The bedroom door burst open a moment later. Vanessa came in, eyes wild.

  “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

  “I should really ask you the same thing.”

  “I thought we were in this together,” Vanessa said, her voice cracking. Amad set his jaw. If she was going to bring emotion into this to sway him, then she was sorely mistaken. Tears wouldn’t make him crumble. Not this time.

  “We were,” Amad said, raking a hand through his hair, “until someone spent the past two weeks maintaining a secret relationship with the tribe’s ideal customer.”

  Vanessa scoffed, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. “There was no secret relationship. I told you, I wanted to keep it quiet until I knew it was something. And I told you the minute it became something.”

  “So would you tell me once you fucked another man, or tell me once you started thinking about it?” he demanded gruffly. “It’s the same thing, Vanessa. I don’t want to know once the damage is done. I need to know before.”

  Her throat bobbed. “You act like I’m not allowed to be in the business sphere at all.”

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  Her arms fell to her sides. “Then what am I supposed to do around here? Just lie around and wait for you to come into the bedroom and fuck me?”

  He clenched his jaw, turning his back on her as he paced the far side of the bedroom. “I’m giving you rest and relaxation. A good life. A life of luxury. Or don’t you want that?”

  “I want to be useful. I want to participate. I can’t believe that you think only one of us has the right to contribute to your tribe.”

  “It’s not a right—” he began, swinging around to point a finger at her.

  “I’m not the type of woman who’s just going to sit back and do nothing,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. Her eyes blazed with conviction, and when she took a few steps forward, it made his throat tighten. “Or haven’t you noticed that yet, Amad?”

  He massaged his forehead, jerking his gaze away from her. “I notice plenty about you. And what I notice most is that you don’t want to be the wife I need you to be.”

  Her eyes hardened into fiery gemstones, and for a moment he was actually afraid. But this was it—the crux of the matter. Time to lay it all out on the table.

  “Screw the wife you need me to be,” she spat, sarcasm dripping from her words. “I refuse to be in a marriage where you want me to be some useless, docile sex doll.”

  He crumpled at her words. It wasn’t like that. “Vanessa—” he began.

  “Fuck you, Amad.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door. “If that’s what this is to you, then we’re done.”

  Vanessa slammed the door behind her, leaving him in a thick, sour silence. He stared at the closed door for so long he lost track of time.

  She didn’t understand where he was coming from. And based on what today’s discovery unearthed, she might never.

  Everything was up in the air. A vortex of indecision and doubt.

  And Amad didn’t know where to turn first.

  16

  Amad was back in the gym, punching away at the heavy punching bag, when Fatim showed up.

  It was clear from his stance and formal attire that he wasn’t about to participate in round two of boxing for the day. They never did their intense workouts twice in the same day. But sometimes, exceptions had to be made. Like when he was frustrated enough to kick the whole damn palace down.

  “Amad,” Fatim finally said when Amad didn’t stop punching.

  “I’m busy,” Amad shouted as he assaulted the punching bag.

  Fatim crossed his arms, leaning against the wall by the door. He watched him for a few more moments, the continued observation irritating Amad even more. He kept his stance firm—thwack, thwack, thwack.

  “It’s almost six,” Fatim finally said. “I’ve organized a special dinner just for us men.”

  Amad faltered as curiosity spiked. “Who? The tribal leaders?”

  “No. Us brothers. Nasser just arrived.”

  Amad crumpled at the news, a whoosh of air escaping him. Of course. His youngest brother was scheduled to arrive today, returning from his travels abroad to secure donations for the tribal education initiatives, and he’d forgotten all about it in his fervor. “He’s here already?”

  “Yes, he’s settling in. Let’s go eat. Get showered and meet us in the dining room. I’ve already let the others know we’ll be unavailable for a few hours.”

  Fatim’s words were oddly calming. “The others” could only be their wives. It was a welcome doorway to continue ignoring Vanessa, at least. Until he could figure out what he wanted to say and how to begin moving forward through this mess.

  Because at this point, he didn’t know up from down. He was so angry about her deception that he couldn’t even think straight, but her threat to leave had struck like an arrow to the chest. He knew one thing, through all the confusion: he didn’t want Vanessa to go.

  But he didn’t want things to continue as they were, either.

  Amad used a guest bedroom’s shower, just to make sure he didn’t cross paths with Vanessa, and hurried off to meet his brothers in the dining room. When Nasser spotted him, he laughed haughtily.

  “There’s the resident troublemaker!”

  Amad slowed, narrowing his eyes. He came to his brother’s side, squeezing his shoulder before easing into the chair beside him. “I don’t know why you would say that.”

  Fatim looked between the two of them from the other side of the table, amusement shining in his eyes.

  “For one, I’m not the one making headlines!” Nasser cackled, squeezing the back of Amad’s neck, a gesture that Amad had detested his entire life. Amad swatted at him, landing a hard slap against his hand.

  “Knock it off. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Fatim has filled me in on the drama,” Nasser said. Palace employees filtered out of the kitchen, bringing large stoneware bowls of food. The scent of chicken and cumin filled the dining room, making Amad’s belly rumble.

