The Sheikh’s Sham Engagement: The Safar Sheikhs Series Book Three Page 6

  This little detail sent heat flaming through her, and all she could do was bury her face in her hands. “Okay. Okay. Make it as lavish as you want. I know I’ll love whatever you come up with.”

  “That’s the attitude I’m looking for.” Calla tutted, circling Willow a few times as she stood on the pedestal, different expressions crossing her face as she probably envisioned different designs. “I can’t turn Nasser down. I met him at his lowest. Right after the two of you broke up. So I saw him through the height of his partying and…all that.”

  Willow’s chest tightened at her words. “Was he bad?”

  Calla sighed. “Yes, a little. But he was lost. And he was so terribly wounded.” Meeting Willow’s gaze in the mirror, she added, “That’s not a jab at you. I know that you two had a difficult situation. And probably some of it was Nasser’s doing. But he was a lost puppy. It’s good to see him turn into the strong, confident man we all knew he could become.” Calla held up a swatch of fabric to Willow’s hips, her gaze fastened to the mirror as she assessed it. “And I’ll tell you something—he sure is stronger and more confident with you at his side.”

  Calla’s words burned through Willow, even as conversation turned toward lighter things. The ladies laughed and joked as though they’d been friends for years instead of weeks. But even with all the lightheartedness, Willow couldn’t stop her mind from circling back to the past.

  The question plagued her often—could I have done more to salvage the relationship? And now that she was seeing the softer side of Nasser again, remembering all the reasons that they’d been so good together, it was hard not to look back and feel like it was her fault.

  Maybe these past two and a half years could have been spent in bliss. In the dreamy embrace of her one true love.

  The truth resonated through her: Nasser is your true love. The thought made tears fill her eyes, and Calla, seemingly engrossed in hemming, looked up sharply with concern written on her face.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She wiped away a tear that spilled. “Sorry. Just got, like, really emotional for no reason.” She tried to laugh it off. The emotional surge was weird. Her period had to be coming soon.

  “Is it the wedding and all that?”

  “I guess.” She lobbed a sigh, feeling clarity return to her. “Sometimes I think back and wonder why things didn’t work out with Nasser. Why he didn’t wait for me. I just felt like my hands were tied, you know?” Emotions bubbled up again, and Calla came to her feet, gently holding the sides of Willow’s arms.

  “What happened?”

  “My sister got sick.” Willow swallowed hard, and she picked at a cuticle. “Cancer. I wanted to go home to be with her, which Nasser was supportive of at first. But then the time came to leave, and I don’t know. He got scared.” Willow drew a shaky breath as she recounted it. She hated reliving those last days in Amatbah. With all the stress and the sadness and the desperation. “He insisted I book a round-trip ticket, which I couldn’t, because I didn’t know when I’d be returning. I was basically moving home and had packed up everything. He was so upset with me. He said I couldn’t move home, because if I did, then I’d lose him.”

  Calla frowned as she listened.

  “I think he just took it personally. But I didn’t budge on it. I should have, I think. I mean, if I had budged, then I would have—”

  Calla touched Willow’s wrist, shaking her head. “I don’t think you made the wrong choice at all.”

  Willow deflated a little. “We’ve always been at odds. He’s so instant gratification, and I’m the long-term planner. Sometimes I think he can’t even see past next week. And knowing that about him, well…I should have just gotten the return ticket.”

  Calla got back onto her knees to finish taking measurements. “What’s done is done,” Calla said. “And besides, maybe those two and a half years apart were good for both of you. Nasser has changed. For the better. And I think at this point, he can even see into next month.”

  Willow smiled, watching in the mirror as Calla fiddled with the measuring tape. If nothing else, she was happy Nasser had grown a little. Because Willow had grown too. Even if they didn’t find their happily ever after together, maybe she should just be grateful that their love had happened at all. Because it had shaped them into the people they were today.

