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

How could Nasser just abandon her like this?

A breakup was bad enough. A breakup with these pregnancy hormones was a whole new level of cruel.

“Come on. Let’s get out and look at it,” Calla encouraged, pushing open her door. Willow followed suit, drawing a restorative breath. She could do this. She’d wanted to do this. Calla had originally urged her to stay in the palace—with her own bedroom on the opposite end of the residence—but being so close to Nasser seemed like torture. Plus, what if she saw him stumble home one night with a girl? The type of girl who wasn’t her and never would be?

She couldn’t handle it, not even the thought of it. So the distant apartment won.

Willow walked on wooden legs, cupping the bottom of her barely-there bump.

“You feeling okay?” Calla asked quietly as they walked up to the middle apartment, where the listing had instructed.

“Yeah. Just…sad, I guess.”

Calla wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’ll get easier. I promise.”

“We never even talked about what we would do,” Willow went on. “I mean, we’re engaged right now. But do we get married? Do we carry this out? I can hardly imagine there are emergency Knocked-Up-By-The-Sheikh visas, so what can I use to stay here if I don’t marry him?”

“We’ll figure that out,” Calla reassured her, guiding her toward the front door. “Let’s just check out this apartment and see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be.” She jerked her chin toward the thicket of roses by the front door. “Though it’s off to a good start.”

Calla knocked, and the landlady opened the door a moment later. She guided them in, speaking in excited Amatbahn about meeting the queen, and the first few minutes of the visit was spent in the doorway, politely smiling as the landlady rambled on about some encounter her daughter-in-law had had with King Fatim seven years prior.

Willow was ready to wilt. It was part pregnancy, part sadness. The landlady must have noticed, because she shut up and led them into the living room. Willow looked around, noticing that the place looked technically perfect—already furnished, a basic TV, comfy-looking couches, minimal art on the walls.

But as Willow-ready as it was, the very idea of an apartment still meant leaving behind the hope that she and Nasser could make it work.

“If you prefer to bring your own furniture,” the landlady said, still casting overly friendly smiles toward Calla, “we can move this out of here. No problem at all. Just let us know what you prefer. We aim to please.”

Willow snickered under her breath. Footsteps sounded in the entryway a moment later, and the landlord gasped.

“Sheikh Nasser!”

Willow whipped around. Nasser stood in the doorway, looking a little out of breath. His dark eyes were focused on Willow, and the attention made her wilt. She gripped Calla’s arm for support.

“Nasser?” Calla asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, stepping slowly into the house. To the landlady, he said, “Is it okay if I come in? My fiancée wanted to view this apartment on her own, but I’d really love to accompany her.”

Willow’s throat tightened not just at his words, but at the sight of him. Sturdy and lean, his tightly cropped black hair, that day-old scruff that could turn her legs into Jell-O. Calla squeezed her hand, sending her a secret message of support.

“How did you know about this?” Willow demanded.

Nasser sent her one of his heart-stopping grins. “The calendar, duh.”

She sighed, turning away from him. “I don’t need you to make fun of it. Calla, did you tell him about this?”

“No,” she blurted. “I swear to you.”

“She didn’t,” Nasser affirmed. “And I’m not teasing you. I actually opened the calendar and looked at every single thing you wrote down.”

“Well, good. I guess. What do you want?” Willow asked, unable to look at him; instead she stared at the corner of the brown leather couch. She’d hang onto that corner for dear life. It might be the only thing anchoring her against the tears.

“We can move into the kitchen…” the landlady started.

“Great idea,” Calla chirped, moving ahead. Over her shoulder, she hissed, “You two stay here and talk.”

Willow crossed her arms, as if it might help against his charms. Oh lord, did she need help. Nasser came closer, the unmistakable scent of him reaching her, nearly driving her to her knees. He touched her elbow, so she jerked away. She wouldn’t make this easy for him, no matter how much she wanted to dissolve into his arms.

“I deserve this,” he said softly.