mixed with laughter, as if the sky and sea were having a private conversation only he understood.

He’d been so energetic since we boarded Lamia’s yacht this morning, all giddy claps and squeals, little fists grabbing at everything, sunglasses, water bottles, my necklace, the straps of my dress. And now, with the gentle rock of the boat beneath our feet, his excitement had mellowed into a kind of baby bliss. His cheek pressed against my collarbone, his lashes fluttered with sleep, but his small fingers still tugged lazily at the silver pendant around my neck.

I wasn’t even aware Lamia had stepped away, not until I heard her voice behind me, soft but unmistakably amused.

“Stay still. You look like a goddess.”

I turned my head, careful not to jostle Faisal too much. Lamia stood a few feet away, phone raised, her lips curled in that smug, loving way she reserved just for moments like this. She was barefoot now, her silk robe undone to reveal a sleek cream swimsuit beneath it, sunglasses pushed up on her head like a crown.

“What are you doing?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Capturing proof,” she said, voice dripping with warmth. “That you exist. Like this. In the sun. In that dress. Holding our son like you were sculpted just to be his mother.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips gave me away, they curved upward before I could stop them. “You’re so dramatic.”

Lamia snapped a photo anyway.

The sound of the shutter clicked through the air, and I turned slightly, adjusting Faisal in my arms so he was more comfortable. The bodycon dress I wore hugged my shape, the rich cobalt blue catching the light in a way that made the fabric shimmer like water. I’d chosen it on a whim this morning, wanting to feel… myself. Bold. Elegant. Maybe even a little beautiful.

Lamia circled around me slowly, taking another shot from the side. Her voice lowered, reverent.

“I’m never deleting these.”

“You say that about everything you take of me,” I murmured.

“Because you always look like something out of a dream,” she replied.

Faisal shifted in my arms, yawning now, one tiny hand lifting to pat my chin gently. I smiled down at him, my heart unraveling with the smallest gesture. Lamia captured that too and I didn’t even mind. Because these weren’t vanity shots. These weren’t for show. This was for us. For later. For the days when we’d look back and ask ourselves how we made it through the storms.

“Hold still,” she said again, stepping closer.

I tilted my head, letting my hair catch the wind just a bit more, one heel pressed lightly against the railing behind me, giving her a full view of me and Faisal, just as the sun shifted, spilling gold across my shoulders and casting a soft glow over our skin.

Another click. Another quiet breath.

“You’re glowing,” she whispered.

“Maybe it’s the sea,” I teased, “or maybe it’s you hyping me up.”

She looked up from the screen then, her eyes locking with mine across the few feet that still separated us. “No,” she said simply. “It’s you. Being you. Being his mother. Being mine.”

My breath caught.

She always had this way of saying the quiet things, the real things, when I least expected it. Like her heart didn’t need permission to speak.

I lowered my gaze, brushing my lips gently over Faisal’s forehead. He was dozing off now, soft sighs leaving his mouth, his grip loosening.

I walked over to where Lamia stood. She instinctively set the phone down on the teak table beside her and reached for my hand, pulling me in gently. Her other hand slid around my waist, fingers grazing the curve of my spine.

“You don’t know what you look like right now, do you?” she murmured, her nose brushing mine.

I gave her a faint smirk. “Enlighten me, oh poetic one.”

“You look like everything I ever wanted but was too stubborn to admit I needed.”

My smile faltered, not because I didn’t like it, but because it was too much in the best way.

“You know,” I said quietly, resting my free hand on her chest, “sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever go back to that version of ourselves who hated each other’s guts.”

She laughed under her breath, nuzzling the corner of my temple. “They were idiots.”

“And loud.”

“So loud,” she agreed.

We both laughed softly, and for a moment, we just stood there, the sea humming around us, the yacht gently rocking under our feet. The staff moved quietly in the background, preparing lunch, refilling drinks, tending to details like ghosts in crisp white uniforms.

Lamia pressed her lips to the crown of my head. “I want to frame that photo,” she said suddenly. “Put it in Faisal’s room.”

“Which one?” I asked. “The one in BGC, Antipolo, Santa Rosa, or this new Dubai summer house your grandparents are threatening to gift us?”

She snorted. “All three. Why not? The world needs to see my loves.”

“Lamia,” I whispered, lips brushing against her jaw. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You love it,” she whispered back.

And I did.

God, I did.

I held Faisal a little tighter, leaned into Lamia’s chest, and stared out at the endless blue, wondering how, in all the chaos of our lives, I found something this peaceful. This simple. This profound.

A woman who used to be my enemy now breathing against my skin like she was born to fit there.

A baby whose giggles rewrote my heart from the inside out.

And the deep, terrifying realization that I didn’t want any of this to end.

Not the yacht. Not the trip. Not this moment.

Not us.

