Kamal was sexting. Well, flirting outrageously, and over text, no less. It was undignified, out of character, and absolutely delightful, just like the woman he was doing it with.

Lady Liberty: I’ve put you on the list for the White House press dinner tomorrow night. I told Vanessa it was because we wanted to give the media a good impression of you so that they’ll cover the accord positively.

King Tut—yes, that was what she’d named him in her contacts list, and she thought it was terribly entertaining: I’ll cover your accord positively.

Lady Liberty: Sir, I believe you’re trying to talk dirty to me.

King Tut: Oh, the things I’ll whisper in your ear tomorrow night, madam. Starting with the way I’m going to suck your perkier parts and ending with the way I’m going to lick your wetter parts.

Lady Liberty: I know that there’s a blushing emoji, but I don’t know how to find it. My nieces always show those things to me.

King Tut: I adore making you blush, m’lady.

Lady Liberty: Well, you can do as much of it as you want after the dinner tomorrow.

Kamal smiled as he looked down at the phone.

“What’s got you so cheery?” Teague asked, walking into the office as if he owned the place.

Kamal set the phone facedown on his desk and schooled his expression. “Whatever it was has been extinguished in the face of you walking into my office without so much as a word of warning from my secretary. You brought her candy again, didn’t you?”

“Possibly,” Teague answered, sitting down in one of the leather armchairs facing Kamal’s desk.

“It doesn’t say much for my authority over my staff.” Kamal huffed in feigned indignation.

“No, but it says heaps about my sway with the ladies.” Teague winked and chuckled.

Kamal leaned back in his chair and toyed with a fountain pen. “So, what brings you by?”

“I have everything ready. All I need is your go-ahead to push the button.”

“Explain how it will all work?”

Teague leaned forward, drawing with his finger on the top of Kamal’s cherrywood desk as he explained. “I’ve set up offshore accounts, one for investments, one for savings, and one for immediate spending. Because of your diplomatic immunity, I don’t need to worry about specific citizenship requirements, and I was able to open the accounts per the requirements of the host country. The Swiss taxes aren’t going to be fun, but your money will be free of Egypt.”

“And what happens now?”

“Now we implement a three-phase plan. The first step is to have everything in your trust fund transferred because that money is yours, free and clear. The next step is to move everything in the joint accounts you have with your father. Because you’re not a minor, we don’t need his agreement to empty those accounts, but he will get a notification that it’s happened. My hope is that he won’t notice for a few days—not because of those accounts, they’ll already be emptied by the time he hears, but because of phase three, which involves the investments.

“Since you told me you’ve been the custodian of those investment accounts for the last several years, legally, if you take the interest and income that those have earned during your tenure as custodian, you’ve only taken what you yourself earned. If there are any investigations into your father’s financial dealings, the principle in those accounts could be scrutinized, but the interest that you caused to be earned as the money manager is at least cleaner if not clean.”

Kamal nodded, realizing for the first time since he’d begun the discussions with Teague that he was going to do this—separate from his father in an irrevocable way.

“The old man’s going to be livid,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“I think you’re doing the right thing—the sensible thing—if that’s any consolation,” Teague added.

“So, why are we worried he might find out about the investment accounts too early?”

“Because it takes three days for those monies to transfer. Investment companies aren’t in the business of making quick transfers the way banks are. So, even if we do it the same day as the banking transfers, it will take longer, and if the banking moves tip him off, he might stop the investments before they’re finalized.”

“But we can’t do the investments first because…?”

“If he finds out about them before we’ve hit the bank, he could stop the investment transfer and freeze all your ready cash.”

Kamal nodded. Realizing that for the first time in his entire life, he was going to have to consider how he paid for things—whether he could afford to do certain things. The money that Teague was going to rearrange for him was substantial—enough to last him a lifetime, but it was only one small portion of what his father had and what had always been at Kamal’s fingertips. His father had never put limitations on Kamal’s spending, only on his behavior, his occupations, his friendships, and his future.

“So the bottom line is we have to do all this in a specified order and as quickly as possible?”

“In a word, yes.”

“Okay,” Kamal said, taking a deep breath. “Do it.”

