the world goes and lets you down, Rache, because you've still got yourself and yourself is what counts.
But she hadn't believed that two months before when Sahlah Malik had revealed her decision to submit herself to her parents' wishes for an arranged marriage to an unknown man from Pakistan. Instead of remembering that she still had herself, she'd been horrified at the thought of losing Sahlah. After which, she'd felt both lost and abandoned. And at the end, she'd believed herself cruelly betrayed. The ground upon which she'd long had faith that her future was built had fractured suddenly and irreparably beneath her, and in that instant she'd forgotten life's most important lesson completely. For the ten years following her birth, she'd lived with the certain belief that success, failure, and happiness were available to her through the effort of a single individual on earth: Rachel Lynn Winfield.
Thus, the taunts of her schoolmates had stung her but they'd never scarred her, and she'd grown adept at forging her own way. But meeting Sahlah had changed all that, and she'd allowed herself to see their friendship as central to what the future held.
Oh, it had been stupid - stupid - to think in such a fashion, and she knew that now. But in those first terrible moments when Sahlah had revealed her intentions in that calm and gentle way of hers - the way that had made her, too, the victim of bullies who wouldn't dare to raise a nasty hand against Sahlah Malik or to voice a slur about the hue of her skin whenever Rachel Winfield was in the vicinity - all that Rachel could think was, What about me? What about us? What about our plans? We were saving up to put money on a flat, we were going to have pine furniture in it with big deep cushions, we were going to set up a workshop for you on one side of your bedroom so you could make your jewellery without your nephews getting into your trays, we were going to collect shells on the beach, we were going to have two cats, you were going to teach me to cook, and I was going to teach you . . . what? What on earth could I have taught you, Sahlah? What on earth had I ever to offer you?
But she hadn't said that. Instead, she'd said,
"Married? You? Married, Sahlah? Who? Not . . . but I thought you always said that you couldn't - "
"A man from Karachi. A man my parents have chosen for me," Sahlah had said.
"You mean . . . ? You can't mean a stranger, Sahlah. You can't mean someone you don't even know."
"It's the way my parents married. It's the way most of my people marry."
"Your people, your people," Rachel had scoffed.
She'd been trying to laugh the idea off, to make Sahlah see how ludicrous it was. "You're English," she said. "You were born in England.
You're no more Asian than I am. What d'you know about him, anyway? Is he fat? Is he ugly?
Does he have false teeth? Does he have hairs sprouting from his nose and his ears? And how old is he? Is he some bloke of sixty with varicose veins?"
"His name is Haytham Querashi. He's twenty-five years old. He's been to university - "
"As if that makes him a good candidate for husband," Rachel said bitterly. "I suppose he's got lots of money as well. Your dad would go in big for that. Like he did with Yumn.
Who cares what sort of monkey crawls into your bed just so long as Akram gets what he wants from the deal? And that's it, isn't it? Isn't your dad getting something as well? Tell the truth, Sahlah."
"Haytham will work for the business, if that's what you're asking," Sahlah said.
"Hah! See what they're doing? He's got something they want - Muhannad and your dad and the only way they can get it is to hand you over to some oily bloke you don't even know. I can't believe you're doing it."
"I have no choice."
"What d'you mean? If you said you didn't want to marry this bloke, you can't tell me your dad would make you do it. He dotes on you. So all you have to do is tell him that you and me, we've got plans. And none of them have to do with marrying some twit from Pakistan you've never even met."
"I want to marry him," Sahlah said.
Rachel had