Chapter 3 Hope De Luca

• Hope de Luca
• "Through the mirror, I see my sister Giulia's gaze directed at me. I watch her approach and stand between the two seats, glancing from me to our mother.
• 'I think we should wait for your father to talk to Salim and Hassan, dear, but this commitment has certainly come to an end,' my mother sighs.
• 'Thank Allah for that because I have no calling to be another in his harem!' I exclaim, pulling into the congress parking lot.
• After I speak, I realize how I was raised and educated to be the perfect wife for the Arab prince. I know his culture, speak his language fluently, and practically, I am a practicing Muslim, just not wearing the hijab.
• With the guidance of my mother and sister, I managed to park the car. I smile as I step out and see the tires perfectly aligned, which makes me forget about the idiot who must have gone to bed with two others last night.
• With both of them by my side, congratulating me, we entered the congress and noticed an unusual commotion. Many people are standing in specific places, our security guards approach, and my mother's phone starts ringing in her bag. As we reach the corridor where my father's room is located, we start to see men with the usual checkered keffiyeh scarf on their heads. A sign that the Al-Makki family was here.
• 'Mom, I want to go home!' I say, already feeling quite humiliated."
• "I observe my mother, unsure of what to do, as she gazes towards my father's room. I'm certain she's burning up inside, wishing to storm into that room and unleash the anger she's feeling, leaving her restless in front of me.
• 'I'm going home with my security, and I'll wait for you there. I don't want any more contact with them,' I say, feeling guilty of my thoughts. 'At least not until all of this settles down.'
• 'Okay, Scott will take you. I'll join you as soon as I'm done here!' I hug my mother and let her go.
• Turning to my Secret Service security, I bid farewell to my sister, who headed towards our father's room.
• I take a deep breath and quicken my pace. The last thing I need right now is to be seen by any of them. I exchanged greetings with some politicians who know me and are hoping my father will open up so their children can get closer to me.
• If only they knew that my heart was molded and shaped for a certain foreign prince, but at his orgy party, he managed to shatter every image I had of him."
• I accompanied Scott to the parking lot, noticing some paparazzi with their lenses focused on the building's entrance. I smile at a few and wave gently.
• "Miss, let's go to our..." Scott's sentence is interrupted when I feel a hand on my arm, halting me from following my security.
• I look back and am surprised to see Mahjub, wearing his usual keffiyeh, dark eyes, and the masbaha I had gifted him on his birthday that year. I could see his face had some bruises, a sign he had received a beating from his parents.
• "We can talk, I—" I don't let him finish.
• I pull my arm out of his grasp and with all the strength I have, I punch him square in the face. I'm surprised at myself; I've never been violent. I'm usually a very peaceful person, perhaps because I've learned Islam, so I'm shocked at my reaction.
• Mahjub staggers and falls on to the hood of the car next to us. I may not have the strength of a man, but seeing blood trickle from his nose was enough to make me feel satisfied and somewhat avenged for what he did the night before.
• I feel the flashes going off, capturing every angle they can, but I'm still not satisfied. I'm seething with anger and holding back tears to avoid further humiliation at this moment.
• I noticed him counting the beads on his fingers a bit faster than usual, probably praying to Allah for my calmness. Little does he know that Allah is on my side at this moment and will help me put the final nail in this situation.
• I violently snatch the masbaha from his hands, the delicate piece I had chosen with such care and love breaks between our hands, the beads scattering on the ground, and I see the terror in his eyes.
• "Enjoy your harem, Your Highness. From today, you're free," I turned my back and with Scott's help, I got into my car.
• I know that tomorrow I'll be the subject of every national and international tabloid.
• I slump into the back seat and let the tears flow. At this moment, the foolish girl who believed in love just died. Even though Mahjub never showed any feelings for me, I still had hopes that as we grew older, he might look at me differently, giving our feelings a chance to bloom.
• It seems the only ones deserving of my love are my family and my ballet.
• Upon arriving home, I head straight to my room, determined to put an end to everything related to the Al-Makki family. I enter my closet and pull out two suitcases to pack everything I've received over the years from Mahjub's family.
• I open the suitcases and carefully start packing away the various Muslim traditional clothes, as well as all the jewelry they've sent me since I was a child. I filled both suitcases with everything. I stand up and look at it all, but I still feel like something is missing.
• "The ring..." I remember the piece.
• I rush to my parents' room, enter the closet, and go to the safe hidden behind my father's display of watches and cuff links. I type in the code, and the door opens, revealing boxes of all our jewelry.
• I grab the ivory-colored box and open it to admire the piece for the last time. It was a delicate ring, with the diamonds forming a flower. I sit on the floor, looking at that ring and reminiscing about the day I received it.
• It was a week after my fifteenth birthday party. Our parents had chosen to have just a dinner with the whole family to formalize the engagement that my father and Mahjub's grandfather had made. I know both families hoped he would fall in love with me.
• But to my sadness, that's not what happened...
• During dinner, Mahjub barely exchanged half a dozen words with me. I knew he wasn't happy. I believed it was because of our age difference; after all, I'm seven years younger than him. I'm sure he wants a bride who can go to bed with him. That's the thought that has been tormenting me for some time now.
• I was fifteen, learning the culture and religion precisely so that I wouldn't feel so out of place when our marriage happened, and I moved to the desert. But that dream is now something that will never happen. He doesn't deserve my dedication; he doesn't deserve the girl who was protected and groomed to be his wife.
• I open my eyes when I hear footsteps approaching, and when I look up, I see my father, relieved. I quickly stand up, letting the box with the ring fall.
• "Dad..." I whimper, clinging to the man who has always been my expectation of a husband.
• "Forgive me, Hope. I never imagined this could happen," he whispers as I cry into his shirt.
• "Mattia, there's no time for that..." I hear my mother's desperate voice.
• "We're here, ragazza!" I continue crying and am led to the bed with my parents.
• My mother approaches and kneels in front of me, gently holding my face and wiping away my tears. At that moment, we don't need to say anything. I know very well that my parents did their best, with elegance and decency, to free me from this engagement.
• I feel my father's hand running down my back, and my mother looks at me with sadness. But we are surprised by footsteps, and Ruslan appears at the door of the room.
• "You didn't break your hand, did you?" he asks, concerned.
• I shrug and sigh with the throbbing pain I've been feeling since I got home. I'm sure my parents have no idea what happened.
• "When I left the building, Mahjub was outside. He grabbed my arm, and I hit him in the nose," I say, looking at my hand and noticing that some fingers were swollen and starting to hurt.
• "Papa, she got him good," Ruslan approaches and sits on the floor beside my legs.
• He shows the video that was already circulating on social media, with over a million views and numerous likes.
• "Alessa de Luca, are you paying for self-defense classes for our princess?" my father asks, amused.
• I smile and rest my head on his shoulder, feeling affection for all of them.
• "This engagement is over. I didn't raise my princess to go through humiliation like this. Your mother talked to me, and by the end of the week, you'll be heading to the Bolshoi," my father announces.
• I look happily at everyone and hug them with all the affection I have for each of them.
• "Return everything they've ever given me. I would rather not remember anything involving the Al-Makki family," I say, putting an end to the topic.