“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I can see it on your face—I’ve made a difference. Another successful intervention.” She stepped forward and patted him kindly on the arm. “If you need help coming up with a plan to get her back, I’m all ears.”
“Oh, get out,” he said.
She went to the door, still grinning. “Stay in touch, Issam.”
18
Mackenzie itched to get out of Al-Dashalid. The city seemed to close in around her, and she wanted the ocean. She wanted a boat out in the middle of the ocean, full steam ahead for the middle of nowhere. A cruise ship, even. Anything to get out of this place.
But no matter how much she wanted out, she couldn’t bring herself to book a ticket.
Sahr’s apartment was luxurious. It was a penthouse
space in the center of the city, filled with light from floor-to-ceiling windows. It had understated decorations, and Sahr used them to showcase minimalist floral arrangements. Every inch of it was polished and new, and Mackenzie loved it.
Still, it was too close to the other buildings. And she was still bound to stay here. For honor’s sake. And for the women and children in the shelter. She’d spent too much time and energy on it to give it up now.
And beyond that, she’d lost Issam.
Of course, she took some of the blame. She could have been more charming. She could have left less of a mess back in Al-Madiza. But no one could expect her to be perfect. Nobody was, least of all Mackenzie.
It didn’t make her heart ache any less.
He hadn’t followed her out of the palace. He hadn’t made one single attempt to see her. Despite this, she’d been uneasy since she came to Sahr’s apartment that night—almost as if she were being watched.
Another afternoon went by with Mackenzie perched on Sahr’s leather sofa with her laptop. She was going to solve this problem, even if her back ached as much as her heart did. And that prickling sensation never went away. She rubbed at the back of her neck, checking the latest batch of emails.
Sahr’s place had been her obvious destination from the moment she stepped out of the palace, and Mackenzie had been right. There was a silver lining to the wedding planning, and it was the direct connection to the NGO Sahr had introduced her to. They were excited to have her on board, unlike Issam had been. She was a good lawyer with great connections, and they wanted to move fast. It gave her a thrill of pride to be recognized as an asset, especially with the threat of war looming over them.
It had the effect of reminding her that Issam hadn’t seen her the same way. No. Instead, he’d seen her as a threat, and Mackenzie still smarted from the way she’d been dismissed.
The latest email from the leader of the NGO, a man named Peter Collins, was hopeful. She sat up straight on the sofa and was in the middle of reading it when Sahr came in from work. She was perhaps the busiest woman that Mackenzie had ever met, aside from her mother, and worked full days meeting with clients for all kinds of high-class events. She was in demand.
And honestly, Mackenzie could see why. She hadn’t said a word about whether or not the wedding would go on. She’d only invited Mackenzie in as if the two women were old friends.
“Mackenzie!” Sahr was always warm and welcoming. “Any progress today?”
“I promise, Sahr, I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.” Peter had written a long email about the latest developments, and with every line she read, Mackenzie grew more excited.
“Oh, stop.” Sahr came to sit next to her on the sofa. “I take it you got some good news.”
“Yes.” Mackenzie scanned the email again, then laughed. “It’s so simple. Peter’s found a law that’s on the books in both countries—a loophole—and I’ve got all the facts and research to exploit it.”
Sahr grinned. “That sounds like something out of a spy novel.”
“It’s not.” Mackenzie leaned back against the sofa, thrilled. “Both countries have a law that says that if someone has occupied a plot of land continuously for three years or more, without anyone else making a claim during that time, then the land belongs to the occupant.”
Sahr’s eyebrows rose. “It can’t be that simple.”
“It is. I have records of the women’s shelter going back ten years. And with all the problems people have faced in that time, the shelter has never been empty. Not even for a day.”
“So you’re saying that the women in the shelter would technically own the land?”
“Not exactly.” Mackenzie smiled broadly. “It’s better than that. Technically, the NGO owns the land. They’ve been administering the shelter for the last five years. It only helps our case that women and children have been living there continuously for a decade.”
Sahr laughed. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
She meant it kindly, but it still stung. Mackenzie had been too smart—too passionate—to stay with Issam, and it hurt. But this was more important than a love affair that would have burned out anyway. And after her work with the shelter was done, she could leave Al-Dashalid and escape her punishment.