Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son (Secret Heirs 0f Billionaires)

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I believe,’ Khalid said, ‘that it is your turn to sign.’

  His voice was rich, deep and accented, and to Aubrey, for a second, his words made no sense, but then she remembered. Oh, yes, the condolence book. She turned from the assault to her senses and picked up a heavy silver pen. Her hand was shaking as she wrote her name.

  Aubrey Johnson.

  For her address... Well, she left out the trailer park and just put Las Vegas, then she forgot the beautiful stranger behind her and pondered over her message.

  What could she say?

  Thank you for making Mom feel like a queen and for the trips and the fun times...

  Of course she could not put that; his long affair with her mom had been a faithfully kept secret.

  Thank you for believing in me...

  Aubrey would have liked to write that, but knew she could not. Or...?

  Sorry I lied.

  Jobe had insisted that she take this chance, and not follow a more familiar, familial career path, for her mother and Aunt Carmel had both made their living on the game. Would Jobe have forgiven her if he’d found out that she’d used her scholarship money for her mom’s medical care?

  Aubrey would never know now.

  And so she wrote a short line and then put down the pen, and Khalid watched as she moved on before reading her words.

  Dearest Jobe, thank you for everything. You were wonderful. Xxx

  The thought of her with Jobe revolted him.

  Khalid picked up the pen she had just held and wrote exactly what he would have before his eyes had held Aubrey’s.

  Allah yerhamo.

  May God have mercy on him.

  Those words felt more pertinent now.

  ‘Your Highness.’ One of Khalid’s security detail was at his side and discreetly told him that another guest on the watch-list had arrived. And then more news must have come into his earpiece, for he added, ‘And another.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  AUBREY WAS GUIDED to a pew and she smiled at a rather overly made-up woman and took a seat beside her, then sat silently looking at the dark oak coffin covered in a huge spray of deep red roses.

  Tears sparkled in Aubrey’s eyes as she thought of a man who really had been one of a kind and very loved. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Aubrey had never seen anything like the turnout for Jobe’s funeral. She looked around at the congregation gathered to say farewell to him. They were an eclectic bunch. From kippahs to hijabs. From military uniforms to medical staff, and alongside New York City’s elite were cops and, she was sure, a few mobsters too.

  And then her eyes were drawn to the latest arrival. Well, how could they not be? All eyes were drawn to the woman walking in.

  She had legs right up to her neck and wore black, although not an awful lot of it, and there was rather a lot of crêpe décolletage on display. Her bottle-blonde hair was backcombed, and around her shoulders she wore a rather tired feather boa that, like its owner, looked as if it might have seen better days.

  Aubrey was rather certain she knew her and tried to place her name. Brandy. That was it. Aubrey couldn’t think of the rest of her name, but knew that she was a bit of a Vegas legend. She didn’t know her directly—Brandy was from before her mom’s time and had been a true ex-Vegas showgirl and ran a dance school now.

  The congregation seemed to suck in its collective breath, but it didn’t seem to bother Brandy. She just swanked her way in on those endless legs as she was directed to the pew behind Aubrey, not remotely concerned by the air of disapproval.

  As Aubrey glanced behind she blinked, as she recognised another of the women, and then she looked again at the made-up woman next to her.

  Was she perhaps another of Jobe’s exes? It dawned on Aubrey that she had been guided to this pew for a reason.

  Oh, my, what happened in Vegas wasn’t staying there today!

  Aubrey actually had to smother a burst of laughter, but as she put her hand up to cover her mouth, she realised she was being watched, and found herself looking into the narrowed eyes of that stunning stranger.

  He really was terribly beautiful.

  More beautiful than anyone she had ever seen.

  He stood in the pews reserved for family. Exquisitely suited, his glossy dark hair was brushed back from his forehead and Aubrey’s eyes roamed his face, taking in the details.

