Down in the restaurant, Heather was easy to spot, not least because the moment she saw Clem, she jumped out of her seat and rushed over.

  “Hi,” Heather said into her ear. “How are you? Do you feel any different?”

  “Hungover,” said Clem. “I’m really hungover. And—” Wait. She stepped back from Heather and moved her to the side so she had a clear view of the table. Not only was Howard standing there, but he was standing with Samir.

  Howard was beaming.

  “Come on,” said Heather, hooking her arm through Clem’s and pulling her along.

  “What—what do you mean by—” Clementine never got the chance to finish, because they arrived at the table.

  Howard greeted them with open arms. He shook his head, smiling at Clem, then put an arm around Heather’s shoulders. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, glancing at Samir. “Though I wish you’d thought to invite your father to your own wedding.”

  Heather laughed. “I promise you, when I get married, you’ll be there to walk me down the aisle.” She patted her father’s arm affectionately and rolled her eyes at Clem.

  Howard blinked. “What was that?”

  The smile on Heather’s face wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t get married without you there. Clem got married last night, not me.”

  “Pardon me,” interjected Samir. “I…didn’t marry your daughter?”

  Howard was no longer smiling. He’d pressed his lips into a hard line. “What do you mean, you didn’t marry my daughter?”

  Heather raised her eyebrows. “Daddy, why would I have married Sheikh Samir? I was the maid of honor.”

  “You were what?” Howard stared down at his daughter.

  “You were?” echoed Clementine.

  “Of course I was.” Heather looked taken aback. “And I have pictures.” Without missing a beat, she picked up her phone from the table and swiped across the screen. “See?” She turned the phone toward Clementine.

  There she was, in her black dress, gazing up at Samir with eyes full of drunk love. There they were, beaming at the camera. There they were, holding hands in front of an officiant in a suit, an arch bursting with white flowers over their heads. There was Samir slipping the ring onto her finger. There was even a photo of all of them signing the certificate.

  “How—why—” Clementine looked up from the phone and into Heather’s eyes. “Why do you have these?”

  “You called me, woke me up, and said you were getting married and you needed your bestie to be the maid of honor.”

  Clem looked back down at the phone. There was no doubt about it—both she and Samir had been drunk. Very drunk.

  “We still have the documentation,” Samir said, pulling it out of the breast pocket of his blazer. “I’m assuming you can confirm that this is real.”

  “Of course it’s real,” Heather said, incredulous. “I wouldn’t sign a fake marriage certificate.” Howard took his arm from Heather’s shoulders.

  This was, by far, the most awkward brunch Clementine had ever been to in her life, and she hadn’t even had a chance to sit down at the table. She squared her shoulders, tore her eyes away from the photo of herself and Samir laughing as they said their vows, and faced Samir across the table.

  “We have to get an annulment.”

  A smile flashed across Samir’s face. “I’m no expert in U.S. law, but I’m not sure an annulment is technically…possible, at this point.”

  “I don’t think you can get a marriage annulled if you only regret it,” Heather said, but she didn’t seem very perturbed. “I read that somewhere.”

  “A divorce, then.” She had to press on. “We might set a world record for the shortest marriage, but—” The grimace on Samir’s face brought her up short. “What?”

  “A divorce won’t be possible, either.”

  Clem took a deep breath. “What do you mean, it won’t be possible?”

  “Yeah,” Heather chimed in. “You two got married at the chapel in this hotel. They must also have some kind of service for people who…wake up the next morning having changed their minds. I’m sure it’s not that hard to get out of a Vegas marriage. I’m totally positive. I wouldn’t have let my best friend get married in a quickie ceremony if I thought she’d be committed for life.” Howard was frowning. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Dad. They were both so into the idea, and I was half-asleep.” She met Clementine’s eyes. “I promise, Clem, I’d have dragged you back to our room if I thought it would be a big deal.”

  “I’m bound by the laws of Omirabad,” Samir said evenly. “Not just the laws of the United States. Under those laws, I’m required to wait three months before a divorce can be granted.”

  “Even though you—we—were married in the United States?” Clem’s headache had subsided in the shower, but now it beat at her temples again.

  “From what I understand, yes. And—”

  “And we still haven’t sealed our deal,” said Howard. They all turned to look at him. Was he really going to worry about his business deal now? “Let’s leave the girls to do what they do best. Let them talk about all this wedding business and visit the shops, and we’ll talk business. Divorce or not, I’m not letting you get back on a plane to Omirabad without a signed deal.” Howard’s light tone did nothing to disguise his offensive words.

  Heather looked off into the distance, used to ignoring her father while he made an ass of himself. Samir put his hands into his pockets and straightened his back.

  “There are more ethical companies for Omirabad to do business with,” Clem said into the silence. It had the same effect as dropping a tray of dishes in the middle of a gathering. Howard whipped his head toward her, mouth open, and Samir leaned back, the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “And don’t talk about women that way, Howard. It’s disgusting.”