  But Calla’s words burned in the back of her mind. He can even see into next month. And if that was the case, maybe they had a shot at a second chance.

  Not one fudged for the visa.

  A real second chance.

  11

  Nasser awoke the next morning with a start. Something had jolted him out of his dream. Something awful, like a retching noise.

  It took him a few moments to place himself—the early sun streaming into the bedroom windows, the rumpled covers beside him. He blinked, pushing up onto his elbow. Willow was gone. That was weird.

  And then came the puking noises.

  He scrambled out of bed. Those noises hadn’t been in his dreams after all. He burst into the bathroom to find Willow hanging over the toilet, face flushed.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  She groaned, shaking her head. “I feel like shit.”

  “What the—” He joined her on the floor near the toilet, pushing some sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. “You’re not hungover. We hardly drank anything.”

  “I think I ate something bad,” she moaned, then turned toward the toilet bowl and gagged.

  Nasser grimaced, trying not to look too hard at the contents of the toilet while he rubbed her back. Both of them getting sick wouldn’t be good for anyone. Not with the big curriculum meeting they had with the tribe later.

  “What did you have last night?” Nasser asked once she’d stood and washed her face. She paused, looking back at the toilet, and he hurried to add, “Don’t tell me if it’s going to make you sick again.”

  She waved him off. “I think it passed. My stomach just feels like a knot.” She sighed into her hands. “I think it was the shrimp. That raw shrimp.”

  “It was cooked,” Nasser said. “Plus, I ate it too, but I feel fine.”

  “Hm.” Her eyes darted around the bathroom as she thought. “Do you think I’m pregnant?”

  The realization hit him like a sack of bricks. The broken condom weeks ago. Their indiscriminate sex life ever since. “Oh, God. I didn’t…I don’t…”

  “I really think this is food poisoning,” she said, nodding. Her face looked ashen, green eyes contrasting even more against her abnormally pale skin.

  “Are you sure?” Nasser asked, the weight of her question seeping into him. Pressing down on his chest. He hadn’t thought pregnancy was really a possibility. Not with one slip-up. Statistically, there had to be more chance of her not being pregnant.

  Right?

  “Yes.” Willow wobbled off, disappearing into the closet. A moment later, her muffled voice reached him. “See? I’m feeling better already. If it were morning sickness, I’d still be sick.”

  Nasser accepted this logic—for now, at least—since they had to get ready for their meeting with the tribal council about the state of the curriculum plan. Willow had scheduled this meeting as the formal announcement of what Amatbahns could expect from their elite new school. Nasser had promised to go along as moral support. He knew she was ready. He just wasn’t sure what a room full of squinty-eyed tribal veterans might do to Willow’s morale.

  Once Willow was dressed, she looked ready to take on the day. No longer ashen and hunched over the toilet bowl, she was decked out in her business-casual best, hair pulled back into a neat braid. She reviewed her notes before they made the walk out to the tents together. Nasser kissed her on the cheek before they entered the meeting space.

  The atmosphere inside the tents was chaotic and noisy as usual. Calla and Fatim waved as they approached the huge circular table. Tribal leaders young and old filled the huge meeting area. Highest ranking
members sat at the table, but at least fifteen or so additional members milled around along the walls.

  Nasser guided Willow to her designated seat and slipped into place beside her. Fatim quickly called the meeting to order. The clamorous voices quieted.

  “I think it’s plain to see we’re all quite excited to hear what Willow has to say,” Fatim began, casting a bright smile her way. Willow returned it, but Nasser could see the anxiety eating away at her composure. Even with all the time apart, he still knew her maybe better than anyone else did.

  “Well, I am excited to share my plans,” Willow said. Nasser caught her wringing her hands under the table.

  Fatim invited her to begin her presentation. Willow cleared her throat, addressed her notes, and then launched into the stiffest speech he’d ever heard from her. She relayed a very dry overview of the school’s curriculum, including a month-by-month approach to the five-year plan. People were mentally checking out. Once she’d wrapped up her portion, council members began firing off questions.

