by Leslie North
He grinned, leaning back in his chair as a waiter appeared to take her order. She asked for a water with lime.
“No wine?” He reached for the wine list. “I saw a red that I thought we might try.”
“No thanks,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m not really feeling it tonight.”
“All right.” He set the list down, settling into seat. “No wine then.”
She smiled mysteriously at him. “Why order fancy wine when I can get drunk on you?”
“Am I that fine?”
She hummed. “The finest.”
The waiter returned with her water, and she sipped at it while perusing the menu. Zahir watched her read, fascinated by the shine of her hair, the way her eyebrow creased, the quiet way she repeated foreign words as she came across them.
As she decided on her entrée, Zahir mulled over when to tell her. It had to be tonight, that much was certain. But before dinner? During dessert? If he told her and she reacted poorly…shouldn’t she eat first before getting upset? There was too much to consider.
Once they’d placed their orders and they found themselves in a pleasant silence, grinning at one another like fools, he realized the truth. He loved this woman.
“Are you okay?” She arched a brow, sipping at her water. “You just got flushed.”
“Yeah.” He tugged at his collar. He couldn’t lose her. “I think it’s because I’m hungry.”
“Don’t fill up here,” she said, her voice lowering. She leaned closer over the table. “I’ve got dessert between my legs.”
He leaned closer, capturing her hand in his. Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he watched as her expression went from sultry to shocked. He dropped her hand, leaning back in his seat.
“I forget there are eyes when I’m with you,” he said, tugging at his collar again. “We should start ordering in.”
Their conversation took a turn toward the lighthearted and easy. By the time dinner came, there still wasn’t a natural way to bring up his pressing news. They devoured eggplant and fresh hamour fish, and once the plates were cleared, Zahir’s heart hammered in his chest. It has to be now.
“You know, Layla…there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He sipped at his water, mouth suddenly dry.
“What is it?”
“I’m not really quite sure how to say it.” He studied the tablecloth, as though it might offer a clue. Fuck.
“I have something to share with you, too. But you go first,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip.
Curiosity streaked through him. What did she want to tell him? Could she possibly feel the same way about him? “I, uh…” His voice evaporated.
“Go on,” she said.
“I’m engaged,” he blurted, the words falling from his lips like boulders. He searched her face for a reaction, unnerved by the stoniness he saw there. Silence stretched between them for miles. The noise of the restaurant around them shrank to a dull murmur.
“What?”
“My father has arranged a marriage for me,” he said quietly, squeezing his hands together under the table.
“How long have you been engaged?” Her question came at him like a javelin.
He winced. “Over a month.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So I’ve been the other woman?”
“No. You haven’t.”
“How could I not be?” She nearly barked the question.
“I don’t even know this woman,” he said, desperate to make her understand. “I’ve never met her. That’s how these things work.”
“Does it matter how they work?”
“Yes, I think so.” He blinked rapidly, his stomach sinking slowly to the tips of his toes. Yes, this was going just as badly as he’d imagined.
“Maybe it matters to you, but really? It doesn’t matter at all.” She slammed her fist on the table, the water in her glass sloshing. “You’re engaged to a woman you’ve never met, but you’re fucking me on the regular. So are these dinner dates just some way to thank me for my time while we wait for you to say your vows?”
His breath slithered out of him in one long, low exhale. “That’s not what this is—”
“How could it be anything else?” Her voice came out pinched, like she was fighting tears. “You know, I’ve had fun with you, but not enough fun to abandon my morals.” She pushed back in her chair, her mouth a frighteningly thin line.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving,” she spat, grabbing at her purse in the extra chair. “I’m not going to participate in this any longer than necessary.”
“Layla,” he said in a firm voice. “Wait.”
“Don’t follow me, and don’t come to my apartment,” she hissed. “I mean it.”
“Let’s talk this out,” he pleaded, grabbing for her wrist. He felt curious eyes whip their way, drawn to the quietly heated exchange. They had to avoid a spectacle. At all costs.
“And reach what conclusion? That you’re still getting married to someone else?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, why even bother with me if you knew where this was headed?”
Layla spun on her heel and stormed out of the restaurant, drawing plenty of gazes along with her. Zahir clenched and unclenched his fists, watching her leave. He wouldn’t run after her—he knew what that would earn him. Drama and maybe even a fresh slap, not to mention plenty of newspaper coverage.
The waiter returned cautiously. No doubt he’d been observing this from somewhere else. He left the bill, which Zahir paid without even digesting the amount.
As he waited for his credit card to be returned, his mind swirled with protests and ideas. She needed time to cool off. She had to come around. This wouldn’t be the end. But how could she just leave like that? What could he do now? His insides felt scrambled and weak as he received his credit card from the waiter, thanking him listlessly.
Zahir stood and left the restaurant, avoiding eye contact until he was out of the building. As he waited for his car, he sucked deep breaths of the evening air, trying like hell to stave off the desperation making predatory steps around him. He couldn’t go home, that was for sure. There he’d fall into a sinkhole of self-pity, and maybe even whisky. But where?