  Howard closed his mouth, then opened it again, his eyes blazing. “Clearly, it’s time we left. Come on, Heather.”

  “What? I’m—”

  “Now.” And it didn’t seem to matter that Heather was almost thirty years old. She went along with Howard, looking back only once to mouth the word sorry to Clem, a bemused grin on her face. It was clear she wasn’t angry, and even Clem could see that there was some humor in how disastrously the brunch had gone. Clementine held up her phone, the universal sign for text me later, and I’m sorry for calling your father disgusting, and kept an eye on her friend until she’d disappeared into the lobby.

  With a sigh, Clem turned back to Samir.

  He did not look happy.

  6

  It was not the day Samir had intended to have.

  How could it have gone off the rails so badly? It was true that Howard’s business hadn’t lived up to all of Samir’s standards, but few businesses did. He’d still been the best bet out of all the vendors at the convention and a few more that his staff had researched.

  He’d been married less than twelve hours, and his wife was already causing him problems. Not only that, but the business advantage he thought he’d be gaining by spending an evening with her was non-existent. Worse than non-existent. The wedding he couldn’t remember was actively harming the prospects for the desert tribes.

  “Samir?” she said softly from across the table. “You look—” She bit her lip. “You look upset.”

  “It’s time we sat down and talked.” He signaled to one of the waiters and asked for a different table. The young man guided them to a more secluded booth on one side of the restaurant, and within a moment he and Clem faced each other across the table.

  “Coffee? Tea?” the waiter asked.

  “Tea, for both of us.” Samir caught a flash of surprise on his wife’s face. “We’ll be ready to order in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be back shortly with those drinks.”

  “Do you always order for everyone at the table?” Clem said, her voice tentative. “Or is this a special circumstance?”

  “I’d say it’s fairly unique,” Samir said, an edge in his voice. “First things first. If you’re not Heather Newell, who are you? Aside from my wife.”

  “I’m—”

  The waiter returned, putting down two saucers and cups with a gentle rattle of china. They both leaned back, waiting for him to pour hot water over the teabags. His new wife picked hers up as if on instinct, cupping it close.

  The moment the waiter stepped away, Samir leaned in. “Who are you?”

  She put down the mug and extended her hand. “My name is Clementine Llewellyn, and, evidently, I’m your wife. When you calm down, I’d like to talk to you about—” She sucked in a breath. “About an ethical company that can help you with your logistical needs for your imports and exports.”

  “I—” Samir blinked. It wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, but then again, he’d expected all along that she was Heather Newell. This woman—looking tired from the long night they’d had and utterly gorgeous—was a stranger. He didn’t know the first thing about her. Well, now he knew the first thing. She wanted to help him with his business. “Are you pitching your business to me?”

  Clementine folded her hands on the white linen tablecloth. “I specialize in bringing together companies who could mutually benefit from a partnership and refining their business practices to be green.”

  “Green,” said Samir.

  “Environmentally friendly.”

  “Yes,” he said dryly. “I’m familiar with the term.”

  Clem’s eyes brightened. “So…I could help you, then.”

  Samir picked up his mug and swirled the tea bag in the hot water. As fine as the Cosmopolitan was, its tea was lacking. Still, it gave him something to do. He moved the teabag to the saucer, then stirred in a spoonful of sugar.

  “I’ll have to do something,” he mused, “now that the deal with Howard seems to have fallen through.” He kept his tone even, though frustration boiled beneath the surface. He didn’t want to fly back to Omirabad with this complication. On top of that, there was the matter of the wedding.

  He hadn’t wanted to jump into bed with Howard’s daughter for the sake of a business arrangement. The thought of it, despite its similarities to the arranged marriages that were common in Omirabad, made his hackles rise. It wasn’t all that similar, was it? Arranged marriages were carefully thought out for the mutual benefit of all parties. Howard had been trying to bribe Samir with his own daughter. But at some point after Clementine had left his room and before brunch, he’d convinced himself that the advantage for Omirabad would be worth overcoming his discomfort.

  This—his marriage with Clementine—was an entirely different source of discomfort.

  Samir admired Clementine as much as he was wary of her. She clearly had no problem speaking her mind, even if it had real consequences for other people. That kind of attitude didn’t necessarily jive with…well, everything in Omirabad. It would cut directly across the traditions that the royal family upheld.

  Or would it? They did prize honor, after all. And honesty. And setting a righteous example for the people of Omirabad. Wasn’t that what Clem had done when she’d stood up to Howard? And if it was, shouldn’t he have stepped in?

  “Samir?”

  He met Clementine’s blue eyes, and something tugged at the center of his chest. He didn’t know anything about her. He didn’t know how she would ever manage to fit in at the palace. But maybe he knew her in a way that was more important than knowing where she’d gone to college.

  Where had she gone to college?

  “Did you attend college, Clementine?” He finished asking the question just as his phone beeped in his pocket.

