He simply spoke to her as if she already belonged in his.
The proposal came unexpectedly.
Not dramatic. Not staged.
They were sitting in a quiet garden outside a hotel in Marrakech, discussing a contract translation she had completed for him.
He closed the folder, looked at her for a long moment, and said, “Marry me.”
Lina laughed at first.
Because that was the only reasonable response.
But he did not smile.
He was serious.
Not impulsive. Not theatrical.
Certain.
“I don’t mean as an arrangement,” he added gently. “I mean as a decision.”
She should have said no immediately.
Instead, she asked, “Why?”
Kareem looked toward the garden, where sunlight filtered through orange trees.
“Because I trust you,” he said. “And because I am tired of building a life that has no one in it who sees me clearly.”
That answer unsettled her more than any romantic gesture would have.
Because it was honest.
And honesty is harder to dismiss than charm.
They married quietly.
No grand announcement.
No spectacle.
A small ceremony attended by only a handful of people—some of his close associates, a few of her friends who still looked stunned, and a quiet legal officiant who seemed unfazed by anything involving sudden wealth or private decisions.
Lina wore a simple ivory dress.
Kareem wore a dark suit with no visible branding, no display of excess.
There were no speeches that lasted too long.
No promises spoken for an audience.
Just a signing.
