“But I wanted to see the sharks,” Aisha whined, and Amy could hear her sniffles increasing.
She squeezed the little girl’s hand. “I know, sweetheart, but sometimes we don’t get what we want.” Amy’s heart contracted at that, and she swallowed down the feelings threatening to come up. Now was not the time.
She tensed when she heard the blonde speak again and cringed at the woman’s fake laugh. Was there nothing real about her? Tugging on Aisha’s hand, she said, “Come on, let’s go catch up with the others.”
Walking away, she looked back at the VIPs and was surprised to see the sheikh watching her. Shaking her head, she sped up when Aisha broke into a run, and she couldn’t help echoing the child’s giggles as the two of them ran hand in hand.
Her giggles stopped when she glanced over her shoulder. Why was he looking at her like that when he had that blonde on his arm?
2
Two months later
The sun was a scorcher today. Haze simmered off the crumbling sidewalks as the desert sun beat down, and the air was stale. Amy took a deep breath and held her hand up to shade her eyes. Under her blue hijab, she could feel her dark hair plastering itself against the back of her neck, and sweat was gathering in the crevices of her body. At the moment, the idea that Florida heat had adequately prepared her for the Middle East was laughable. Haamas was beautiful in the general vicinity of the palace, but here, on the outskirts of the kingdom, was nothing but gritty sand and wilderness.
It had also become her sanctuary.
Around her, the orphaned children under her care were laughing and playing and flashing their goofy smiles her way. Their innocent cheer was contagious, and despite her misery, Amy couldn’t help but smile back. This was exactly what she needed.
“Amy! Come play!” they yelled as they raced to sit in a circle, one of the boys brandishing a stone in a triumphant fist. Taq Taqieh was one of their favorite games, similar to Duck, Duck, Goose of Amy’s childhood.
She was ultimately there to study the children. Newly graduated with her master’s degree in journalism, Amy had suddenly found herself alone and heartbroken in Florida. Needing an escape, she took her studies abroad. Natasha and Shatha, the two orphanage workers in the facility where she’d landed, were more than happy for her help, and she found herself participating more than studying.
As a researcher, it was horrible, but as a woman, it had been a great comfort. Her ex-boyfriend’s words still rang in her ears.
Sorry, babe. We were never going to make it past graduation. Now that I’m a PhD candidate, I need a wife. Someone to keep the house together while I’m studying, and let’s face it. You’re not really mother material, are you?
Not mother material. She’d been with James for three years. They’d met at the end of their undergraduate studies. They’d supported each other through graduate school. How many times had they stayed up together, chugging coffee and eating ice cream while they worked on papers? How many times had they talked about marriage and what their life would be like?
All lies. Every last shared dream. He hadn’t seen her as the woman who would one day raise his children. She had been the woman who warmed his bed at night and helped him fuck out his frustrations.
Pain pierced her at the memory, but she pushed it aside and, putting on a bright smile, jogged to the circle.
Aisha held out her hand. The girl was as tough as she was sweet. Natasha had explained that Aisha, abandoned at the orphanage with nothing more than a name pinned on her shirt, had lived here for four years. It wasn’t uncommon for children to be abandoned at the orphanage, but they were usually abandoned as babies by unwed mothers who couldn’t afford to take care of them or were too ashamed to keep them. A three-year-old was a rare occurrence. Shatha feared Aisha’s mother had passed away, and, for any number of reasons, the child’s relatives were unable to take care of her.
Ten children lived at the orphanage in all, seven boys and three girls, ranging from four to twelve years old. While it wasn’t uncommon for the boys to pick on the girls, Aisha was always quick to stand up for herself and her foster sisters.
Although Amy would step in to intervene when necessary, it never ceased to make her smile when she saw a few boys running in terror from Aisha, chasing them away.
“All right, I want a clean game,” Amy announced, trying to sound stern as she sat down. “No tripping each other, got it?”