  Just this morning, when Vanda had complimented her on her bone structure, Aubrey had immediately referenced her mother. For the rest of her life, Aubrey knew, she would now reference him, for the blend of his features was unsurpassed. Caramel-skinned with an aquiline nose, his prominent cheekbones were somehow countered by sensual full lips that were not smiling. If anything, the look he gave her was less than friendly, yet Aubrey found that she could not tear her gaze away.

  He did.

  As someone spoke to him, he looked abruptly away, yet Aubrey remained entranced and could not stop watching him as the family arrived.

  Ethan and Abe were accompanied by their gorgeous wives. Aubrey had kept up to date, via the tabloids, on Jobe’s sons.

  Aubrey could not though work out the family’s relationship with the handsome stranger. And it wasn’t to do with his dark skin, more that he did not shake hands with the brothers or kiss their wives, he did not greet them warmly and yet they all seemed relieved to see him.

  Jobe’s partner, Chantelle, seemed to follow his guidance and slipped into the seat he gestured to and then gave him a nod of thanks. She gleamed with diamonds. Her neat black coat was the perfect canvas for the most amazing golden blonde hair that was so completely perfect that, to Aubrey’s trained eye, it just had to be a wig.

  Yes, Aubrey knew rather more about Chantelle than the rest of the Devereux clan.

  She had been the reason Jobe had ended things with her mother.

  The service soon started and it really was incredibly moving. The readings were beautiful and the eulogy, which was delivered by Abe and followed with a verse from Ethan, had tears welling up in Aubrey’s eyes.

  She must not cry here! Aubrey did not want to draw attention to herself and so she swallowed her tears down and watched as the stunning stranger rose.

  He was going to speak.

  Aubrey glanced down at her order of service.

  Thoughts and Poem

  Khalid

  She turned the page, wondering if his surname was on the next one, but, no, there was nothing more to indicate who he was.

  Aubrey watched as he walked up to the lectern. Gosh, he was tall. And his black suit, among hundreds of black suits, stood out—it was just so superbly cut, and sat so well on his broad shoulders. As he moved the microphone up to accommodate his height she saw that he wore cufflinks, and Aubrey wasn’t used to that.

  He was just so groomed and polished and, for a short moment, so silent that even a crying baby fell quiet.

  Khalid held no notes.

  ‘Jobe first welcomed me into his home one Thanksgiving,’ Khalid said. ‘I was at school with Ethan, who told me that his father insisted I not spend Thanksgiving alone. We all know the power of Jobe’s warm welcome. He was generous and thoughtful in so many ways, and from the smiles I have seen here today, he brought a lot of happiness to many. Yet Jobe would not forgive me if I failed to mention that he was also cutting, ruthless, arrogant...’

  The congregation started to laugh as the mild insults continued and his words were both well delivered and accepted.

  Aubrey was more than grateful for the chance to watch this intriguing man.

  Khalid made the congregation laugh, yet he, himself, did not smile.

  He was completely steady, utterly composed. Detached even? Yet his words felt like a necessary caress at the end of an exhausting day, something to lean on as you fell apart.

  ‘Jobe helped many people find the
ir light and shine,’ Khalid said, and Aubrey welled up as memories rained down.

  Holidays.

  Mom, happy and laughing.

  The violin that he had bought Aubrey was still her most treasured possession.

  Aubrey had been so certain she would not cry that she hadn’t even brought a tissue, but when Khalid read a poem in Arabic she crumpled. She had never meant to draw attention to herself. Had just wanted to pay her last respects to Jobe. But the flowers, the people, the memories of better days... Before Chantelle. Before the fire that had ravaged her mom’s looks. Before, when she’d had dreams.

  Before...

  And as Khalid translated the poem into English, his eyes drifted to Aubrey.