Teague nodded, pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialed a number. “It’s me,” he said. “Please commence making the transfers.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Thanks,” and disconnected, replacing the phone in his breast pocket.

“The trust fund has just been switched. My guy will have the bank accounts completed before end of business today, and we’ll hit the investments at six a.m. eastern time tomorrow when the servers open for business.”

“Thank you,” Kamal said, feeling somewhat numb inside.

Teague watched him for a moment. “What will he do—your father? You’ve never talked much about that part.”

Kamal leaned back in his chair, his face to the ceiling as he closed his eyes for just a second before turning his gaze to his friend. “He’ll disown me,” he said calmly. “Remove me from the will and refuse to allow anyone else in the family to see me or speak to me.”

“Jesus,” Teague breathed out. “Your sisters? Your brother, Amir?”

“They’ll still talk to me, but they’ll have to hide it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I, but if I’m honest, it’s been a long time coming. And maybe he’ll get over it, although I doubt it.”

Teague stood, walking to the bar in the corner and pouring himself a club soda. He also put a splash of scotch in a tumbler and walked back, handing it to Kamal without asking.

“If your mother were still alive, is that how it would play out?”

Kamal took a healthy slug of his drink. “My father is an Egyptian man. He’s the head of the family, but no, it wouldn’t have been the same. My mother would have made sure she and my sisters visited me twice a year and talked to me once a month as they always had, and my father would have turned a blind eye to it so that he didn’t have to try to force my mother to comply.”

Teague shook his head. “I remember when your mother and sisters would come for those visits. I’ve never seen the Oriental Mandarin in such a flurry as when the Masri women came for their biannual shopping trips.” He chuckled at the memory, and Kamal felt his heart squeeze.

“Will Amir become the heir now? Get the pressure that you’ve lived with all these years?”

Kamal thought to his younger brother, now the chief comptroller for their father’s company. “He’ll become the first son, but I don’t think it will mean the same things. He’s been trained to take over the business. My father was blessed to have two sons, and because of that, he could look to things beyond the business, like politics. But with only one son, he’ll have to settle for keeping the business in family hands. I was his key to world domination.”

Teague laughed, and Kamal had to admit that there was a certain sense of freedom that expanded inside him when he realized that he didn’t have to continue with his current career path if he didn’t want to. He didn’t have to be thinking of how he’d become president of Egypt in the next ten years, or which daughter of the Egyptian elite his father would want him to marry. And he remembered this same feeling when he’d made love to Jessica—the lightening of his soul, the sound of shackles falling from his limbs. And for the first time in a very long time, Kamal Masri thought about a future that was wide open.

* * *

“Something is going on with you,” Fiona said as she scraped a spoon around the inside of her yogurt container while stretched out on one of the sofas in the Oval Office.

“You do realize that you’re eating that on an antique silk settee that was purchased during the Roosevelt administration, right?” Jessica asked from her desk where she was signing several new bills that had been forwarded from the Senate.

Fiona licked her spoon slowly, winking at Jessica. “Given who’s occupied this office before you, I imagine my yogurt is the least of the sins that have been committed on this sofa.”

Jessica’s mind went to an image of her and Kamal on that very sofa, her skirt rucked around her hips, legs splayed on either side of his narrow hips as he thrust up into her, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his hot skin under her palms. Yes, if she were a more adventurous woman, that sofa might see some real sinning.

“Jess?” Fiona was looking at her with a strange expression. “You’re all flushed now. So, I’ll repeat, what’s going on with you?”

Jessica shook her head to clear the lust that seemed to be a constant occupant for the last few weeks since she and Kamal started their affair.

“The usual, of course. Too many papers to sign, too many meetings to attend, too many demands on my every moment.”

Fiona shook her head. “Nope. That’s not it. I know stressed-out Jessica. This”—she waved her spoon around in the air at Jessica—“isn’t stressed-out Jessica. This is almost like…” She stopped, eyes narrowed, watching Jessica like she were prey. “This is like you were when you first started seeing John.”

Jessica stopped breathing, frozen, her hand holding a pen a few millimeters over a document, her face a mask of shock.

“Oh. My. God!” Fiona cried out.

“Shh!” Jessica admonished. “You’ll have the Secret Service in here with their guns drawn.”