  “There’s no drama,” Amad said, sniffing. “Just a little issue that will be resolved shortly.”

  “Little issue,” Fatim murmured.

  “What?” Amad shot back at him. “How would you classify it?”

  Fatim hefted with a laugh as he spooned some rice onto his plate. “I’d call it a shock.”

  “You’re being generous,” Nasser said.

  Amad unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap, working his jaw back and forth. “And since when do you have room to comment?”

  “Excuse me.” Nasser held up his palms in submission.

  “I don’t know what’s so shocking.”

  “Um, gambling all the tribe’s financial security?” Nasser asked, the duh tone grating on him.

  Fatim’s lips went thin, and that’s when Amad realized he was restraining himself. The normal attitude was a front. Amad’s sour mood returned, every ounce of relief he’d acquired through the punching bag dissolving.

  “This is how things get done,” Amad said through gritted teeth. “Or does no one remember the fact that I’m the head of finances for this tribe?”

  “Maybe that’s how things used to get done,” Fatim said, the seriousness coming through clearly in his voice. “But you and I, we’re in a new phase of our lives, and a new phase of the tribe’s development.” He paused heavily, the only sound between them the clinking of the spoon as Nasser served himself from the dish of tabbouleh. “You should have told me you sold the tech stocks.”

  Amad drew a deep breath, feeling completely untethered now. “Didn’t think it mattered much. Risky moves are par for the course in any business. Remember, I went to Harvard. I do know what I’m doing.”

  “But what if the fashion line had fallen through?” Fatim asked.

  A deathly silence flooded the table. The question had haunted Amad nearly every day. It was the sort of thing he tried not to think about. Like ignoring it might make it become a non-issue.

  “It’s the cost of doing business,” Amad said a few moments later, trying to keep his voice even. “There’s no reward without risk. And in this case, we needed a big reward…which required a bigger risk.”

  “You should have told me,” Fatim said again.

  “Noted,” Amad said. “From now on, I guess I’ll come to you to have every last business decision approved before I act. Is that what you’d prefer?”

  Fatim’s face remained expressionless. Amad plunged ahead.

  “While we’re at it, let’s make Vanessa the Chief of Operations. Calla can pretty easily take over the role as king, too, huh? Nasser, who’s your flavor of the week? We should probably bring her on as Vice President of the Tribal Council. Just for good measure.”

  Fatim sighed heavily. “Amad, why don’t you tell us what this is really about?”

  Amad remained silent, finally serving himself a heaping portion of chicken. After all the punching he’d done today, he needed the extra calories. He took a big bite, staring at his brother as he chewed. Emotions clamored for release, but he tamped them down. Made sure they stayed buttoned up.

  “Amad,” Fatim said again.

  “I don’t know what you want to hear,” Amad said with a mouthful of food. He chewed and then swallowed.

  “How about this?” Fatim started, his tone measured, monotonous. The same tone he used when dealing with royal matters or overseeing issues in the tents. “Ever since you’ve gotten back, you’ve let your pride stand in the way of actually performing your job.”

  Amad blinked, pushing rice around his plate. “You’re entitled to your opinion, even if it’s wrong.”

  “Calla tells me what a bull you are when you attend meetings about the fashion line. How you barely listen to the women and try to direct things as though you’re the one in control.” Fatim kept his gaze steady on Amad as he spoke. “I didn’t need to be there today to know how you must have treated Vanessa, too, when you found out she’d arranged the connection with Le Suiz. If there’s anything you hate, it’s being outranked.”

  Amad’s insides were sizzling, but he didn’t know whether it was from being called out or from the terrible injustice of these lies. Because Fatim could only be completely right or completely wrong. This topic left no room for a middle ground. “Whatever.”

  “I know this is hard to hear,” Fatim said, sitting back in his seat. He steepled his fingers as he watched Amad fidget. “But don’t forget—I have a kingdom to run. And I don’t need my brother to be the head of finances. I can find someone else.”

  Amad snapped his gaze up to Fatim’s. Now he was threatening him. “Why the hell would you say that to me?”

  “Because even though I love you as my brother, we all have jobs to perform here. The structure of the kingdom has changed. Will you accept it or not?”

  Amad clenched and unclenched his teeth, staring at his plate. He’d barely taken two bites. When a palace employee came into the dining room, he barked out his request for a whiskey on the rocks.

  “You’re being a little dramatic,” Amad finally said. “What happened today is primarily between Vanessa and me.”

  “And based on what I know about the situation, Vanessa is an asset to the very initiative we’re hoping will become the tribe’s main source of income, and you don’t want her to have a hand in it.”

  “She can have her hands in it,” Amad said. “Just not where my hands go.”

  Fatim leaned forward. “And why not?”

  Amad worked his jaw back and forth, grateful when the employee returned with his whiskey. He downed it in one gulp and then set the glass down on the table.

  “Think about things, brother,” Fatim said in a softer voice. He reached for some flatbread. “Don’t make a decision you’re going to regret. Vanessa is an amazing woman. She’s your equal. And I think that’s what might be hardest of all for you to accept.”

