The Sheikh’s Sham Engagement: The Safar Sheikhs Series Book Three

by North, Leslie

  “But you need to be getting married soon,” Calla said, almost taunting him. The four of them were so proud of the ancient dictate that had brought them together. Well good for them. Nasser refused to get on the Forever After train.

  “Not soon at all,” Nasser said, ripping at flatbread without eating any. “I still have four years until I’m thirty.”

  “It goes by in the blink of an eye,” Fatim said sagely.

  Nasser drew a fortifying breath, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, I have plenty of blinks left to find a more suitable wife. Which I will. Just not yet.”

  “But don’t you see?” Calla bubbled over now, her eyes practically shooting stars. “This ancient law has helped your brothers find true love. And now it will help you.”

  Nasser sighed, shaking his head. “The story sounds good. It really does. But I assure you—that is not the case here. I asked Willow to choose me two years ago after graduation, and she walked away. I can’t do it a second time.”

  Calla’s excitement dimmed only slightly as she turned to scoop mashed peas into her daughter’s mouth.

  “Darling, why don’t you and Vanessa go take the girls for an after-dinner walk?” Fatim suggested, sending a bright smile to his wife.

  Her face fell immediately. She had to know the subtext there.

  “Fine. We’ll leave. But seriously, Nasser, think about it!” Calla urged as she stood and scooped her baby into her arms. Vanessa did the same, both of them perching babies on their hips as they headed out of the dining room. “The timing is uncanny, and you need to get married!”

  Calla swept the heavy dining room doors shut behind her, leaving the three brothers in expectant silence.

  “Your wife’s opinion is very clear,” Nasser said, working his jaw back and forth.

  “Extremely.” Fatim looked like he was fighting a grin. “You know she’s right, though.”

  Nasser didn’t mask the exasperated groan in the slightest. “Oh, come on!”

  “Fine, fine.” Fatim held up his palms in surrender. “I was joking. Let’s talk practically. This international school is a great idea, but if it falls through because of her visa issue, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “You can always take a different leadership position elsewhere,” Amad added. “I can take you under my wing, groom you for international investments.”

  Nasser sent his brother a stern look. “That won’t be happening.”

  “Or maybe I’ll just create a position for you,” Fatim said. “The head of education in the tribe? You can effect great change that way. And it won’t be entirely unrelated to this project.”

  The ideas were just getting worse, and Nasser’s patience was shot. “I thank you both for the ideas…but no. Definitely no, to both of them. Head of Education has a ring to it, but it sounds far too long term for me. I don’t want to be attached to a role for years and years. I just want to make an impact and move on to the next thing.”

  Amad smirked, and his two elder brothers shared a look.

  “What was that look for?” Nasser demanded.

  Nobody said anything at first, then Amad snickered. “It’s just that…well…how can I put it?”

  “Your outlook will change once you get married, brother,” Fatim said diplomatically.

  Nasser shook his head. He was tired of all the coded Married Club talk. If he had his way, he’d never get married. And when the time came, he’d pick some flavor of the week, fulfill the ancient law, and divorce her before he was thirty and three days. Piece of cake.

  He didn’t need to be tied to anyone for the rest of his life. He’d given it one shot, and it hadn’t worked out. So why continue trying?

  “You guys got weird once you got married,” Nasser said, tossing a piece of flatbread at Amad and then at Fatim. “And I’ll have you both know that’s not going to happen to me. Don’t either of you miss the bachelor life?”

  Neither brother even blinked.

  “Wow. Okay. So you’re both hopeless.”

  “Not hopeless. Just…older,” Fatim said.

  “Clearly. The Over-Thirty Club,” Nasser teased. “And just for your information, when my time comes to fulfill this ancient law, it won’t be for love. I’ll be divorced before I’m thirty-one. Believe it. I don’t do long term, because it never works out for me. I need to stick to short-term projects in all senses. Which is why this international school needs to work out.”

  Fatim fingered the end of a knife, and the room fell silent.

  “Well,” Amad began after a few moments, “there is one very clear path to ensuring the school works out.”

  A tiny pit of dread formed in his belly, but Nasser couldn’t figure out why. “What’s that?”

  Amad sent him the most mischievous older brother grin he’d ever seen. “Marry Willow.”

  5

  Willow clutched the clipboard to her chest as she began another walk-through of the school site. She and Nasser had come for their second visit, a week and a half after their first. She hoped and feared, in equal measures, that this visit would end up like the first.

  No no no. You do not need to sleep with him again. The condom broke the first time. Bad omen. Just stop.

  Except it was so hard to just stop around Nasser. Any time he looked at her or joked with her, she fell headfirst into the past. Even when she knew how wrong it was. How dangerous. Part of her wondered if he’d spent even half as much time thinking about her this past week and a half as she’d thought about him.

  “It’s looking good out here,” Willow murmured as they stepped through the opening that would eventually be the front doors. There were proper walls now, with holes left for doors and windows. It was starting to resemble a place of learning. She glanced over at Nasser, who had paused in the foyer, looking out the hole of a future window. The afternoon sun spilled in, bathing him in white light, glinting off his tan skin so that he looked otherworldly. When he turned to her, she gasped.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Fine.” She swallowed her heart back into her body and tucked some brown hair behind her ears. “I was just thinking I hope I’m here to see the school finished.”

