Zahir adjusted the silverware of his place setting for the hundredth time. He’d chosen a fancier place than normal for this dinner—another ostensible business meeting, according to his phone calendar—and it was important that the setting was right. This dinner was more than just another excuse to see Layla’s face and hear her snort-laugh at his bad jokes and burn from her alluring looks when he rubbed her leg under the table.

He was confessing tonight, too. The guilt was eating him up.

His assumption that having fun with Layla in the background of his brewing nuptials would be fine had proven naïve. He hadn’t counted on things blossoming like they had, their friendship and intimacy a multi-layered zinnia sprawling outward toward the sun. The more time they spent together—whether fucking, fondling, or just talking on the phone late at night—the more Zahir spiraled into conflict.

He wasn’t scheduled to meet his bride for another month. But if he waited that long, as he’d originally planned, the situation would only get worse. As it was, it perplexed him at night, keeping him up longer than he wanted.

If you tell her, you know she’ll stop seeing you.

This thought plagued him, and he had an arsenal of rationalizations ready. Reasons why she could continue to see him up until his wedding day. They were desperate and foolish, and he knew it. But it was his only option; the only intersection of doing the right thing with his embarrassingly unmanageable desires.

Maybe part of his confession this evening would involve something other than the upcoming wedding. He’d considered it a few times—telling her plainly that he felt more for her than just a work fling, or whatever classification they might use. This is more than just sex. The words elbowed for room inside his head when he least expected it. And if he had any choice in the matter, he knew who he’d want to have at his side.

Zahir licked his lips, searching the restaurant for any sign of her. What did he expect her to say? The conversation couldn’t end well. Yet he couldn’t lose her. He needed every last possible second with Layla.

And you think you won’t need her once you get married?

He’d need her more than ever then—he knew it down to his bones. He huffed, adjusting his jacket. These never-ending, circling thoughts wouldn’t rest until he reached some sort of peace with the situation. But it might never come.

Layla breezed through the foyer of the restaurant, entering the main dining room like an angel strutting the catwalk. She glowed—she truly did. He smiled, as he always did when he saw her, even when he tried not to. Her face lit up when her gaze landed on him. She glided toward him in a form-fitting black and white dress, something that hugged her curves but left enough to the imagination. He stood as she approached, then pressed a hand to her lower back as she leaned in for a polite kiss on the cheek per custom.

“You look amazing,” he murmured into her ear, sideswiped by the rush of heat when he caught a whiff of her perfume. That smell could bring him to his knees.

“Business dinners are important.” She winked at him as she sat down, setting her purse in the empty chair at the table. “This one seemed especially urgent. Is the company going through another merger?”

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.