  Her head was down again but there was a frantic edge to her as she used her shawl to wipe her tears, and Khalid found that he wanted to check in on her. To walk over after his reading and see that she was okay. Ridiculous, of course, and not an impulse he would be acting on, but seeing her sitting so alone and distraught, in that moment it was how he felt. Thankfully, one of the women from the Vegas contingent took from her vast cleavage a handkerchief and, having tapped Aubrey on the shoulder, handed it to her and then rested her hand on Aubrey’s shoulder.

  As Jobe had once done for him.

  Yet his voice did not become husky, neither did it waver as he translated the poem to perfection.

  Khalid was, after all, a man of thirty. A man who had, at the age of sixteen, faultlessly delivered a full eulogy at his mother’s funeral in front of world leaders. He had been trained for this sort of thing from the cradle and it came as second nature now.

  Stepping back from the lectern, he nodded to the casket and retook his seat with the family.

  Seamless.

  Faultless.

  Closed.

  * * *

  Khalid was staying at the same hotel where the wake was being held and arriving there after the service he took the elevator up to his suite.

  Soon he would head back down and greet the guests, and keep an eye out, as he had promised Ethan he would, but for now he took a moment alone and gazed out at the view.

  It was the end of an era.

  Not just Jobe’s passing, but his time spent in this amazing city.

  It had always galled his father that he’d come here, but his mother had insisted. Khalid used his jet like others might take a cab, yet the time he spent here was already becoming less. He and the Devereux brothers were building a hotel in Al-Zahan, which was consuming. And with Khalid soon to marry and assume more royal duties, there would be fewer trips.

  These days he was rarely maudlin but the loss of his mother he felt again as he looked out on New York City in spring. ‘Oh, Khalid,’ his mother had said long ago, ‘there is nothing better than walking through Central Park, holding hands, kissing in the sun...’

  ‘You held hands and kissed?’ He had been fifteen and stunned by his mother’s revelations. ‘With a man other than my father?’

  ‘Khalid...’ She’d laughed. ‘I have never held hands with your father, neither do we kiss. Oh, abnay alhabib...’ she implored. ‘Oh, beloved son, I have fought for you to walk in the sun and laugh as I did when I was a young princess. One day you will be King but for now, promise me you will have fun.’

  Khalid had tried to.

  There was another heir, and two more had been on the way.

  He could breathe, his mother had told him, before duty called him home for ever. His cold heart had just started to thaw under the hazy New York sun when she had died.

  Khalid missed her very much today.

  His phone buzzed and for once it wasn’t the palace but Ethan, asking where he was. Remembering his duties, Khalid peeled some money from a clip to tip the drivers and bar staff and then headed down to the wake.

  * * *

  In the main, it was a very Upper East Side crowd that had been invited back, but to her great surprise Aubrey had found herself being guided into a black car and driven to a hotel, and now she stood in a plush room labelled ‘Private Function’.

  Brandy and the others had commandeered the hotel bar and Aubrey was wondering if it might be better to head out there and join them.

  Waiters were doing the rounds with trays of drinks and delectable food, but, though hungry, Aubrey declined to accept as her stomach was too knotted up to accept and her hands were too unsteady to be around glass.

  Aubrey could feel the daggers being shot in her direction and felt her cheeks burn amidst curious stares. She had done her absolute best not to stand out, but amongst the elite, of course, she did. Her friend’s dress was just a little too polyester and a little too big, and the same friend’s shoes a touch too long and wide. There were low, polite conversations going on all around but Aubrey stood alone until one portly gentleman came over. He didn’t mince his words. ‘You knew Jobe how?’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Aubrey responded. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

  He blustered for a moment and then went back to his wife and Aubrey again stood alone.

  Chantelle worked the room, thanking the guests for their attendance, presumably accepting condolences while sharing small anecdotes, but she gave Aubrey a wide berth.

  Aubrey again declined a drink from a passing waiter and was wondering if it might just be simpler to leave. She was already seriously questioning the wisdom of coming back for the wake when a very elegant woman came over and proffered a kind smile before reducing Aubrey with words—‘I think you’ll find your friends are all at the bar.’

