Chapter 9
Nine
OLIVER
"The last photo got over three hundred likes," Zahra said, showing me her phone screen as I settled at her kitchen island. "Your suggestion to use the bookstore as a backdrop was genius. People love seeing couples in their natural habitat."
I glanced at the image—Zahra and I browsing books together, her leaning into my side as I pointed to something on a high shelf. Carefully staged spontaneity. The comments were filled with heart emojis and variations of "you two are adorable" and "relationship goals."
"The algorithm favors content that portrays authentic shared interests," I explained, taking out my notebook. "The bookstore setting creates a narrative of intellectual compatibility, suggesting our relationship has depth beyond physical attraction."
Zahra smiled, swiping through more recent posts. Six days since Zahra had returned from Norman, six days of carefully crafted social media posts showing a couple desperately in love after a week apart. The performance had been flawless.
"Who knew you'd be so good at this? My engagement rate has nearly doubled since I got back."
"Social media presence is essentially a controlled experiment in human behavioral response," I said with a shrug. "Identify the variables that trigger the desired reaction, then repeat with slight variations to maintain interest."
"Very romantic," she teased, setting her phone down. "What should we post tomorrow? Something about heading back to our hometown together?"
"I suggest a photo at the airport," I said, jotting down notes. "Morning lighting is optimal for creating a warm aesthetic. Perhaps something about returning to where it all began, with an implied reference to our shared history."
"Perfect." Zahra nodded, then shifted gears, pulling out a folder. “Shall we review the finalized timeline?"
I took a seat on the couch. It felt too familiar, sitting beside her, reviewing itineraries, our knees almost touching. Almost. Not quite. Just an inch of space, sometimes less.
I spent every one of those moments fighting the urge to close the gap, reach out, and place a hand on her knee. Maybe higher.
Zahra would let me, I had no doubt. I saw the appreciative glances she snuck my way when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. But I was always paying attention, especially to her.
Not so much to the pages in front of me, though.
I pulled myself back to the task at hand, looking over the color-coded sheets as Zahra walked me through each day's schedule, my attention caught on several blocks marked "Mixed Wedding Party" and "Groom's Party Setup.
" My stomach turned as I realized how many opportunities Ryan would have to get near her.
"These won't work," I said, keeping my tone professionally detached as I pointed to the problematic time slots.
Zahra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There are too many gaps where I can't fulfill our agreement," I explained, trying to keep any hint of personal concern from my voice. "These periods here, here, and here—you'll be working directly with the wedding party, including the groomsmen."
"I'm the wedding planner, Oliver. I can't skip significant wedding events."
"You hired me to be a buffer between you and your ex," I pointed out, clinging to contractual language to mask my growing unease. "But your schedule makes that impossible for several hours each day."
"I'll be fine. There will be other people?—"
"Who aren't contractually obligated to maintain an appropriate distance between you and Ryan." My voice raised; my jaw wound tight. I was angry. Not at Zahra, but at myself for not considering this ahead, at Ryan for being the menace that he was. “I won’t allow it. I forbid it.”
Zahra’s features shifted at my sharp words, her eyes widening and lips parting with a sharp inhale. The quickening of her pulse should have been my first clue, but I was too engrossed in thoughts of Ryan taking advantage of my absence, of Zahra’s vulnerability to his unwanted advances.
"The agreement specifically states?—"
"Stop trying to control my job!" Her voice rose unevenly, a note of panic cutting through her words. The shift in her demeanor was swift, and it threw me deeper into my protective spiral.
This wasn't about the schedule. She was scared, and it triggered something deep inside me that I hadn’t felt for years. I struggled to push it down, but one thing was clear—I wasn’t about to let her sideline me where she needed me most.
I moved forward, hand lifting, intending to show Zahra the relevant contract clause in my notes, and she flinched.
Not a small, startled movement. Not the kind of reflexive shift people made when someone invaded their space. A full-bodied, instinctive recoil. Back pressed against the couch, hand half-raised as if expecting?—
My stomach dropped.
I went completely still. If my next move was wrong, the moment would collapse like a dying star, folding in on itself under the weight of something it was never built to withstand. Then, slowly, carefully, deliberately, I made myself smaller, lowered my hands, and backed away, giving her space.
"Zahra," I said, voice gentler than I'd allowed it to be in years.
Seconds ticked by as she stared at me, her breathing too rapid, her gaze not quite focused. Then, slowly, I watched her come back to herself, embarrassment replacing the fear as she realized what had happened.
