“I told Vanessa and Calla you’d be there.” He jerked his head toward the steaming plates of breakfast at the small round table by the window overlooking the garden where they’d had their party last night.
“Why do they meet on Saturday mornings?”
He shrugged. “Tribal reasons.”
She sighed, rubbing her face. “Okay. That’s fine. I don’t have a hangover. I’m not in a sex coma. I can do this.” She stood, and her legs went out from under her. Nasser bolted up to steady her.
“Easy there, princess.”
“See? I told you I was fine.”
“You are fine,” he said, that sultry edge to his voice telling her he meant it in a different way. He helped her to the overstuffed arm chair, where she collapsed and received his proffered cup of coffee. She sipped at it until clarity started creeping across her mind.
“So I can join the tribal council now, huh?” she said.
“Pretty high honor,” Nasser said, cutting into a thick omelet. “Honestly, you’ll probably just be a fly on the wall at this one. I don’t imagine they’ll pester you too much.”
I don’t imagine they’ll pester you too much.
Nasser’s words reverberated through her head two hours later when the extremely formal and extremely serious Women’s Tribal Council attention turned toward Willow. He’d been right that she’d existed as a fly on the wall. For the start of the meeting. But once the agenda turned to the future of Amatbahn education and a very special project taking place on the outskirts of Al Ghuman, Willow knew that they’d called her number.
“We do have our special educational representative here with us today,” Calla said, one of the few women who frequently showered the room with smiles. Willow had quickly caught on to the rhythm of the meeting. Lots of passionate women with conflicting opinions talking about very important issues. If Willow’s turn in the spotlight went the same as any of the other women preceding her, then she didn’t have to worry about being pestered.
Instead, she’d be slaughtered.
“We need to see an increase in overall literacy,” one woman proclaimed, slamming her fist on the table.
“Al Ghuman has been waiting for an international school,” someone else cried out.
“When does enrollment begin?” The lady at her side asked in a quiet voice, touching Willow’s wrist. “I want to be first on the list.”
“Ladies, let’s hear what Willow has to say,” Calla called out.
“I’m interested in the curriculum,” someone declared.
Everyone’s thoughts and opinions bore down on Willow. She felt like a deer in headlights. Still, she had to perform. She needed to give the women what they were looking for.
“The international school,” Willow began softly, which caused a few women to demand that she speak louder. “The international school is going to be a prestigious center of learning.”
“Well, I’d hope so.” Other comments rippled across the table, and Willow’s pulse quickened.
“There will be a robust—” she paused, searching for the word that escaped her. All she could think of was hangover—“scholarship package available to needy children.” She paused, trying to sidestep the thoughts that told her this was a train wreck already. She wasn’t prepared to give a speech, or even a well-thought-out elevator pitch. Not after her engagement party. Not with this hangover. Not with her pelvis this sore after so much sex.
And right now, she outright hated Nasser for springing this on her in a state like this.
“But what will set apart your curriculum?” Vanessa asked.
Willow swallowed. “We’ll allow for individualized educational plans, which is still not the norm in Amatbah.”
“But what if my child is advanced?” a lady asked.
“Furthermore, we’ll—” she paused, wondering how deep into the rabbit hole she should go. Wondering if she could even go as deep as the topic demanded, with her mental state like it was. “We’ll be able to tailor things, absolutely. If you’re looking for a certain type of educational experience for your child, we can provide that. It won’t be an issue. You’ll just need to confer with an educational counselor prior to your child beginning classes.”
A flurry of discussion erupted then, and Willow was only able to catch some of the feedback.
“We just want what’s best for our kids,” a lady named Zamara said a few seats down from her. “Isn’t that what we hired you for?”
The we she referred to was, of course, Amatbah. And the crushing implications of her poor performance suddenly bore down on her.