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Zahir blinked, something jerking inside his chest. “I’m in no mood to get married right now.”
His father grumbled a bit, some of that glow falling off his face. “Mood? Who needs to be in a mood to get married? This is a business arrangement. You’re the one we planned to take over for me, but the board will only support it if you’re married.”
Zahir swallowed hard, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. The mention of the board could silence him even as his father’s news stabbed him in the heart. “I understand that.”
“Then there’s nothing further to discuss. I trust you’ll make the right decision.” His father grumbled again, and then added, “That’s all. Enjoy your weekend, son.”
Zahir stood on unsteady legs, drifting more than walking back toward the hallway. All the way out of the office, sullen thoughts crowded his mind. Goodbye bachelor life. Hello shackles and boredom. He turned toward the elevators, pushing the down button. Can’t I just marry Layla instead?
He rubbed at his face inside the elevator, as if it might help wipe away some of the confusion. He’d gone from bachelor to betrothed in the span of five minutes, so he needed to get used to the idea. Find a good bottle of whisky. And do his best not to sulk and pine and spend every second of his weekend wondering what Layla was doing.
Because that had been his gut reaction—the surprise engagement felt like a betrayal to Layla. Of course that was absurd—they had no formal relationship to speak of. But there was only one person every fiber of his being craved, like a sun-parched wanderer seeking water. Layla.
What could he do now? The timeline of a pending marriage prompted desperation to flood his veins, as if he had to scoop up every last available moment with her before time ran out. Before she changed her mind, before the passion ran dry, before his business marriage took place. Any number of things waited to squash this passion that consumed him on a daily basis.
Need burbled through him, a familiar sensation taking an even-more-familiar path when it came to Layla. He knew what the right choice was, even if it was also technically the wrong choice.
He had no time to waste. He’d make sure Layla knew he intended to break the rules over and over again, for as long as he could get away with it. There was no other option besides Layla.
9
Layla came into work on Monday feeling simultaneously drained and refreshed. Her day-trip to a nearby city and antiquities museum had been a pleasant distraction from the shit show of her family planning, which had always been very simple: don’t start a family. She’d cried enough tears in her apartment to fill a small lake. The shock and confusion had ebbed into a babbling brook of quiet despair.
She was going to be a mother, the only thing she’d never envisioned for herself.
The weekend featured all the stages of grief—denial, outrage, and eventual acceptance. Marian counseled her as well as she could from across the world as she and Omar packed their bags to come home from their honeymoon. She murmured sweet, helpful things while Layla cried. She hadn’t even judged her when she admitted that Zahir was the father of her baby. Marian didn’t seem surprised, or maybe she’d just expertly squashed her incredulity. Either way, she swore her friend to secrecy.
Because there was one thing she was certain of: Zahir wouldn’t know.
Here begins the circus side show. She strolled into the hallway, dreading peeking into Zahir’s office to say good morning. But she had to do it—normalcy was the goal. Along with platonic gestures and never fantasizing about her boss ever again. Especially while she carried his tiny collection of cells inside her belly.
The fucking condom broke. The thought burst through her head like fireworks with startling regularity, interrupting mundane tasks like brushing her teeth or heating up food in the microwave. It just didn’t seem fair. There were mothers all over the world who wanted kids and couldn’t have them. And here she was, careful enough to be protected, never wanting a child, and she gets the unlucky broken condom.
“Good morning.” She forced a quick grin as she poked her head into Zahir’s office. He was studying his computer as he was most mornings. His face lit up when he saw her.
“Morning.” He offered a knee-buckling smile, his mouth hanging open like he might add more. She rushed away before she had to look at him any longer.
Inside the quiet of her own office, she took a long, deep breath, trying to roll some of the tension out of her shoulders. Just get through the day. It had to be easier going forward. And once she started to show, she could start working from home. She had plenty of time to begin that transition to remote work. There would be a way to make it work.
Zahir can’t know.
As she settled into place behind her desk, thoughts roiled thick and chunky inside her head. She’d combed through every possible scenario of how this might turn out, since seeing the positive result. And the one thing that didn’t make sense to her was telling Zahir.
He probably wanted to be a father, maybe someday, with the right wife cherry-picked for him by his family. The way Annabelle had been chosen for Imaad, the way Omar had married his first wife. After seeing all the traditional aspects of Omar and Marian’s wedding, there was no doubt in Layla’s mind that a surprise baby out of wedlock would not be well received by the Almasi clan. In fact, it might even ruin Zahir’s professional life.
All of Marian and Annabelle’s stories about Parsian culture and traditions haunted Layla every time she considered what it might be like to tell Zahir she was pregnant. She remembered the way Zahir had slipped out of her room that first night by a certain hour, to avoid the speculation. Well, now there was no speculating. He’d knocked someone up.
Confusion lashed at her, pushing her face into her hands. A quiet rap on her door made her bolt upright.
“Who is it?” She fumbled around at her desk, trying to make it look like she’d been working instead of moping.
“Zahir.” The doorknob turned and he pushed the door open, poking his head in. “May I?”
She nodded, clearing her throat. “Sure. What’s up?” She folded her fingers together on the desk top, made sure her midsection was firmly hidden behind the desk. Not like he could tell she was pregnant already. She couldn’t be more than five weeks along. But still. Just in case.
“Just wanted to see how your weekend was.” He leaned against the doorframe, impossibly casual and warm.
“Great.” She shrugged. Cried myself to sleep because I’m carrying your unexpected baby, is all. “I checked out the antiquities museum in Shahaar. Spent some time in the desert. It was nice.”
