She hummed. “The finest.”
The waiter returned with her water, and she sipped at it while perusing the menu. Zahir watched her read, fascinated by the shine of her hair, the way her eyebrow creased, the quiet way she repeated foreign words as she came across them.
As she decided on her entrée, Zahir mulled over when to tell her. It had to be tonight, that much was certain. But before dinner? During dessert? If he told her and she reacted poorly…shouldn’t she eat first before getting upset? There was too much to consider.
Once they’d placed their orders and they found themselves in a pleasant silence, grinning at one another like fools, he realized the truth. He loved this woman.
“Are you okay?” She arched a brow, sipping at her water. “You just got flushed.”
“Yeah.” He tugged at his collar. He couldn’t lose her. “I think it’s because I’m hungry.”
“Don’t fill up here,” she said, her voice lowering. She leaned closer over the table. “I’ve got dessert between my legs.”
He leaned closer, capturing her hand in his. Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he watched as her expression went from sultry to shocked. He dropped her hand, leaning back in his seat.
“I forget there are eyes when I’m with you,” he said, tugging at his collar again. “We should start ordering in.”
Their conversation took a turn toward the lighthearted and easy. By the time dinner came, there still wasn’t a natural way to bring up his pressing news. They devoured eggplant and fresh hamour fish, and once the plates were cleared, Zahir’s heart hammered in his chest. It has to be now.
“You know, Layla…there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He sipped at his water, mouth suddenly dry.
“What is it?”
“I’m not really quite sure how to say it.” He studied the tablecloth, as though it might offer a clue. Fuck.
“I have something to share with you, too. But you go first,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip.
Curiosity streaked through him. What did she want to tell him? Could she possibly feel the same way about him? “I, uh…” His voice evaporated.
“Go on,” she said.
“I’m engaged,” he blurted, the words falling from his lips like boulders. He searched her face for a reaction, unnerved by the stoniness he saw there. Silence stretched between them for miles. The noise of the restaurant around them shrank to a dull murmur.
“What?”
“My father has arranged a marriage for me,” he said quietly, squeezing his hands together under the table.
“How long have you been engaged?” Her question came at him like a javelin.
He winced. “Over a month.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So I’ve been the other woman?”
“No. You haven’t.”
“How could I not be?” She nearly barked the question.
“I don’t even know this woman,” he said, desperate to make her understand. “I’ve never met her. That’s how these things work.”
“Does it matter how they work?”
“Yes, I think so.” He blinked rapidly, his stomach sinking slowly to the tips of his toes. Yes, this was going just as badly as he’d imagined.
“Maybe it matters to you, but really? It doesn’t matter at all.” She slammed her fist on the table, the water in her glass sloshing. “You’re engaged to a woman you’ve never met, but you’re fucking me on the regular. So are these dinner dates just some way to thank me for my time while we wait for you to say your vows?”
His breath slithered out of him in one long, low exhale. “That’s not what this is—”
“How could it be anything else?” Her voice came out pinched, like she was fighting tears. “You know, I’ve had fun with you, but not enough fun to abandon my morals.” She pushed back in her chair, her mouth a frighteningly thin line.