Nasser’s jaw flexed as he stood and took to pacing the far wall of the office. He rubbed at the back of his neck, unnervingly quiet.
He was quiet so long Willow was ready to speak up. Finally he dragged his gaze her way and said, “Why do you have to overprepare for everything?”
There it was. Bullets zooming from their shared past, hitting her right where it hurt. Even the tone of his voice sounded the same. She swallowed a knot in her throat, surprised by how much this could still affect her after so long.
“Probably for the same reason you underprepare for everything.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she couldn’t believe she’d chosen to dive headfirst into the past right alongside him.
“Oh, come on,” he spat.
“Listen,” she said quickly, eager to avert the argument brewing just under the surface. “What you think about my preparation skills is irrelevant. This is the situation, and I’m asking you for help. Can you do anything or not?”
Nasser held her gaze. She saw lots of things in his dark chocolate eyes. Fieriness. Confrontation. Wisps of passion, even. But this encounter right here proved to her that she needed to keep her distance from Nasser. Even if her body craved his heat with an intensity that could make her buckle if she thought about it for too long.
“I’ll work on it,” Nasser finally said.
Willow thanked him, then hurried out of his office before she could say something stupid. Like any number of the things that danced just below the surface, urging her to invite him to dinner or ask him over to her hotel room.
Those were bad ideas. And she’d see it soon enough.
She just had to let her heart catch up to her brain.
4
At family dinner that night, Nasser decided to bring up Willow’s visa issue. He’d been mulling over the situation all day, but if anybody knew the legal ins and outs of Willow’s options, it would be Fatim.
Nasser picked at his food. He hadn’t been very hungry the past few days. The knot in his belly told him it had something to do with Willow, but he didn’t want that to be true, so he simply ignored it. Her being back did not affect him. Their night in the tents had been normal.
Everything was fine.
“Brothers,” Nasser began. “I need your advice on a certain type of predicament.”
Both Fatim and Amad perked up at the word “advice.” They loved being able to dole out advice,
and Fatim especially loved to play the wise, older brother part ever since he’d ascended to crowned sheikh. He could tell Calla and Vanessa were tuning in, even as they occupied themselves with spooning food into their babies’ mouths.
“Nasser needs advice?” Amad asked with a grin. “This will be good.”
Nasser sent him a stern look before continuing. He gave them the rundown of Willow’s situation in as few words as possible—tourist visa, work visa application, rejection—leaving out any details that might hint as their previous relationship or any unexpectedly hot nights in tents.
“Ooooh, is this your ex-girlfriend?” Calla asked, her eyes lighting up.
Nasser deflated. So much for avoiding the elephant in the room. “Yes. She’s my ex. But that’s beside the point. She’s here for work.”
“I want to meet her,” Vanessa said.
“She’s from Nebraska or someplace?” Calla asked.
“lllinois,” Nasser clarified, folding and then unfolding his napkin in his lap. “Anyway, it does seem odd to me that her visa would be rejected. She was here on a four-year student visa, and now the tourist visa…”
Fatim frowned, tapping his finger against the tabletop. “It does seem odd, but I know the immigration offices have been cracking down lately. There’s been some abuse of work visas, and maybe the jump from student to tourist to work raised a red flag.”
“Well, she needs the work visa, or else this project won’t be completed.”
The table fell silent, and then Calla gasped a moment later.
“You two should get married!”