  Fast.

  “This all sounds fine, but what exactly will the curriculum entail?” one member asked.

  “I want my children to be able to get into Stanford with this secondary education. How will you give them the competitive edge?”

  “Will there be an opportunity for unstructured play?” asked a woman from the other side of the table.

  Willow opened her mouth to respond, but more questions arrived. He could see her shrinking, shrinking, shrinking down.

  Alarm bells went off in his head.

  Willow needed help.

  “Hang on,” Nasser said, holding up a hand. “Hang on. We can’t all ask questions at once and expect her to answer them.”

  “Start with the curriculum specifics,” someone piped up. “Are we talking heavy standardized testing? I want my kid to get into the best university possibly, and I think everyone signing up for this school will want the same. We need to compete on the elite international level.”

  “We can have more standardized testing,” Willow began in a small voice. “If foreign university acceptance is universally an important factor, we can of course modify things to accommodate that.”

  Nasser clenched and unclenched his jaw. That wasn’t where Willow had intended to take the curriculum though. He knew it from reading over her notes and listening to her wax poetic the past few weeks about the benefits and joys of a relaxed school experience. But the council needed a definitive answer—and she was hemming and hawing in a major way.

  “The standardized testing will be mandatory,” Nasser blurted, trying to salvage the meeting before the council members grew restless with her responses. He could sense it coming—this was his tribe after all, not hers—and he knew he had to step in now before things could deteriorate further. “University acceptance rates are of the utmost importance.”

  Willow shot him a look that he didn’t understand, one he’d never seen from her before, but he didn’t have time to dissect it. More questions arrived, and Nasser was forced to be the point man. Willow shrank back and let him answer questions until everyone was satisfied and Fatim adjourned the meeting.

  As everyone came to their feet or filed out of the room, Nasser rubbed Willow’s back.

  “I think it went well,” he said, trying to be encouraging.

  Willow’s faced looked stony, but she mustered the fakest looking smile he’d ever seen. Then she stormed out of the meeting room. Nasser followed her with a tight gut, giving a hurried farewell to his brother and sister-in-law. He found her back in the bedroom, staring out the window with a quivering chin.

  “Willow—”

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her voice cracking. She hadn’t looked at him yet. “You made all those promises to the council. Promises that are exactly the opposite of where I want this school to go.”

  “You were indecisive,” Nasser blurted, fiercer than he’d intended. “The council wants answers, not hemming and hawing. You gave them options. That’s not what they’re looking for. They want answers.”

  “But everyone wants something different!” Willow cried out, and then she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands. Nasser wilted—he couldn’t stay upset when she cried. He rubbed her back, trying to figure out where the disconnect was. Something about this didn’t make sense to him. He’d never seen her so…flimsy.

  “You weren’t providing a succinct path, so I provided it for you. I thought I was helping,” Nasser said in a softer voice. He kissed the top of her head. “If I was wrong, we can fix it. But the meeting today wasn’t about pandering to everyone’s wishes. It was about putting what you’re doing out there.”

  “I know,” she wept, wrapping her arms around his waist. She sobbed freely into the front of his kaftan. “I know. I just…got so emotional up there. I couldn’t control it. I…I…” She sniffed, tilting her head up to look at him. “Nasser, I think I’m pregnant.”

  12

  Willow checked the pregnancy test no fewer than ten times. Just to make sure those two lines were still there. That it reinforced what she’d been suspecting since before the nausea that morning, since before her emotional breakdown proved to her that something was a little off hormonally.

  “I need to talk to Vanessa and Calla,” Willow blurted. She and Nasser had been lounging in the bedroom for hours since she’d peed on the stick. They’d taken lunch there and everything, needing the quiet time to process. She was excited, though it was buried under several thick layers of disbelief and worry. Becoming a mother was something she’d always wanted to do, but when the time was right. When she got her long-term plans in order. When she was married to someone who actually wanted to marry her, not just to help solve a visa issue.