He fished his phone out of his pocket, and his fingers maneuvered automatically to Layla’s message thread. He typed out a quick message. “I told you because I didn’t want to keep this from you. Please let me explain more.”
A response came quick. “Fuck you.” A moment later, another message arrived. “And fuck off.”
Zahir clenched his jaw, swiping away from the messages quickly. That hurt more than he wanted to admit. And in times like these…only one man could help.
He dialed Omar’s number. “Brother? I need to come over. There’s an emergency.”
“Of course,” Omar responded. “I’m home. Come now.”
On the way to his brother’s penthouse, Zahir pinched his eyes shut, letting himself drown in the frustrating blackness of this situation. Layla was the only woman he’d ever been with who made him feel both challenged yet comfortable; aroused but also clear-headed. He wouldn’t ever tire of being with her. Simply looking at her brought him more joy than he’d thought possible.
Yes, he was in love.
He slammed his fist against the door handle, sulking as the car approached Omar’s building. Like he needed this now. Of all times in his life to fall in love. Right before his own goddamned wedding. It just didn’t make sense, and it certainly wasn’t fair.
Omar would know how to handle this. He had to. He was the problem-solver, the only person able to navigate treacherous waters of any sort.
When Zahir arrived at Omar’s front door, he knocked until Omar pulled open the door, looking distressed.
“One knock is fine; I was expecting you,” he said, stepping aside to let his brother in. “Now what’s wrong?”
Zahir ran a hand through his hair, searching the foyer and
attached great room for evidence of Marian. “Where Marian?”
“On the phone in the bedroom. I think she’s talking to Layla.”
“Shit.” Zahir heaved a sigh, heading for Omar’s liquor cabinet along the far wall. He poured himself a whisky, which he took in one shot, then poured himself another.
“What’s going on?”
“Layla and I have been sleeping together.” He should have admitted it to Omar sooner, but there was no reason to. Not when he thought, foolishly, that everything would be fine in the wake of the engagement.
Omar snorted. “Well I knew that.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. I told you at the business dinner last month I could see it all over your face.”
“It started before then,” Zahir admitted. He gave the brief history of their unexpected hook-up prior to her job at Almasi-Thomas. “About a month ago, we decided to just go for it. Keep having fun and meeting up, because obviously denying it wasn’t working.”
“That is never the solution,” Omar murmured, pouring himself a whisky. Zahir realized he hadn’t offered him one and swore.
“Sorry. I should have made you one.” He tipped some of the amber liquid into his mouth, sucking at his teeth. “Anyway, in the meantime, father springs the marriage on me. My original thought was that we could continue anyway. I’ve never met the woman, and it’s not like I’m seeing someone else. So what’s the harm? Except tonight I decided I should tell her. Just to clear the air.”
Omar tutted. “Let me guess. She didn’t take it well?”
Zahir shook his head, wincing against another sip of whisky. “She left the restaurant and told me to fuck off.”
Omar stared out at the inky sky of the Minarak night, swirling his own whisky in his glass. “And?”
“And? What do you mean? This is self-explanatory.”
Omar smiled mysteriously. “Why would you care about her getting upset? It seemed like a physical arrangement. You’ve had plenty of those.”
“I hurt her. Badly.” Zahir downed the rest of his whisky, finally feeling the heat of alcohol in his veins. “And I love her.”
Omar nodded as if he’d been waiting for it all along. “There it is.”
Zahir groaned, just as Marian came down the hallway. She glanced curiously between the two of them. “Hey, Zahir. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just work trouble.” Omar smiled placidly.
“I fucked things up with Layla,” Zahir corrected, shooting a glance at Omar. “I came here for help.”
Marian raised her palms in the air. “I know nothing, I say nothing.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” Zahir narrowed his eyes at his sister-in-law, pouring another whisky. This had to be his last, or he’d go down a dark path.
“So, will you or will you not marry the girl father chose for you?” Omar’s voice was too calm for the strife in Zahir’s chest. It irked him.
“Of course I will,” he spat, his nostrils flaring. “I have to. There’s no other choice.”
“You don’t have to, you know.”
“Yes, I do.” Zahir scowled into his glass as he took another sip.
Omar didn’t look convinced. “Does it help to know he chose this bride for the company’s sake? It’s the best business move. The bride’s family has land that he wants to mine.”
Zahir grunted.
“He himself married our mother so that he could drill the fields we now own a stake in.” Omar put on an encouraging face, which only made Zahir frown.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Then think of this,” Omar went on. “Layla is a strong woman. She will recover. She can survive this. You just need to do what’s right.”
“But maybe the right thing isn’t marrying this stranger,” Marian countered, her voice edged with something unknown. “How do you know what’s best?”
“We all do what is best for the family,” Omar said, addressing Marian. “There are no exceptions to this.”
Marian’s gaze went dark. “Exactly my point.”
Zahir blinked at each of them. “What…is going on?”
Marian flipped her hair. “I’m not getting involved. I just think you and Layla need to have a conversation so she can say everything she needs to say.”