Lamia shifted her weight slightly, her arm never leaving the small of my back, as she glanced toward the bow of the yacht. The sun caught the sharp line of her cheekbone, a flicker of steel glinting beneath the softness she reserved for me alone. And then it happened… that transformation.

The softness drained from her features, not unkindly, but deliberately, replaced by the immaculate armor she wore around the world. Her chin lifted just a little higher, her lips pressed into a perfect, poised curve, and the Lamia Al-Gadaffi the world knew walked forward a step.

I knew that version of her well, the ice queen, the business magnate, the eldest daughter of an empire. Cold when she needed to be. Untouchable. Terrifying in the boardroom. Regal in every movement.

And when she called for someone, she did not raise her voice.

She didn’t need to.

“Ahmad,” she said calmly, her tone low and exacting, with that unmistakable undertone of command. She didn’t even have to look. Just the sound of her voice summoned one of the yacht staff from across the deck like clockwork.

The young man, mid-30s maybe, neatly dressed in a white linen uniform with the Al-Gadaffi crest embroidered on the sleeve, moved toward her quickly, his face composed but reverent.

“Yes, Miss Al-Gadaffi?” he asked, standing with his hands behind his back.

Lamia didn’t blink. “Kindly take a photo of us. I want it done properly.”

She handed him her phone, polished and pristine, as if she’d handed him a scepter. The way she spoke, clipped, firm, unshakeable, I could see it in his eyes, he didn’t dare fumble this task. The gravity in her voice didn’t allow mistakes.

I glanced down at Faisal, still nestled in my arms, half-asleep, one tiny hand now resting against my chest. His mouth opened and closed softly, like he was dreaming of milk or stars. I shifted him slightly, brushing my cheek against his temple, and then looked at Lamia with a lifted brow.

“A picture?” I asked. “Another one?”

Lamia stepped close again, her hand sliding around my waist like it belonged there, grounding me. “This one’s for me.”

I tilted my head. “Weren’t the last ten all for you?”

She smirked. “No. Those were for my vanity. This one…” She leaned in, her breath teasing my ear. “This one’s for something deeper.”

Ahmad adjusted the camera settings carefully. He seemed nervous, fingers trembling slightly despite the sea breeze trying to cool the air around us.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Lamia told him.

He nodded, swallowed. “Ready, ma’am.”

Lamia turned to me, her eyes holding mine in that way she always did when she wanted me to feel everything. Her hand slid up my back, then cupped my jaw with that same reverent gentleness I’d felt a thousand times, but every time still managed to make my heart stutter.

“I want you to kiss me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “For the camera. But mostly… for me.”

My lips parted just slightly, and I forgot to breathe for a second.

Faisal stirred again, but not crying. Just shifting, sensing something between us. His little fist brushed my collarbone, grounding me.

I nodded slowly. “Okay,” I murmured. “Then let’s make it a good one.”

And right there, barefoot on the sunlit deck of a luxury yacht off the coast of Dubai, the sea sparkling like crushed sapphires around us, I kissed my wife.

Her lips were warm, soft, and familiar, yet every time still felt like the first. Our mouths moved slowly, deliberately, not rushed, not for show, not performative. Just… full. Of history. Of pain. Of forgiveness. Of something we hadn’t even fully defined yet.

The wind picked up just slightly as Ahmad snapped the photo, but I barely heard the click. All I could feel was the way Lamia’s fingers curled into the base of my neck, how her body leaned into mine, and how our son, our miracle, was right there in my arms between us.

A family.

A kiss.

A truth.

When we finally pulled apart, I caught the dazed expression on Ahmad’s face. He blinked, then quickly looked away as if trying to erase whatever intimacy he just witnessed.

Lamia reached out for her phone. “Show me.”

He held it out respectfully, and she studied the screen for a long moment. I watched her expression carefully, the soft exhale, the way her brows lifted almost imperceptibly, the way her thumb froze mid-swipe.

Then her lips curled up.

“I’m printing this,” she murmured. “It’s going up in our bedroom. In all our homes. I want it hung in gold.”

I chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”

She looked at me, serious again. “No. I’m claiming what’s mine.”

Then she leaned in and kissed the tip of Faisal’s forehead.

“And this…” she whispered against his skin. “This is forever.”

And in that moment, I believed her.

The waves kissed the side of the yacht. The city of Dubai glistened in the distance. The air smelled like salt, sunshine, and something new.

And I… standing there with my son and the woman I never thought I could love, realized something deep in my bones,

This was my life now.

And it was beautiful.

——

By the time the yacht trip ended and our car pulled back into the gates of Lamia’s grandparents’ estate, the sun had already tucked itself behind the horizon. The sky was a dusky mauve, streaked with amber and twilight blue, casting a glow across the massive villa’s stone arches and domes. Dubai had a way of making grandeur feel casual , like ancient opulence still belonged in the modern world, and this mansion? It was the embodiment of that.

