She was shocked but said nothing. Ali was her husband, and it was not her place to question him.

“In the West, it’s called ‘hair of the dog,’ Amira. It’s like medicine. Nothing to concern yourself about.”

She brought him a bottle and a tumbler. He took both into one of the bathrooms. She heard the sound of the shower being turned on. A half hour later, he came out. “That’s better,’’ he said with a smile, “don’t you agree?’’ Amira smiled in return. Her husband did, indeed, look better, restored to his former self. She hoped he would not drink so much tonight.

The next few days followed the same pattern: a few hours of sightseeing, shopping in the European-style boutiques that lined the Cumhuriyet Caddesi and the Valikonagi Caddesi, splendid meals at fine restaurants. In the evening, there would be something for Amira—her first ballet (Giselle), her first opera (Madam Butterfly). Yet later, they would inevitably finish the evening at the casino, with Ali drinking too much and staying out almost until dawn, while Amira slept alone.

On the fifth day of her honeymoon, just when she had resigned herself to this routine, Ali announced that he had arranged for a special evening.

A short time later, she found herself aboard a sleek sailing yacht cruising the Bosporus, moving gracefully between the European and Asian sides, Ali pointing out the sights.

“The Dolmabacha Palace,” he said, pointing out a white fairy-tale castle in a Turkish-Indian-Baroque style. “It was built by Sultan Abdel Mejid as a summer residence, so he could enjoy the same delightful breeze we’re enjoying now.”

Amira closed her eyes, luxuriating in the moment. It was as if her husband had been away and then returned to her. There was no Scotch whiskey and no casino. Tonight, he was choosing to be with her.

A white-jacketed steward served champagne and borek, cigar-like dump- lings filled with cheese and various fillings. Then came vine leaves and artichokes in oil, followed by lamb kebabs prepared with yogurt. Dessert was flambé fruit.

“Simple food but quite good, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Amira agreed. “If you like, I could prepare this at home.” “We already have a Turkish cook in the royal kitchen,” he said. Then, seeing her crestfallen expression, he added, “But it would make me very happy if you were to supervise the menu for our private meals.”

“As you wish,” she said with a smile.

When the dishes had been taken away, they reclined on cushioned bolsters, lulled into a pleasant drowsiness by the motion of the boat and the wine. He stroked her hair, and as the boat pitched gently back and forth, she fell asleep, wondering how long it would take to understand her handsome but rather puzzling husband.

14. Marriage

Marriage