"I'm sorr?—"
"No." My voice was soft but firm. " I'm sorry. I crossed a line. Your job, your decisions. I just..." I ran a hand through my hair, releasing a long exhale, struggling to find the right words. "I don't trust him."
The silence between us felt heavy with unspoken things.
Finally, Zahra nodded. "I'll ask Elena to keep an eye out when you're not around. She’s meant to be at most events since she’s the wedding photographer."
It was a small concession, but it felt like a huge step in trust. I tried to ignore how much it meant to me, how her reaction, and what it implied about her relationship with Ryan, cracked open a box containing a different kind of protectiveness.
One that was darker, more dangerous, and now pacing restlessly in my chest.
How difficult it was to adhere to my own rules about compartmentalizing our past and personal lives from our current involvement. An involvement that I kept insisting was just business.
"Okay." I sunk into the sofa, keeping a conscious distance from Zahra, allowing her to decide how close she was willing to get. "Thank you."
We returned to the spreadsheet, a careful distance between us as we refocused on the schedule. But something had shifted. The professional walls were still there, but they'd eroded, become so thin they were practically transparent.
We stuck to the guest list and discussed contingency plans for weather and transportation issues. Safe topics. Professional concerns. But my mind kept circling back to the moment the fear took over her eyes.
"Oliver?" Zahra's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "You've been staring at the same page for five minutes."
"Sorry," I said, adjusting my glasses. "It’s been a long week."
She studied me, her head slightly tilted. "Late nights?"
"I haven’t gone on any dates, if that’s what you’re asking." I flipped to the next page in the binder, pretending not to see the relief in Zahra’s expression. “I wouldn’t risk our cover story.”
“Right," Zahra said, her features darkening at my professional reasoning. This was the danger of long-term fake relationships. This was why rules were so important. This is why I couldn’t allow my mind to keep straying from the script.
"I appreciate you giving up the extra income, despite our contract not forbidding it," Zahra said, sliding an inch closer to me. "I know you need it."
I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral.
"It's a calculated investment in maintaining our narrative integrity." It was a statement that left no room for interpretation. "Any conflicting accounts of my relationship status could compromise our story."
I omitted the part where I'd turned down three high-paying bookings in the week she was gone. I wasn’t about to mention that I’d been obsessively checking the time, waiting for when the clock struck our correspondence hour.
And I would never disclose how Emmet had caught me staring at her Instagram more than once.
Zahra smiled tightly. I couldn’t tell if she saw right through me or if my barricades were holding.
"Besides," I added, adjusting my glasses to avoid her gaze. "The compensation for this booking is...sufficient."
The word felt inadequate. Nothing about this arrangement was "sufficient" anymore. That was the problem.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
"We leave tomorrow morning," I said, steering the conversation back to safe topics. "There's still a lot to cover."
Zahra held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, returning to the seating chart. “Is there anything left to discuss?”
Her voice held a hundred layers of dense atmosphere, more guarded than I’d ever seen her before.
Was it my insistence on maintaining a professional distance? Was it exposing the depth of her fear of Ryan? It was probably both, and there was nothing I could do to put her at ease, except respect the underlying request in her question—please, leave.
I gathered my things methodically, compartmentalizing as I went. We would leave for Norman the next day. Then everything would change.
"Oliver," she said softly as I stepped into the hallway. I turned, waiting as she fiddled with a loose strand of hair. Then she looked up, her gaze unreadable. “Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.”
The words she’d kept to herself were weighing down on her, making her shoulders sag slightly under too many unspoken truths.
I managed a small, reassuring smile. "I’ll see you tomorrow."
Tomorrow, we'd return to where everything began and where everything fell apart. Tomorrow, I'd take the first step to finally make things right for Emmet and me.
I couldn't afford to be distracted by green eyes and old nicknames. I couldn't let myself remember how easily she fit in my arms, or how something in me cracked at the thought of her flinching like that again—not when I was so close to my real goal.
Yet as I drove home through Seattle’s rain-streaked streets, the memory of her fear wouldn’t let go. It coiled in my gut, sharp and unrelenting.
Her reaction was too extreme for someone who simply wanted to avoid an awkward reunion with an ex.
What had Ryan done to her?
The thought burned. Sank its teeth in.
Not professional. Not part of the contract. Not my place.
But some things ran deeper than ink, deeper than contracts, deeper than logic.
And the next time someone made Zahra flinch like that? I’d burn their whole fucking world down.