  Amad studied the empty glass on the table. Then he swung his gaze over to Nasser.

  “Marriage is rough, kid. Avoid it as long as you can,” he cracked. Which was ironic advice, because Amad had just waltzed right into it, not realizing what a challenge things could become.

  Fatim smirked. “It’s only rough if you keep yourself closed off.”

  Thankfully, Fatim seemed to have said his piece, and the interrogation about Amad’s personal life came to a close. He managed to down a few more bites as conversation drifted to safer topics—Nasser’s time abroad, and all the fun he’d been having exploring old temples and taking lovers for a night.

  But Amad couldn’t hear much of anything. He’d checked out of the conversation as soon as Fatim had wrapped up his lecture and now just needed to be alone.

  He excused himself as early as he could and headed for the bedroom. Vanessa at least deserved to know what his plan was. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure of it.

  When he got there, Vanessa was tucked into the walk-in closet, all the lights ablaze, the shick of hangars sliding along the metal bars the only sound. He cleared his throat as he came into the bedroom, his skin prickling.

  She didn’t come out to greet him. Not that he expected her to.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, gritting his teeth as he braced himself for what he might find. Inside, she was tugging shirts off their hangers and dropping them into a suitcase. His heart sank.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Moving to a guest room.” She didn’t even look at him.

  “No.” He shook his head, drawing a slow breath. “I’ll do that. You stay in this room. You’re comfortable here. Just…promise me one thing.”

  She sighed, propping her hands on her hips. “What?”

  “Don’t leave. Just give me a few days to clear my head.”

  Vanessa nibbled on her lower lip, gaze darting back and forth over the clothes scattered across the suitcases. Finally, she said, “Okay.”

  Amad knew that he should leave, that he should give her the space he’d promised her…and himself. There was so much to make right between them. A lot of difficult words to be said.

  He just needed to figure out what they were.

  And right now, standing just feet away from her, when she looked gorgeous but broken, all of the tension and confusion and anger from earlier in the day threatened to fade away.

  He could forget all of it, if he wanted to. He could practically taste her sadness, and his fingers twitched with the urge to make things right.

  But before he did that, before he stood here and said things he didn’t mean or promised things he didn’t believe, he needed to get himself right.

  17

  Vanessa’s days bled onward at the palace without Amad at her side. It felt strange, to have so much autonomy in the palace. To know how to greet people, where to go, and when things took place. To actually feel like she belonged here.

  Amad taking his time and space was something she’d never had happen to her before. And by all rights, this was the beginning of the end, if her dating history was any indication. Amad was formulating the most graceful way to end things, now that she’d ruined his fantasy of her being a useless, pretty doll, and he was probably buying her plane ticket home so she could have this baby in Vegas by herself while he sent occasional child support payments.

  There was no end of nightmarish future realities as she went about her days. Luckily, she had Calla and the tribal ladies to distract her. Production was ramping up in a huge way. Calla’s proposal for a downtown shopfront had been approved, which meant that they needed a manager to oversee that aspect. Calla’s attention was even more divided these days, so Vanessa found ever more room to help with the daily operations of the fashion line.

  And amid all the busy-ness of the fashion line, she still found herself eager to share things with Amad. Even though he’d clearly drawn the line in the sand. She wanted him to be proud and excited. To look at her with that same gleam in his eyes he’d had back in Paris, when things still felt like they were a team. Not butthurt because Vanessa had dared try to make herself useful.

  You knew it all along. Her own rightness was irritating. The end was always coming.

  Except the fact that the end had come now—during this fantasy life in Amatbah where things had been fun and fulfilling and beautiful and romantic—hurt even more. Because even though they’d only been casual at the outset, somewhere along the line, she’d fallen in love with his stupid self.

  It made nights without his heat and weight at her side particularly sad. She cried herself to sleep each night, pre-mourning the end of this relationship. How could it last? In his eyes, she’d betrayed him. Practically traitor level. She was lucky they didn’t send her to prison or something. All bets were off in a foreign country.

  But the end was inevitable. This much she knew. And though the entire thing stunk, what might hurt the worst was that she felt like she was losing a new home.

  Amatbah had grown on her. She’d found a real place for herself here. Maybe she could make something work out so that she could stay. Once he decided that he’d stick with his buffoon ways, she could continue living here in her own wing of the palace, hammer out custodial rights, with their baby needing to only make trips from one side of the palace to the other to spend time with each parent.

  The idea was half ludicrous, half worst nightmare.

  Because if she stayed in Amatbah, she wanted Amad along with it.

  Vanessa hauled herself to the royal tents early the following Monday. It was the start of a busy work week, and her planner was full of to-do lists for the maternity line. Calla didn’t show up on time, though, and as the hours dragged by, Vanessa got more and more nervous. Just when she was about to launch a search party for her missing friend, Calla breezed in, a big smile on her face.

  “There you are!” Vanessa exhaled with relief. “I thought you were going to call in sick or something.”

  “Oh, no. Of course not!” Calla clutched a folder in her arms, heading for her work space. “I had a meeting with Amad, and it went long.”