  “I went to Brown, with Heather.” She smiled at him, looking amused in spite of herself. “That’s how I met the woman you thought you were married to. We were assigned to be roommates freshman year.” It was a tiny piece of information, but it lifted a weight from Samir’s shoulders anyway.

  “Brown. That’s a good university. That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s very good,” answered Clem. His phone beeped again. “Are you…going to check that?”

  He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. In fact, Samir thought the best course of action right now would be to sit across from each other at this table and talk until they knew all they needed to know.

  But Samir wasn’t one to ignore messages, or his duties. He took his phone out of his pocket and scanned the screen.

  “My brother very much wants me back in Omirabad.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “He does? Is that ahead of schedule?”

  “A bit.” Samir’s stomach growled. The messages from Rashid were clear: get on a plane and come back to Omirabad. Yet Clementine sat across from him, probably hungry herself. “He can wait. It won’t kill him.” It was living on the edge, to be sure, but he tapped out a message to Rashid. I’ll be there when I’m there.

  “Good.” She smiled across the table at him. “I guess we have some decisions to make. And then I should get home, too.”

  Home. The gap in his knowledge of her had never seemed more vast. “Where’s home?”

  “Right now, it’s Brooklyn. I was going to spend a few days in Seattle with Heather, but now…” She shook her head. “New York is where I should be right now.”

  “I’d like to spend more time with you,” he said. The decision came to him in a flash. He didn’t want to separate from her right now. For one thing, Rashid knew he was married—he had to know by now, if only by confirming it through Samir’s security team—and there was no way he could show up at the palace without his wife. Even if she would only be his wife for a matter of months. They needed to go to Omirabad together.

  “And we do need to figure out what to do about this marriage,” agreed Clementine.

  “Which is why you’ll come with me to Omirabad.” He didn’t want to navigate the next three months alone.

  Clementine’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I-I couldn’t do that.”

  “Yes, you could.” The waiter returned, and they did the song and dance around ordering. Alone again, he looked back to Clementine. “Think of it as a paid vacation. Three months. All expenses paid. And you’ll get the chance to convince me of this ethical company you spoke of.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “I can’t just pick up and leave the country for three months. I have to work. I have my apartment. There are bills…”

  “Are you concerned about leaving your apartment empty? If that’s the case—”

  “Actually, I-I have a roommate. But it’s not fair to her if I duck out on the bills.”

  “And do you have a supervisor to report to at your job? The owner of the company, perhaps?”

  Clementine’s cheeks went pink. “I’m the owner of my company. It’s a small business, and it’s not booming yet, but if I fly out with you and abandon all my work—”

  “Bring your work with you. Since you’re the owner, it must travel with you wherever you go.”

  “That’s right,” Clem said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I should leave.”

  Samir leaned in. “When I said, ‘all-expenses paid,’ I meant all expenses.” He looked her in the eye. “While you are in Omirabad, I assure you that I will cover all outstanding bills. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

  Clementine bit her lip, and Samir felt like he could see the wheels turning in her mind. Her face was an open book, emotions flying across it at top speed. He backed off while they ate, giving her time to get used to the idea. Instead, he talked about the beauty of the desert, Omirabad’s ventures into the Western business world, and his family. She asked astute questions, and he could see he’d piqued her interest.

  “My brother, who is going to be the king, has requested that I return to Omirabad. Come with me.” He charged their breakfast to his room, stood up, and held out a hand to her. This was the best course of action and the safest one. It had nothing to do with the way Samir felt about Clementine, who was not Heather Newell at all. A shiver of adrenaline went through him. She could reject him in this moment, and then what? Would she admit that it had all been a horrendous mistake? Would she admit that she’d planned it all along? Or would she admit that she was never really interested in being with him, and that incredible warmth he’d felt with her in bed beside him had all been an illusion?

  Clementine took his hand and stood up, purse in hand. “Okay. But we have to go to Brooklyn first.”

  It wasn’t impossible. “I can buy you anything you need,” Samir said smoothly. He didn’t often flaunt his wealth, but it was true—there was likely nothing in her apartment that he couldn’t have waiting for them by the time the plane touched down in Omirabad.

  “Not my passport,” Clem said. “I’ll still need my passport.”

  He paused. It was a change of plans.

  “I only got it a few months ago,” she added, face lighting up. “I’ve never been out of the country before. I thought I might save up for a trip to Paris. So I’m…I’m looking forward to this, I think.”

  He couldn’t help it—he admired her. This was far more complicated than either of them had anticipated, but Clem wasn’t crumpling under the stress. She had her chin up.

  Under different circumstances, she might be a good match for him, but Samir wasn’t quite sure. She was so American. She was outspoken and a little brash, and she didn’t know anything about the customs of his country.

  Above all, he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship.

  He offered Clem his arm, and she put her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go home,” he told her. “We’ll land in New York long enough to collect your passport, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  Ready or not.

  7

  In college, Heather had invited Clem on more than one vacation with her family. It had seemed surreal then to climb into the Newell family’s six-seater plane and see Howard sitting at the controls.

  An entire private jet was something out of a dream.