  “Of course. That’s a great idea.” Nasser looked a lot more relaxed than she felt. He’d even started batting around some names, which Willow quickly defused. It wasn’t time for names. It was time for financial planning and reworking her ten-year plan. “Is it okay if I tell my brothers?”

  She nodded. “That would be nice.”

  Willow sent a message to the group text the three ladies had started earlier that week. Vanessa had jokingly labeled it “First Ladies of Al Ghuman”. For all intents and purposes, that was true. Willow just wished that it had come on the heels of a truly inspired desire to marry. Not this sham, this last-minute scramble to keep her in the country.

  And maybe that was what stung the worst, Willow realized as she headed for the library where Vanessa and Calla wanted to meet. Willow loved Nasser, and she suspected that he still loved her, at least enough to warrant a marriage. This breakdown had nothing to do with love.

  It had everything to do with her lack of planning. The sting of letting things get away from her and escape her control. This unexpected pregnancy was bringing up much the same emotion. It felt like a crack in her armor somehow.

  Despite trying to be prepared for everything, despite using a damn condom, things could still go awry.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to that horrible time right after the break-up with Nasser. When she’d been spinning and lost, back in the US after four years living primarily abroad. Doing her best to plan some sense into the unforeseeable catastrophe of her sister’s cancer diagnosis. Taking over the family’s finances, scheduling the doctor visits, making all the necessary preparations for the worst-case scenarios a hundred times over.

  By the time she reached the library, she was a puffy-faced, crying mess. Vanessa immediately took her into her arms, and Calla wrapped them both into a hug.

  “What’s wrong?” Calla asked. The three of them began rocking, and the sisterly embrace did calm her somewhat. Even amid the crazy hormonal tornado.

  “I’m pregnant,” she wailed, and a sob escaped her. She stood and wiped at her face while both ladies murmured their support. “I’m not crying about that, really. I want the baby. Don’t think I’m going to, you know…” She wiped at her
eyes, feeling some semblance of calm take root. Maybe now that she’d gotten the tears out, she’d feel more level headed. For now.

  “Well, this is exciting!” Vanessa said, moving a piece of chestnut hair out of Willow’s face.

  “I know. It is.” She hiccuped and sniffled, the definition of hot mess. “I just am so emotional. I swear I’m actually happy. Somewhere deep down.”

  “Come on, let’s go sit down.” Calla led them over to the big couches in the middle of library. Calla and Vanessa sat on either side of Willow as she sank back into the leathery comfort.

  A big, cleansing sigh escaped her. “I took the test a few hours ago. But I suspected it. I woke up sick as hell this morning. And the emotions…” She swallowed a knot in her throat that threatened to turn into more tears. “Oh my Lord, the emotions.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Vanessa patted her knee. “We know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “It will get better,” Calla murmured supportively.

  “Eventually,” Vanessa clarified.

  “Maybe once the baby is born…” Calla offered.

  Willow laughed despite herself. “Great. So how much more of this do I have to look forward to?”

  “Definitely a year,” Vanessa teased. “I promise you’ll be able to handle it, though. And it’s worth it.”

  “Sooo worth it,” Calla affirmed.

  Willow sighed again, resting her palms overtop her belly. Her gaze wandered over the ornate bookcases lining the walls, and a restorative moment of silence settled between them.

  “I can’t believe there’s a baby in here,” she murmured, dragging her gaze to her stomach. “Or a grouping of cells that will become a baby.”

  “It’s pretty incredible, isn’t it?” Vanessa squeezed her hand.

  “These Safar boys are pretty fertile,” Calla cracked. “Getting us all knocked up without even trying.”

  Willow laughed, a real belly laugh. “It’s so true. I guess we couldn’t have asked for a better group of guys, though, huh?”