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

As she waited for the ride share at the front of the palace, Willow finally broke down. The tears flowed out of her, her chest hitching with sobs.

She’d never been so betrayed in her life.

So abandoned.

It was like the past all over again, except worse now. Because it wasn’t just her he’d rejected.

It was his baby, too.

16

Nasser skulked around the palace for a few days, in a terrible mood. He knew how much of an ass he was being—to his brothers, to the palace employees, to anyone who dared to breathe near him—but he could barely help it.

His heart was breaking again, and this time the pain roared.

It wasn’t until Fatim called him out before a meeting in the tents that something clicked inside him.

“God, you’re acting weird, brother,” Fatim said, concern creasing his face. Nasser took the chair farthest from his bossy sibling. “I haven’t seen you act like this since right after you broke up with Willow.”

“She left me,” Nasser corrected him. He raked a hand through his hair. “I never broke up with her.”

Fatim didn’t respond to that, just crossed his arms and swiveled back and forth in his chair. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nasser spat. “Can we please just focus on the donor report?”

Fatim narrowed his eyes. “Now something is really wrong. You never care this much about getting through the donor reports. What’s up?”

“It’s seriously nothing,” he said again, one question away from exploding.

Amad showed up a moment later, squeezing the tops of Nasser’s shoulders from behind his chair. Nasser said nothing. Amad peered down at him.

“How are you today?”

“I said I’m fucking fine!” Nasser bellowed.

“Daaamn,” Amad said, sliding into a chair at the round wooden table. “All right. Point taken. Don’t ask Nasser how he’s doing. Literally the most harmless question in the world.”

“Let’s get to the reports,” Fatim said, bringing out the folder.

“Is it woman trouble?” Amad asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Amad—” Fatim began.

“No. There’s no trouble at all, and if either of you ask again, I’ll punch you.”

Amad grimaced. Both brothers exchanged looks. Nasser wanted to punch them now anyway. Just to prove a point.

“Great,” Fatim said, shuffling his papers. “So the donor report.” The brothers began their weekly review of the status of all the different projects the tribal nation had its hands in. When the topic of the school came up, Fatim had seemingly a whole list of questions.

“Is the school slated to open on time?” he asked.

“Uh…yeah. I think so,” Nasser said.

“Why aren’t you sure?” he asked, in that tone he always used for formal obligations.

“Because I’m not overseeing the school setup. Willow is.”

“But you’ve been working with her—”