Imaad eased into the chair next to her, his heart racing. He had so many questions after those five minutes inside the hospital room.

“The surgery should last about six hours,” Annabelle said, yawning and avoiding his gaze. He smoothed his hand over her back, trying to preemptively calm her. The surgery hadn’t even begun yet, but she’d need all the calm she could get.

“Why did you tell your mom we’re engaged?” The question popped out of his lips without even thinking about it. Annabelle turned to him guiltily.

“I just…wanted her to be happy. If something happens during surgery…if she doesn’t make it, or…” Annabelle paused, swallowing. “She always told me growing up that a good man who loves me and respects me was the most important part of a partnership. If I was going to bother with anyone, he had to be good, she always said. I feel like she regretted getting involved with my dad, to be honest.”

“So you wanted her to think that you’d found that?” He fought to make the words come out even. He rubbed his fingers over her neck, admiring the way this made her eyes flutter shut.

“Yes.” She paused, enjoying the neck massage. “And it’s true. You’re a good man. Having me detained was the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.” She turned to him, grinning.

Imaad laughed. “They’ve always called me a romantic.”

“And, I dunno, if she doesn’t make it…I want her to know that I’m happy. That I’m going to be okay.”

Imaad smoothed his fingers over her shoulders, wishing he could replace his fingers with his lips. “You’re an amazing daughter, Annabelle.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “And I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m here for you. I swear it.”

Annabelle looked up at him and burst into tears. Imaad hugged her until her crying subsided, the front of his shirt drenched. And then a while later, he realized she’d fallen asleep. He moved carefully, trying not to rouse her, and adjusted their positions so she was leaning against him more naturally. He settled into place as best he could and tried to shut his eyes.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Not even after their mostly-awake flight from Parsabad. Too many thoughts roiled around in his skull—too many hopes and excitements keeping him alert.

Imaad kept vigil in the waiting room for hours while Annabelle snored in his arms. After about five hours—his ass long gone totally numb—a disheveled-looking business man wandered in, a pot belly hanging over the edge of his belt. His worried, icy blue eyes looked suspiciously familiar.

“Annabelle?” The stranger asked it quietly, as though afraid he might be dreaming. Annabelle stirred in Imaad’s arms and blinked against the light.

She groaned immediately. “What are you doing here?”

Imaad knew—this had to be her father. The resemblance was too strong for it to be anyone else. Her father approached slowly, his weary face earnest and drooping.

“I came to check on your mother,” he said. “I want to make sure she makes it through okay.”

“These surgeries happen every day, every hour,” she snapped back at him, her voice caustic. “Don’t you remember? She’ll be fine. You shouldn’t have bothered.” She crossed her arms, turning away from him.

Her father deflated, sinking into a nearby chair. “I was wrong.”

Annabelle’s gaze flicked over to him. He could tell that her father didn’t normally say those words. “What?”

“Annabelle, I’m sorry.” Her father rubbed at his forehead. “I was wrong about that, and about the deal. Everything. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you called. I just want to be here for your mom and for you.”

Annabelle’s lip trembled as she watched her father. Imaad tightened his grip on her, hoping it might help steady her.

“Well, be here then,” Annabelle finally said, her voice shaky. A few moments of silence passed before Imaad thought to introduce himself.

“Sir.” He leaned forward, offering a hand. “I’m Imaad Almasi.”

Her father shook his hand slowly, his eyes wide. “Sheikh Almasi’s boy?”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes. I thought it best to accompany your daughter back to the States.”

“My God.” Her father shook his head, looking between the two of them.

“While I appreciate your attempt to make the merger more appealing to my father by offering your daughter’s hand in marriage, I just want you to know she’s not yours to give away.” Imaad glanced down at Annabelle, who watched him with watery eyes. “I am, however, grateful that you tried. Because otherwise I wouldn’t have met your stunning daughter nor had this incredible opportunity.”

Annabelle’s brow creased, and she opened her mouth to respond at the same time someone stepped into the waiting room. The doctor stood, still scrubbed out, his face mask pulled aside.

Annabelle bolted upright, her hands over her mouth.

“Annabelle Thomas?” The doctor smiled when Annabelle nodded. “I came to let you know your mother’s surgery is complete. She’s in recovery now. From the look of the growth, it was likely benign. The pathologist should have the official report within a couple days.” The surgeon offered a small smile before taking his leave.

Annabelle gasped, throwing her arms around Imaad. “Oh my God! This is the most amazing news!”

Imaad hugged her hard, pressing as much of her against him as he could, able to feel every ounce of her joy seeping into him. When they parted, Annabelle was crying. Her father was at her side, a hand on her shoulder.

“Birdy, let me go sit with her for a while.” The old man looked tender somehow. “I’ll let you two know when she’s awake.”

Annabelle nodded, and then slumped back into her seat. She watched him leave, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I think he’s still in love with her,” she said finally, her eyes still on the doorway he’d passed through. “After all these years.”

Imaad nodded, following her gaze; maybe he could see the same thing she did. “Not all love fits inside the convenient boxes we make for it. It seeps out, one way or another, in ways we least expect it.”