  It was the final straw. With her mind made up that she was leaving, Aubrey headed for the doors, but unfortunately, as she did so, the brothers turned from the group they were speaking with and she came face to face with one of the sons that she knew from the tabloids to be Abe.

  ‘Miss Johnson.’ He offered a thin smile and a vice-like handshake but even if his stance was polite, his black eyes were unfriendly and the message was clear—You are not welcome.

  ‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Aubrey offered, surprised that he knew her name and realising it hadn’t been chance that she had been allowed into the service. Perhaps they knew about Jobe and her mom after all. ‘It was a lovely service.’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘I was actually just leaving,’ Aubrey said.

  ‘Perhaps that would be for the best.’

  Ouch.

  Khalid now came and stood at her side, like a security guard, Aubrey thought, and it angered her, for they all clearly thought she was either trouble or not good enough to be here.

  Aubrey was actually now tempted to accept a drink from the passing waiter just to throw it in Abe’s face, to tell him that his father had never looked at her or her mother with such contempt. She was suddenly sick of the Devereuxes and their closed ranks and minds, and tired of being looked at as if she’d brought in dirt on her shoe.

  Khalid could feel the tension rip through her, and privately he considered it deserved—Aubrey had been nothing but polite and discreet and had clearly been about to leave.

  It was too late for that now, though, for Chantelle had arrived.

  Ah, Chantelle.

  Khalid inwardly sighed.

  She had never quite made it to wife and remained bitter about that fact. Her hair was coiffed to perfection as always, yet her face was flushed from champagne and, if there was such a thing as too many diamonds, Chantelle, to Khalid’s mind, was just that.

  ‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ she said to Aubrey. ‘I’m Chantelle, Jobe’s partner.’

  Khalid felt his jaw grit a little. Chantelle had been Jobe’s date on many an occasion, yes. But the great man himself had kept her at arm’s length before his demise.

  ‘I’m Aubrey,’ she said, and held out her hand. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’

  Aubrey’s hand wasn’t
accepted.

  ‘The correct thing to do, at an occasion such as this,’ Chantelle hissed, ‘is to say who you are and your relationship to the deceased.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Aubrey said, refusing to let on she was terrified. ‘I wasn’t aware of that—it’s my first funeral.’

  And Khalid, who rarely smiled, especially on a day like today, found that he was suppressing one, as Aubrey sidestepped the demand for more information as to who she was.

  Yet Chantelle, having spent a week locked out of Devereux discussions and attorneys, having spent a week being less than magnanimously told that while she could join the family at the service, the fact was she wasn’t one of them.

  The Devereuxes were bastards to those not their own.

  And Aubrey, alone, stood in the volatile thick of it.

  ‘So where have you travelled from?’ Chantelle asked, assuming correctly that Aubrey wasn’t from the East Side.

  ‘Vegas.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Yes—oh.

  Just. How. Old. Is. She? Chantelle’s eyes screamed as she spoke. ‘Do you get to Manhattan much?’

  ‘It’s my first time here,’ Aubrey answered.

  ‘And you know Jobe, how?’

  He had a long affair with my mother, Aubrey was tempted to sweetly reply. He adored her and treated her like a queen. They used to play strip poker in our trailer. Not while I was there, mind. Jobe was a gentleman like that. He really was. I only found that out the other day when my mom was reminiscing. I was there, though, when he drank cheap whiskey while my mom cooked him spiced chicken wings. They were his favourite, not that you’d know.

  He helped with my homework. You’d twist that and make that sound sleazy, but it never, ever was. He took us to Disney and to see the Hoover Dam and we went in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon. Me! A girl from a trailer park who’d never had a daddy, let alone been on a holiday, flew over the Grand Canyon in a helicopter.

  They loved each other and my mom never took a single red cent. Not even when she got so burnt, so broken she couldn’t afford her bills, still she didn’t let him know. She wanted him to remember her as the beauty she had been and the love they had once had.