  Nasser frowned. She’d been waiting for him to bring up the visa issue, but she hadn’t put much stock in his fight for her legality. Probably he was hoping she’d be deported. Or that she’d just quietly disappear out of his life for a second time.

  “About that.” Nasser paused in the sunlight, burying his hands in his pockets. “I’ve looked into it, and it turns out that you raised red flags by submitting for your work visa on the same day you received your tourist visa.”

  Willow’s mouth parted. Shit. She’d thought she was being proactive by applying for the visa on the same day as her arrival. Not screwing herself over. “Are you serious? Just because I plan ahead—?”

  “Regardless of how it sounds, that’s the way it is. There’s no getting around it.” Nasser ran a finger over his bottom lip as he looked out of the window. “And believe me, I tried to pull strings.”

  This sounded like a whole lot of bad news. She deflated. “So is there no hope?”

  “There’s one last option.” Nasser straightened and then finally swung his gaze to meet hers. “We can get married.”

  The sunlight glinted off the perfectly-managed scruff of his face as his nearly-black gaze consumed her. She couldn’t tell if he was the star of her dirtiest fantasy or if he was simply a crazy person. Get married? She’d thought about that plenty with him, earlier in her life, but now it just seemed like a cruel joke.

  “Very funny,” she spat as she crossed her arms, finally deciding that this was a joke. “You gave me an ultimatum once before. I get it.”

  Nasser’s eyes narrowed. “I’m serious. This isn’t an ultimatum just to be an asshole. This is the only logical solution to your problem. The only way to keep this school on track. You need a visa, don’t you? Or else you’ll have to leave. Well, getting married to a shei
kh will grant you an unlimited visa. Problem solved.”

  Willow stewed over his words while she stared past him at the brilliant white of the sandy road beyond. There had to be another way. Some loophole that only a sheikh could find. They were royalty, for God’s sake. Couldn’t he start acting like it?

  “I don’t know why you can’t just overturn the stupid law and let me stay here,” she finally spat.

  Nasser laughed. “I’m not the king, you know. I’m a lowly prince. Besides, my brother isn’t in the business of overturning laws just to suit himself. He’s as beholden as anyone to the laws of our country. Believe me, the whole family has suffered for it.”

  “And you couldn’t sweet talk your way past whatever government official?” she asked.

  “I was as convincing as ever,” Nasser replied.

  “Maybe you’re not as charming as you think, then,” Willow snapped.

  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.

  Rose’s reaction was not what Willow expected, either. “You should marry him!”

  Willow narrowed her eyes. “Rose. That is a bad idea.”

  “No it’s not!” Rose was borderline shrieking now. “You were happy back then! You two would have gotten married anyway. Why not do it now? The only reason you didn’t then was because my stupid cancer got in the way!”

  Willow nibbled on her lip as she glanced around, wondering who might be overhearing this not-so-private video call. The royal tents were just ahead, so she’d have to do some major lingering before going in to meet Calla.

  “You were never the reason we didn’t work out,” Willow said in a low but strong voice. “Do you hear me? Nasser and I had…other issues.”

  The whole thing had been a vortex, but Rose’s emergency healthcare needs had been the eye of the storm.

  “Well, it’s time you two made it real,” Rose said, crossing her arms as if her statement somehow sealed the deal. She’d just turned twenty-one—a milestone that Willow had unfortunately missed—but they spoke every day. They were as inseparable as they could be while living on opposite ends of the world. And Willow thanked God every day that her baby sister had lived to even see this milestone.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you make it real?”

  A new voice caused Willow to jerk around. A slim, pretty brunette smiled over at her, hair pulled up in a tight chignon. The American accent tipped her off. This had to be Calla.

  “Um, hi,” Willow stammered.

  “I’m Calla.” She breezed forward, offering a h
and. Willow shook it while Rose gasped on the screen. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your call. I just couldn’t help but overhear.”

  “Yes, my sister is quite loud,” Willow affirmed.

  “I’m not loud, I’m passionate,” Rose said.

  Calla chuckled, and Willow focused the camera on her own face again. “I’ll call you later, okay, sis? I have a meeting with the queen now.” She hung up and pocketed the phone, sending Calla a bright grin.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Willow said as Calla led her to the entrance of the royal tents. “I think you arrived at the palace not too long after I left the country.”

  “That’s right,” Calla said as they swept into the activity and clamor of the tents. “We just missed each other.”

  “I never thought I’d be back here,” Willow said wistfully, looking around as they headed down the dirt path. Curious eyes glanced their way. The tents were fuller since the last time she’d been here. “Looks like things have changed.”

  “Oh, they have,” Calla said, gesturing toward an alcove. Patterned tapestries hung along the back wall, and pillows had been tossed haphazardly over a big, square cushion on the ground. It was quieter in here, even though they could see the main passageway through the open flap. “The design business of the tribe has really taken off. We’re exporting clothing to Europe now. Amad’s wife Vanessa is our liaison for the Switzerland account, and Amad had been handling a few customers in America and Canada. I never imagined we might have a third American to grace this family, but now that you’re here…” Calla let her words dangle in the air suggestively as she reached for a teapot sitting on a tray nearby.

  Willow didn’t know how to respond to that. It sounded like Calla was ready to have Willow join the family business, but that seemed like a far cry from sane. “I don’t know how much you know about our current situation—”

  “Everything,” Calla said. “And I’m very hopeful that my child will attend your school and be looked after by her aunt personally.”