A frighteningly thick silence settled between them, one that suffocated at the same time it penetrated.
Omar shrugged, a clouded look crossing his face. “There you have it.”
Zahir took another sip of his whisky. “She won’t let me in if I go there now.”
“Then go whenever you can. Tomorrow. The next day. It just has to happen,” Marian said.
Zahir nodded, twisting the tumbler in his hand. Marian’s vague advice circled awkwardly inside him, trailing something heavy behind it. “You’re right.” He looked between his brother and sister-in-law, then gave them each a hug. “Thanks for listening. I should really get some sleep.”
But sleep wouldn’t come. Zahir wasn’t dumb enough to expect sleep tonight. All he’d be able to do would be think of Layla and wonder what her unrevealed news might be.
15
First thing Monday morning, Layla marched into Almasi headquarters with resignation papers tucked under her arm.
She’d poured over the document all weekend, as well as cried her eyes out and made peace with the fact that her brief, whimsical brush with feeling something for a man had once again led right where she’d expected: heartbreak.
There was no other way to handle this situation. Zahir was off-limits and had been the entire time. Which meant that this baby was hers and only hers, and she had no reason to go ruining Zahir’s new, perfect marriage with a surprise child with some fleeting New Yorker.
Tears welled up in her throat again. Good thing Zahir had shared his news first. One more disaster averted.
Part of her could understand his ridiculous man logic. Just fuck until I legally wed someone else. It almost made sense, if you took feelings out of the mix. But what Zahir didn’t know, what Layla wouldn’t admit under threat of death, was that his confession ruined the tiny, eager sprouting seed of hope within her that what she felt for Zahir was real and might actually go somewhere.
She knocked her head against the side of the elevator, as if it might help loosen the thought so it could roll out of her ear. Don’t you understand how hard it is for me to open up? I trusted you. I thought you were special. I thought we had a connection. I dared to hope with you.
She’d been saying these words to him in her head all weekend long. It didn’t matter how many times she repeated them. It never hurt any less.
When the elevator doors slid open, she headed straight for Almasi Senior’s office. She knocked three times, waited for his rumbly voice, then let herself in.
“Miss Layla.” He grinned up at her, eyes squinting. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, sir.” She forced a quick smile, handing him the papers. “I just wanted to drop these off. I’m sorry to deliver this news so soon.”
His bushy brows furrowed as he read. After a moment, he said, “But I don’t understand. Aren’t you well paid here?”
“Yes, sir. Very well paid.” Her heart picked up a fast rhythm. “It’s not the pay, in fact.”
“Then what is it? You’ve only been here three months.”
“I, uh, well…” Her palms went clammy as she struggled to remember the monologue she’d practiced at home in the mirror. “You know, this is very far from home and very different. I just realized that I should be closer to the people I love.” She paused, struggling to remember another convincing reason. “And the weather? It’s very hot. I find that it’s hard to—”
“It’s too hot for you?” His eyebrow arched accusingly as his gaze drifted downward. A thick moment of silence passed. Heat prickled over her neck.
Oh God. Maybe I’m actually showing. She shifted, doubts flooding her. Her mouth started moving but she couldn’t control the words. “I’ve ju
st been very unwell here, actually, feeling sick and sort of, you know, under the weather, sort of puking when I wake up and—”
Mr. Almasi’s brow arched higher. “Puking?”
“It’s sort of a, a—” Her cheeks flamed; this was a train wreck. "A problem that definitely can be resolved, I just need to be closer to home, and with the duration of the illness around nine months I don’t think that I can fulfill the year contract.”
The silence that filled the room became so loud that her head throbbed. Her heart pounded as she struggled to think back on what she’d even said.
“So you’re pregnant,” he stated matter-of-factly.
The air whooshed out of her lungs. There was no coming back from this gaffe. “Yes.”
“We have an excellent maternity package,” Mr. Almasi said, looking almost amused. “There would be no problem for you if you were to stay on.”
Her cheeks flushed, and a string of curse words thundered through her head. “Sir, I appreciate that fact, and I do understand that there is a very generous maternity package, but as you can probably guess, I’d like to be closer to home at this time.”
The doorknob turned, and the door swung open. Goosebumps flared on her calves and she let her eyes flutter shut, groaning internally. She already knew who it was.
“Father.” Zahir’s voice flooded her, made her knees weak, and she kept her back as rigid as possible. “Are you busy?”
“Well, yes, a bit, I’d say.” Mr. Almasi grumbled a bit, adjusting his position in his seat. “Layla, you’ll forgive me for sharing your news so soon, but Zahir is the CEO in training, so he should hear this as well.”
“What?” Zahir sent her a hard look.
“I—” Layla began.
“Layla is with child and wishes to resign,” Mr. Almasi said, steamrolling her with the admission. Zahir’s face tightened slowly, as if someone tugged at his cheeks from behind.
Layla’s stomach made a somersault, and she backed toward the door. “Well, that’s all for now. Thank you both for a very pleasant time at Almasi-Thomas. I’ll go get my things ready now. I’ll be leaving within the hour.”