The Sheikh’s Sham Engagement (The Safar Sheikhs 3)

Nasser smirked. “You used to think I was.”

Silence sizzled between them, and Willow huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not being forced into an ultimatum again. Not with you, not with anyone.”

“Whether you want this to be the solution or not,” Nasser began, taking a step toward her, “your visa is going to expire. Let’s not forget, Willow—it’s your fault for coming early. Maybe if you had just waited and applied for the work visa, oh, I don’t know, twenty-four hours after arrival like a normal person you wouldn’t be in this predicament. You don’t always need to plan so far ahead, you know.”

There was heat behind his words, and it lit her fire faster than anything.

“Oh, really? Well, speaking of plans, do you have one for when we need to act like we’re engaged? Because it’s going to be awful hard to convince anyone that we even like each other, much less want to get married. The bureaucracy will see right through it. Not to mention your tribe. What about that, Nasser?”

Nasser didn’t look ruffled. He just shrugged, moving his gaze back to the road. “I’m charming. I can fake it. Besides, it’s not like you don’t have experience being my girlfriend. We can just play the roles until your project ends, and we end the charade with a divorce.”

Willow’s heart throbbed between her ears as she struggled to find an excuse. An out. Anything that would let her shoot him down and find an alternative path.

She hated the risk of it. Risks weren’t part of her two-, five-, or ten-year plans. Not when setting up the international school. Not when she was saving for her future. Not when she was trying to make sure every step took her as far as humanly possible. Showing up at the visa office with a sham engagement sounded like the biggest risk of them all.

Because what if they saw through it? Then the entire school would be jeopardized, and permanently so. The school would close. She’d be forced to leave the Middle East. And then what? Where could she go from there with that stain on her record?

“What do you think?” Nasser’s question jarred her out of her spiraling thoughts. Looking back at his impossibly handsome frame allowed some of the coils of tension to unfurl.

Maybe they had a shot if she could channel the passion of that night in the tent. Strictly for visa purposes, of course.

It might not work, but it was better than nothing.

“So how would we do it? Do we have to get married tomorrow or something?”

“We’d formally announce our engagement, which would allow you a temporary visa extending your stay as my fiancée. We’d have three months to marry, at which time your visa would become permanent.”

Hearing the word fiancée from his lips made her dizzy. She’d dreamt of being his fiancée, once upon a time. “I need to think about it,” she finally said. It was the best she could do for now. She needed to sit with it, sleep on it, turn it over until the definitive answer rose from the mush.

“Well, you better hurry,” Nasser said. “If we’re going to start this, it needs to be soon.”

“Thanks, Nasser,” she shot back. “Got it. What I need in this is a partner, okay? Not a dictator. Don’t forget that if I leave, you fail too.”

Nasser’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything else. She heaved a sigh and then headed into the construction site. There was only one thing left to do today, and that was keep on working as though everything would work out.

At this point, she needed to believe it would. The answer would come to her.

Even if it came hand in hand with her greatest love and heartbreak.

6

Their trip to the school site wasn’t interrupted by a sandstorm this time, and Willow wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. On the ride back to Al Ghuman, an unknown number appeared on her phone’s screen with a text message.

“Hi, Willow—this is Calla, Fatim’s wife. I would love to meet and chat with you when you get back to the city. Can you meet me at the royal tents?”

Something like excitement thrilled through her. She’d heard plenty about Queen Calla, Fatim’s American wife who’d started as his seamstress. She couldn’t imagine what she’d want with Willow, but she had to have some reason. Maybe she’d found a loophole that Nasser couldn’t—or wouldn’t—find.

Their ride back into the city was a little tense. By the time they got back to the palace, Nasser was practically tripping over himself to get away from her. And good thing, too. The longer she stayed near him, the more she considered saying yes and just throwing herself back into his arms, desperate for any reason to be touching him.

He had that effect on her. Even when she knew down to her bones that he didn’t deserve her falling into his arms. She’d already fallen into bed with him. Wasn’t that enough?

Willow headed toward the royal tents, feeling significantly clearer headed now that Nasser was gone. Her phone vibrated with a video call. It was Rose, her sister. Willow swiped to answer as her pace slowed to a dawdle.

“Well, look who it is,” Willow teased, grinning into the camera. “You’re calling early. What is it, eight a.m. over there?”

“Yep. You got it.” Rose sent her a toothy grin from the other side of the world. “How are you? I was thinking of you and wanted to call.”

Willow took a deep breath, wondering how much she should reveal to her sister. She didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but Rose would be able to see through her façade if she tried to pretend that everything was hunky-dory. She opted to tell her a quick and dirty version of the situation.