Annabelle sighed heavily, resting her head against his arm like raising a white flag of surrender. “God, you’re right. Why do you always have to be right?”

* * *

Four full days in New York City passed before Annabelle and Imaad prepared for their return flight to Parsabad. Between visiting her mom at all hours of the day, showing Imaad her apartment, visiting her favorite coffee shops with Marian, and teaching Imaad how to hail a cab in NoHo, she wasn’t sure if this was still an emergency health visit or some sort of Disneyland version of happily ever after.

She and Imaad acted like a couple, talked like a couple—and fucked like a couple. They actually made love, which she hadn’t dared say out loud yet, but still, the words were always there, staining the back of her mind. You love Imaad.

Marian wouldn’t shut up about him either. The constant stream of texts calling her out on their not-so-subtle lovey-dovey nature wasn’t helping her keep a level head. She’d already offered to be her maid of honor, which was certainly not helpful.

But the bliss cloud persisted, followed the two of them around like a stalker. Couldn’t shake it if she tried. And once they touched down in Parsabad, feeling as refreshed as if enjoying the aftermath of a spa getaway in Bali, Annabelle had the sense that things were somehow going to get even better.

Her father had smoothed things over with Imaad’s father. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but she wouldn’t question it. Maybe he’d offered Marian’s hand in marriage now, Annabelle joked to Imaad. Probably one of his brothers was next. One merger marriage could very well lead to another, Imaad agreed.

In the moody office of Imaad’s father, the two of them strode toward his desk purposefully. Annabelle was ready to resume the merger, her mother was recovering, her father was a slightly reformed asshole, and with Imaad at her side, she felt like they could tackle this deal and a million more.

“You’re back.” His father looked pleased, despite his dry tone. “I’m happy everything went well.”

“So are we,” Imaad said, looking over at her. He paused, watching his father for a moment with hard eyes. “Perhaps now you’ll see I’m capable of making some decisions for myself.”

His father sighed, setting his pen down. “Son—”

“I want to make this clear,” Imaad said. “I have tirelessly supported you and your business and every little thing you ask of me. But I’ve realized recently that I need to stand up for what I believe in. And Annabelle helped me see this.” He glanced over at her, squeezing her hand again. “I need to do things as I see fit. I’m twenty-six years old. I can make choices for myself. My way isn’t the wrong way…and your way isn’t the only right way.”

His father clenched his jaw, studying the desk top. An interminable silence settled between them.

“So, what is this about? You want to call off the merger?”

“Absolutely not. We need the merger.”

“The marriage, then.” His father jerked his head toward Annabelle. “You want me to call that off?”

“Yes.” Imaad’s conviction shuddered through her, and disappointment followed in its wake. But we’re so good together. They hadn’t mentioned the arranged marriage once during her mother’s recovery. Instead, they’d spent time together as a burgeoning couple should—exploring one another, falling deep into each other’s crevices and hidden spots, delighting in the joys and wonders uncovered.

His father sighed extra long, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Okay. We’ll dissolve the marriage clause.”

“But we must do it now,” Imaad said. Annabelle lifted a brow. The verbal agreement seemed enough. “It’ll be easy enough to take out of the contract.”

Imaad’s father nodded slowly, turning to his computer. “As you wish.”

His father muttered to himself as he clicked around, navigating to the contract. Annabelle tried to bite back her smile as she watched Imaad; the way he stood up to his father made her fall for him even further, if that were possible. After a few more minutes and a lot of backspacing, the printer churned out a document. Imaad’s father slid it over the desktop, looking over the rim of his glasses at his son.

“For your review.”

Imaad passed it to Annabelle first. She received it hesitantly, flipping to the third page where the marriage clause had been. All instances of the arranged marriage had been removed. It only contained agreements about the corporate merger.

“This looks great,” Annabelle said. Imaad found a pen for her to sign. She scribbled her name on the last page, followed by Imaad’s father. A heavy silence settled in the room, Imaad’s dark eyes glittering with a secret.

“Now that that’s settled…what do you think?” Imaad’s hand went to his pocket. “Do you want to get married?”

She gasped as he revealed a ring box. Inside sat a glittering beast of a diamond, one that very well might require two fingers to prop up. Too stunned to respond, all she could do was stare and sputter.

His father grinned behind him, shaking his head.

“Annabelle.” Imaad looked up at her, his boyish smile undoing her. Tears came to her eyes, and she nodded as hard as she could, already knowing the ring would look perfect on her, and go with every outfit she owned.

“Yes, I will.”

“But I haven’t even asked you yet.” Imaad laughed, his voice hoarse. “I haven’t even gotten to the part about how this is your choice.”

“I’m saying yes to whatever you want. Because I want you.” She threw her arms around his neck and collapsed into his arms, nearly knocking him over. Her body shook with his laughter, and he held her so tightly that they nearly became one.

“I want you to be my wife,” he whispered into her ear. “Exactly the way we are. Exactly the way we want it. Exactly because we choose it.”

“Yeah. I totally say yes to that.” She laughed, wiping at her eyes, and then pressed her lips to his so hard that she saw the salt desert stars.