We stepped into the cool, marble-floored foyer, Faisal nestled in my arms again, his body heavy from the nap he took on the drive. I could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath against my collarbone, his curls damp from the ocean breeze and sweat, still smelling faintly of sunblock and baby powder.

Lamia walked ahead of me, already beginning to loosen the silk scarf she’d tied around her hair earlier, fingers nimble as she tucked it into her bag. She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for me. “Come on,” she said softly. “Jidda said dinner’s ready.”

The scent of spices hit me before we even reached the dining hall, saffron, cumin, cinnamon, and roasted meat lingering like perfume in the air. My stomach growled as we passed the ornate columns flanking the wide hallway, and soon we stepped into the dining room, where everything was bathed in warm amber light.

And there it was.

A feast.

I stopped short.

The long mahogany table could have seated twenty, at least, and it was already partially filled with familiar faces. Jiddi Ishaaq sat at the head, dressed in a pale linen thobe, his prayer beads in hand, nodding to each person with a slow, approving glance. Beside him was Jidda Maryam, regal as ever in a plum-colored abaya with delicate gold embroidery, her silver hair covered with a soft scarf that matched. They both smiled when they saw us enter.

“Ah, our stars have returned,” Jidda said, rising just slightly. “Come. You must be hungry after that little sea voyage.”

“We are,” Lamia replied as she reached for Faisal in my arms, giving me a break. “He had a big day.”

“He’s going to sleep like a camel in the dunes,” Jiddi joked in Arabic, his deep voice rumbling as everyone chuckled.

I smiled politely even though I only understood bits of what was said, Lamia leaned over and whispered the translation into my ear with a grin. “He meant he’ll sleep really deep.”

The table was full of dishes that looked like they’d been pulled from some royal celebration. There was mandi, slow-cooked lamb over fragrant spiced rice with almonds and raisins. Beside it sat kabsa, its tomato-rich base still steaming, filled with chunks of chicken and vegetables. A massive platter of grilled kofta rested near the center, perfectly charred and dripping with savory juices. Mezze plates were scattered around, creamy hummus, smoky baba ghanoush, glistening tabbouleh, fresh fattoush, and stacks of warm pita wrapped in linen.

Bowls of labneh sat next to dishes of glistening stuffed grape leaves and falafel, their crispy edges catching the light. Even the drinks were elegant, silver pitchers of cold jallab with pine nuts floating inside, and cups of mint tea already poured.

We took our seats, Lamia on one side of Faisal’s high chair, me on the other. He was still sleepy but perking up at the scent of food, his chubby hands grabbing at a bit of bread I tore for him. He babbled as if he were joining the conversation.

Jidda reached across the table to squeeze my wrist. “You must eat a lot tonight, habibti,” she said, eyes warm. “You’re skin and bones, and we want you strong. You’re the mother of our prince.”

I flushed at her words, but I nodded. “Thank you, Jidda. Everything smells amazing.”

Lamia leaned back in her chair, pouring water into a goblet for me without saying anything, just a quiet, graceful gesture that meant more than I could express. She was in her element here. Not just in luxury, but in family. In the way she translated for me when the elders slipped into deeper Arabic. In how she picked out the softest meat and placed it on my plate. In the way her pinky finger brushed mine every few minutes like she needed that tiny tether to keep us grounded.

“You see now,” Jiddi said suddenly, looking between us, his voice filling the space. “This is what we always prayed for. That she would build something real. That our Lamia wouldn’t choose only ambition, but family too.”

Lamia didn’t meet his eyes, but she stilled.

“You’ve always been strong,” Jiddi continued. “But strength is hollow without someone to give it to. Now, look at you,, a wife, a mother.”

Jidda smiled, lifting her teacup. “And with Rani, no less. We could not have chosen better, ya binti.”

I nearly choked on my hummus. My eyes darted to Lamia, who was now looking at me, stunned but trying to hide it behind a polite sip of tea.

“I…” I tried to respond, but Jiddi waved his hand.

“No need to say anything. It’s written in the way you look at each other. And the way Faisal looks at you both.” He pointed toward our son, who now had a smear of hummus on his forehead and was waving a spoon triumphantly.

There was laughter all around.

And warmth.

Real, rare warmth.

Dinner stretched into dessert, which was equally extravagant, golden kunafa soaked in syrup, plates of fresh figs and dates, tiny cups of Arabic coffee rich with cardamom. Jidda insisted on feeding Faisal a little cream from the kunafa herself, and he smiled up at her like she’d just offered him the moon.

I looked across the table at Lamia again, and in that golden flicker of candlelight, with her grandparents glowing with pride, her brother teasing his wife beside them, and our son smacking his lips in approval of dessert… I saw the version of our life that could truly be ours.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But full.

Full of color. Of lineage. Of connection.

Of second chances.

And as Lamia looked back at me, her expression softened in a way that only I ever got to see, I knew…

She was mine.

And I was hers.

And this night, with all its spice, laughter, and love would stay with me forever.