“You did it!” Fiona whisper-yelled, leaping up from the sofa and scurrying to sit in one of the armchairs facing Jessica’s desk. “You slept with the ambassador! When? How? What was he like? Tell me everything.”

Jessica fought the urge to pound her head on the desk, opting instead to set her pen aside, push the papers away, and stare down her best friend since college. And in those twenty years of friendship, Jessica had never won a stare down with Fiona, so it was stupid to even try.

“You’ll never outlast me,” Fiona warned, raising an eyebrow at the president.

“Fine,” Jessica huffed. “Okay, so it’s possible…” She glanced toward the door to the outer offices, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I might be sleeping with the ambassador.”

Fiona covered her mouth with her hand and squealed. “You did it? How could you keep it from me? How long has it been going on?”

Jessica sighed. They’d agreed not to tell anyone, but this was Fiona. Fiona would give up her Senate seat before she’d ever betray Jessica. Fiona had held her hand and stayed by her side for months after John died, and she’d never given up on Jessica, never once let her be alone, never once lost patience with the grief that had consumed every moment Jessica wasn’t working. If there was anyone in the entire world who deserved to be told about Jessica’s affair with Kamal, it was Fiona.

“About three weeks ago. And I’m sorry, but we both swore not to tell a soul. We only get to see each other once or twice a week. And he’s, um…”

A wicked smile spread across Fiona’s face. “I can tell just by looking at you. He makes you happy.”

Jessica’s cheeks heated. “He does.” She sighed. “He’s kind of wonderful, Fi. He’s so considerate and caring, but other times, he’s…um, well, you know…”

Fiona laughed. “Actually I don’t, do tell.” She leaned forward, one elbow on the desk, her chin in her hand, eyes wide with anticipation.

“He’s delightfully bossy,” Jessica whispered. “Fi, I swear I never knew it could be like that. I mean, John was wonderful, but Kamal… He’s a lot of man. A lot.”

Fiona fanned herself with her hand and giggled. “Why, Madam President, you’ve found yourself a real tiger, have you?” Then she became serious almost as quickly as she had silly. “I’m happy for you, Jess. You’ve earned it. Whatever attention, pleasure, fun, he can give you, you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you,” Jessica answered softly. “It’s not always easy to feel like it’s all right for me to do this, but I’m trying, and I’m so happy when I’m with him.”

“And you’re being cautious? How are you slipping him in? Dear God, that sounded all wrong.”

Jessica laughed quietly. “Only Peter knows about it. He started on our detail with John when John was in the Senate. He’s been so loyal to John and me all these years, I trust him.”

“Good.” Fiona glanced at Jessica’s cell phone on the desk. “Oh crap, the Armed Services Committee starts in ten minutes. I have to go.”

She stood, and Jessica did as well, her heart full of love for this woman who was so steadfast. She walked around the desk and put her arms around her friend. “Thank you.”

“Heavens, for what?” Fiona asked, patting Jessica on the back.

“For always being there for me. For supporting me no matter what I decide to do or how I do it.”

Fiona grasped Jessica’s hand in hers. “Twenty years ago, they assigned me to a dorm room at Stanford, and I met the woman who would be the sister I’ve never had. You’re stuck with me until one of us drops dead.”

Jessica nodded rapidly, knowing that a president crying, especially at midday, wasn’t on the agenda.

“Now,” Fiona said, tossing her yogurt container in a trash can next to the desk. “I expect to see the ambassador at the reception next weekend. I have some questions for him.”

“About what?” Jessica asked as she walked Fi to the door.

“About this bossiness you’ve mentioned. I might be able to learn something from him that I can use on Denny when we go to Aspen over Christmas.”

Jessica rolled her eyes and laughed as her friend left the office. Days were always brighter when Fiona visited. In fact, the world was brighter lately, which had Jessica wishing she could take the afternoon off and do something just for her—shopping or watching a movie. Of course she couldn’t, but she consoled herself with the fact that in only fifteen months, she could do things like that as often as she wanted, anywhere she wanted, and with whomever she wanted. She wondered if Kamal would be someone who might be willing to join her doing some of those things when she was no longer living in the White House? She was starting to think that she wanted him to be.