Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia

with worry. He had traced me from Dubai
to London, but had lost all evidence of us from that point. He told
the family what had happened and was truly filled with deep regret.
He wanted nothing more than for me and the children to come home.
Kareem had said we must talk.
    I asked Sara to give my husband a brief
message. I wanted him to know that I found him despicable; he would
never see us again. Furthermore, I had made arrangements for
citizenship for the children and me in another country. Once I was
fully protected in a new land, I would advise my sisters of my new
life, but Kareem must never know where I was. And, as an added
worry for Kareem, I told Sara to let him know that Abdullah, his
son, no longer wanted contact with his father.
    With that, I left the subject of Kareem
behind. With delight, I learned that Sara had a new baby son and
that the rest of my family was in good health. She said Father and
Ali were furious and insisted I return to Riyadh and adhere to
Kareem’s every wish, as was my duty. I had expected nothing more
from those two of my very blood.
    Sara tried to soothe me and asked if it would
not be better to accept a new wife rather than to live my life as a
refugee. I asked her if she would consider such an arrangement with
Asad. Her silence was my answer.
    After the call was made, I shoved my money
back into my bag and slipped out of the bank without further notice
from the eager manager. I felt a twinge of regret for my trickery,
yet I knew I could not risk a call from a pay phone, for an
operator might well announce the country calling to hidden tape
machines linked to Kareem.
    In deep contemplation of Sara’s words, I felt
a smile grow across my face. My plan was working. But I thought it
best to let Kareem suffer additional agony. He would need some time
to recognize that I would never accept the multiple-wife existence,
no matter the ultimate price.
    Actually, the children knew nothing of the
drama in our lives. I had told them a convincing tale of their
father’s business taking him to the Orient for many months. Instead
of remaining in Riyadh to suffer boredom, he had thought we would
enjoy a pleasant time in the French countryside. Abdullah was
curious as to why he received no calls from his father, but I kept
him occupied with his lessons and numerous social activities; young
minds adapt more easily than we could ever imagine. Our two
daughters were still babies unable to consider dire circumstances.
They had spent their lives traveling; the missing link was the
absence of their father. I did my best to compensate. I consoled
myself by considering the alternatives.
    Life for my children in Riyadh with their
parents in constant turmoil was unacceptable in my mind. Life
without their mother would be unnatural. For if Kareem brought
another woman into our lives, the murder of my husband was a real
possibility. What good would I be to the children without my head,
for it would surely be parted from my body after I took the life of
their father! For a moment I considered the sharp blade of the
executioner’s sword and shuddered at the thought that I might one
day feel that coldness. I knew I was fortunate to be a royal, for
I, like Ali so many years ago, could ease through difficult legal
and ethical situations without the interference of the men of
religion. Were I not of royal blood, the pounding of stones would
end my life for such actions. But we royals keep our scandals
inside our walls; no one outside the family would know of my
defection. Only Kareem could call for my death, and no matter my
actions, I knew with certainty that my husband did not have the
stomach to call for my blood.
    I called Sara once a month. During this
lengthy absence from my family and country, my days and nights were
restless. But I knew there was gain to be had; my determination and
patience would alter Kareem’s plans of cluttering our lives with
other wives.
    Five months after my departure I agreed to
speak with Kareem over the telephone. I flew to London to place the
call. Our conversation convinced me that Kareem was desperate with
desire to see me and the children. He would now enter the second
stage of my carefully laid trap.
    We made plans to meet in Venice the following
weekend. My husband was stunned to see me accompanied by four hefty
German bodyguards. I told Kareem I no longer trusted his word; he
might have hired thugs to kidnap me and bundle me off to Riyadh to
face the unjust way our