I, the Divine Read Online Free

dinner.”
    “Have you done anything like this before?”
    “Nope. I just checked the recipes on the computer.” He turned on a burner under the deep fryer. “I had trouble figuring out what to choose, what goes best with what. I wanted to ask you but I thought that would spoil the surprise. I ended up choosing this. I know it’s two salads, but I thought the fried potato salad sounded more like a vegetable dish.”
    “Jesus. When you said you’ll deal with dinner, I thought we were going to order a pizza.”
    “Order a pizza?” He pretended to be offended. “I make my pizzas from scratch using my very own pizza oven.”
    “Well, can I help with anything?”
    “Why don’t you chop the tomatoes?”
    I did as I was told only to be rebuked again. “No, no, no. You’re squeezing them. Leave it be. Why don’t you open the wine?” I took out the wine bottle. “You’re domestically disabled,” he joked.
    “This is Lebanese. Chateau Musar. I love this wine. Where did you find it?”
    “At my favorite wine shop. I already tried a bottle just to make sure. It’s quite good. Have to say I was surprised.”
    He chopped the tomatoes with the speed of an accomplished chef. His fingers, though long and thick, seemed delicate, feminine even, like a doctor’s, or a surgeon’s to be more precise. I began to entertain erotic thoughts again. The knife traveled deftly over vegetables.
    “You went to so much trouble,” I said.
    “Say thank you.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You can thank me better by getting a knife sharpener. You don’t have one.”
    “And a spinner.”
    “And a lettuce spinner. Come to think of it, I’ll get them. I’m not sure I trust you in a kitchenware store.”
    As the scent of sautéed minced lamb wafted in the air, my cats, Descartes and Pascal, began to meow. David bent down and stroked them. Descartes licked his hand. David scooped some lamb into a saucer and set it on the floor. “I got more than enough lamb,” he said.
    I sipped my wine. I noticed the delicate hair on his arms. “One could fall for a man who cooks,” I said.
    “One could.” He smiled.

    In those early days, I was oblivious. I wanted nothing but to be in his arms. I wanted



For Dina

Mustapha Nour el-Din:
My father
Janet Foster:
My mother
Saniya Nour el-Din:
My stepmother
Hammoud Nour el-Din:
My grandfather
Amal Arouti:
My sister
Ashraf Arouti:
Amal’s husband
Lamia Shaddad:
My sister
Samir Shaddad:
Lamia’s husband
Rana Nour el-Din:
My half-sister, unmarried
Majida Salameh:
My half-sister
Alaa’ Salameh:
Majida’s husband
Ramzi Nour el-Din:
My half-brother
Peter Westchester:
Ramzi’s lover
Kamal Farouk:
My son
Omar Farouk:
My ex-husband
Joseph Adams:
My ex-husband
Charlene Adams:
Joe’s wife
Dina Ballout:
My best friend
Margot James:
Dina’s lover
Fadi Arna’out:
My first lover
David Troubridge:
My lover

I had a fairy-tale childhood complete with the evil stepmother. She arrived at our house a young girl. Only fifteen years separated us (twelve between her and Amal, the eldest). She decided early on she did not like me and set a course of discipline that would last until my teenage years. She was strict with my two sisters as well, but she was a Nazi with me.
    I did not do well in a disciplined environment, not in my stepmother’s house nor later with the nuns at school. I had an independent streak not easily vanquished, though my stepmother tried. My father and uncles used to teach us girls all kinds of pornographic swear words and laugh hysterically when we repeated them. When my stepmother arrived, she found them offensive and demanded a stop to all foul language. My father’s compromise was to have us use swear words only when my stepmother was not around. My sisters never slipped. I did. I liked the shocked look on faces when I came out with a delicious curse. When she was not around, I received a hilarious response. When she was there, I got hot peppers. But still I slipped.
    She was always upset