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“Her parent-teacher conference is tomorrow morning,” she said. “You confirmed we’d be going on the shared calendar.”
“Parent-teacher conference on a Saturday morning?” Fatim creased a brow.
“You said it was the only day you could do it, so the teacher made an exception because, well, you’re the king,” she said, shrugging.
He shot her a look she didn’t know how to read, while the kids barreled on. Between their stories and questions and interjections, dinner went by without a single chance to really speak to Fatim.
But what did she even want to say? This was a marriage for show. To allow him to keep the crown. If she knew what was best, she’d keep her mouth shut.
So when Fatim finished eating and quietly left the dining room with the kids to take them upstairs for their nightly tucking-in and stories, Calla didn’t follow. This was his thing, his time. She was just the hired nanny and spouse. That was it.
Calla spent most of the evening working on a project for Fashion Week. She stayed up so late that she overslept. A quiet knock on her bedroom door made her startle and almost fall out of bed.
“Who is it?” she asked as she checked her phone. Dammit, she’d overslept by a half hour.
“Fatim. Are you ready?”
“Uh…” She darted toward her closet, pulling clothes out at random. She hated oversleeping. “Yep. Just about.”
She shed her pajamas in a hurry and must have missed the click of the doorknob. Because when she turned around, having just tugged off her night shirt, breasts on full display, Fatim was standing there with a brow raised.
“Fatim, I’m not ready!” she squeaked.
“My apologies,” he said, but he didn’t move. “But you said you were.”
She covered herself with her T-shirt, feeling her face flame. “I’ll be out in a second. I promise I’ll hurry.”
Fatim’s nostrils flared, and he stepped out of the room. She buried her face in her T-shirt, screamed silently, and then booked it to get dressed and presentable. She chose a simple tunic dress with bright emerald baubles, slipped on a pair of flats, and grabbed her purse.
Fatim led the way down the steps into the foyer and out the front door, where a palace car waited for them. She felt a lot like a kid in trouble as she climbed into the back seat with Fatim. He didn’t speak the entire ride to the school.
Once they stepped out of the car in front of Nara’s private school, he grabbed her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Ready?” he asked her.
She jerked her head into a nod, unable to find words as they walked into the school hand in hand. Nara’s teacher was ready for them in an empty classroom. After a quick introduction—The Queen of Amatbah, pleased to meet you—Nara’s teacher, Mrs. Farood, launched into a detailed summary of Nara’s performance thus far in the schoolyear. Achievements, successes, and tendencies were mentioned. And then they reached the room-for-growth portion of the conference.
“I do think Nara would benefit from better self-advocacy,” Mrs. Farood said, tapping a pencil against the desk.
“I’m sorry,” Fatim said, voice tinged with annoyance. “What did you say?”
“Nara is an excellent student, but she struggles to be her own advocate.”
“Nara is a wonderful advocate,” Fatim insisted. His straight brow felt like a warning shot to Calla. This was a side of Fatim she hadn’t seen before—protective papa bear, defending his child at the parent-teacher conference. She hated that it was kind of hot. But more than that, she needed to defuse the tension laced through him.
“Your Highness,” Mrs. Farood started, “this is exactly the problem. Nara is a wonderful advocate for others, but not so much herself.”
“I fail to see the problem here,” Fatim said.
Calla reached out, touching his wrist gently. He snapped his gaze over to her. “Nara can’t be a great leader if she can’t advocate for herself,” she said softly, trying to reframe the issue for him. “Maybe she should try an advocacy position for something she cares about? Or something
like a young debate team? Where she can argue for herself in an authoritative way?”
Fatim frowned but didn’t say anything further. The teacher nodded excitedly.
“These are excellent ideas,” Mrs. Farood said. She and Calla brainstormed a few possible directions while Fatim’s gaze sizzled on her. Or maybe she just wished it did. By the time they wrapped up the conference and were leaving the classroom—with clear direction for Nara’s next steps and a calmed-down papa bear—Fatim was close on her heels.
“I should thank you,” he said quietly, their footsteps echoing down the empty hall.
“You should, or you will?” she teased.
