Arif let out a breath. "If we offer—"
The minister of the interior, Abu Jamal, cleared his throat. Arif broke off what he'd been saying to look at the man. Nasim turned as well. Jamal, a slim, younger man in a rumpled suit, gestured to the scattered papers. "Pardon, but if you read to the last page, Sheikh Ahmad is asking for property. Specifically, for the Ash Lands to be given to Dijobuli."
Nasim stiffened and pulled in a sharp breath. Arif threw back his head as if he'd been slapped. He slashed the air with one hand. "Impossible. Those are holy lands."
"Too bloody right." Nasim folded his arms over his chest. He'd only dragged on trousers, a button-down shirt, and shoes, and he was wishing he'd taken time to shower and get a suit on, and that he had Sheikh Ahmad in front of him so he could intimidate the old bugger. "Not bloody happening. We will go to war over that. Very well, if you must, offer Ahmad the bride price agreed to in the contract. And remind him his bloody daughter put another bloody woman in her place."
Jamal gave a nod and stood. The other ministers gathered the papers. They bowed and left.
Nasim turned to Arif. "There's no chance Tarek will agree to hand over the Ash Lands, but we're going to have to tell him about this demand."
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Arif nodded. "This may escalate."
"If Zahkim loses the Ash Lands, it'll bloody well mean the end of the royal family in Zahkim. The conservatives won't stand for it any more than the progressives will. That'll unite both sides as nothing ever has."
Arif gave him a hard stare. "Then find another way. We can't afford a war with Dijobuli, either." Arif strode from the room.
Nasim scrubbed a hand over his face again. Was it only a few hours ago he'd been basking in the pleasure of Ginni's arms? It seemed far longer, almost as if it had been a dream.
Bloody Ahmad—he was using this as an excuse. And bloody Jasmine, too. She'd gotten all of them into this mess. He scrubbed a hand over his face yet again, scraping his fingers on the stubble on his cheeks. He'd not even had time to shave. He'd been woken by a dozen texts from Arif, had barely had time to throw on some clothes, and he'd had to leave Ginni's arms.
Damnation.
Ah…Ginni. He should find her. She was at least one bright spot in this disaster that had become his life.
He tracked her down in the breakfast room. She sat at the table, dressed in something colorful, sipping from a cup of coffee held in both hands. When he entered, she put down the cup and gave him a too-bright smile. He stopped. She looked…tense. Unhappy, he would say.
Was she regretting last night already?
A cold chill crept into him.
Slowly, he came into the room and took his seat. He wanted to kiss her. Bloody hell, he wanted to carry her back up to his room and forget about Ahmad and the rest of this day, but that was not possible. He found himself uncertain around his own wife.
Ginni kept that too-wide smile in place, which left Nasim shifting in his seat. He lifted the coffee pot. "Can I freshen your cup?"
She put her cup down with a clatter. "I heard. ’Bout that war. I can't—won't—be the cause of that."
"Ah." He poured himself a cup, wished it was tea, and was at least pleased to see that his hand held steady. "It is nothing to worry you. Sheikh Ahmad is simply trying to see what he can get away with."
Her mouth flattened, and her eyes narrowed. "Not worry? You're soundin' a damn sight too close to how my Daddy talks when he's getting ready to pat me on the head and tell me to run along and play." She crossed her arms. "I'm not ten, and I am involved."
He couldn't deal with the anger radiating off her, not after just having Arif and the minister confront him. If he stayed, this was going to become a nasty argument. He had no intention of allowing that to happen.
Standing, he started for the door. "I must go into the city." He walked out, but a spot between his shoulders burned from Ginni's stare.
Ginni sat at the breakfast table, her coffee cold, and muttered about men who figured their women couldn't handle a few problems. She'd thought Nasim was different. Well, turned out he was a damn sight too much like her daddy. Figured she'd fall for that type of guy. But all her fantasies of them staying married had just gone up in smoke. Well, she'd show him. She'd fix this—and she'd fix him.
Pulling out her cell phone, she texted Jasmine to let her know about the trouble brewing. Time for Jasmine to take a hand in this, too. This whole scheme was supposed to have been about helping out a friend, not getting a couple of countries fighting. But Ginni kept thinking of Helen of Troy and all the fuss that girl had caused—that sure was not how she wanted to be remembered.
The coffee soured in her stomach, and a pounding started up in her temples. It took three texts before Jasmine finally sent one back. The girl texted back a link to an article about a sheikh in Dubai who'd had his marriage annulled after he lifted his bride's veil and found her to have cross-eyes and a better mustache than his. Didn't women have beauty parlors around here? Rolling her eyes, Ginni texted Jasmine again.
“How does this get your daddy off everyone's backs?”
Jasmine didn't seem to have an answer to that—least, she wasn't texting back. Ginni let out a soft growl. If Jasmine wasn't going to do anything, that meant this all fell to Ginni. If she could fix this, Nasim would owe her. He'd damn well do that deal with Leeland Enterprises, which would make her Daddy happy—and the rest…well, she'd figure it out.
All that meant she needed to do some serious thinking to get the answers she needed, and she always thought better when window shopping. She'd have to get a ride into town for a whole lot of staring at pretty things to get the ideas stirring.
The ride turned out to be the easy part.