The players laughed in general hilarity. Shaking her head, she grabbed the hand of the young boy next to her. The eldest picked up the stone, and they all chanted together as the boy slowly walked around the circle. It didn’t surprise Amy when the stone dropped behind her, and the children screamed with laughter as she scrambled to grab the stone and give chase.
After thirty minutes, the children were still going strong, but she was exhausted and covered in dust. She was always the favorite chaser.
Crying out in surrender, she gasped for breath as she got up. “You go on playing,” she said. “I’ve got…” she grasped for an excuse. “Things to do,” she finished lamely, and headed inside, shaking her head in amusement at the children’s theatrical groans. The song started up again behind her as she entered the building. Natasha and Shatha were working on the large volume of laundry that seemed to be never-ending. “How can I help?” she volunteered, leaning against the wall and wiping at her face. “Anything for a break.”
“They do like to run you around, don’t they?” Natasha laughed, as she pointed to the dirty pile of sheets. She was in her late twenties, only a few years older than Amy, and seemed to adore her job. She’d grown up in the village and wanted to help out. From a poor family, she had few marriage prospects, but that didn’t dampen her cheer. Amy suspected from her late-night prowlings that Natasha had a secret boyfriend, but she never asked.
Shatha was much older, in her fifties, and had started the orphanage twenty years ago. Unable to have children of her own, she bore the scars of her husband’s disappointment, but when she’d become widowed, she’d put her family money to good use and converted the family home into an orphanage. She was a stern woman who didn’t like to talk about her past but was fiercely protective of all the children.
“I don’t think it’s out of love,” Amy groaned as she grabbed a sheet. “I’m pretty sure they have it in for me.”
“I caught one of the boys going through your field notes,” Shatha said with a frown. “He was confused because they weren’t in English.”
Amy laughed. “I’m glad I could stump him. It’s a form of shorthand that I developed a few years ago. My brain works faster than I can write.”
“You’ve been here three months. What are you writing?”
“Nothing bad,” Amy assured her. “But I can’t divulge my notes, or you might start doing things differently.”
In fact, Amy was more than impressed with the way things were run. The older children went to school with the rest of the village children, but those younger than age ten received their lessons at the orphanage. All the children were highly intelligent and curious to learn more.
Haamas was a progressive kingdom that promoted teaching everyone as equally as possible. In the few months she’d been there, she’d learned that Crowned Sheikh Iman was actively doing more to improve the quality of life for everyone. He’d even recently married an American, Natalie, and the whole kingdom had nearly shut down on the day of their wedding to celebrate.
Unfortunately, opinions in the outlying villages weren’t as positive. Amy had overheard more than one conversation about the Sheikh forsaking their traditions. They wanted to see an end to the royal family.
As she pulled another sheet from the pile and prepared to place it in the hand-crank washer, a brown stain caught her attention. Frowning, she brought the sheet up closer for examination. “This looks like vomit.”
“Let me see,” Shatha demanded. Amy handed the sheet over, and the older woman grimaced. “Come with me. Let’s check the beds.”
“She must have tried to clean it up,” Amy sighed as she pointed to the stain on the bedframe. “Why wouldn’t she tell anyone she was sick?”
“Aisha doesn’t like to miss out on anything,” Shatha said and shook her head. “We quarantine the sick kids in the guesthouse out back to keep anything from spreading to the other children. It can take a few days for the village doctor to come visit us. We’re not high on the priority list. She’s going to throw a fit.”
“I’ll keep her company,” Amy volunteered immediately. She hated the thought of Aisha being all alone and miserable. “And I’ll talk to her. See if this is a one-time thing or if she’s actually sick.”
Shatha smiled. “She’s really taken with you. More so than with me or Natasha.”
“I’m just someone new,” Amy murmured, but she couldn’t help smiling.
In a rare show of affection, Shatha reached over and squeezed the younger woman’s hand. “Amy, you must know by now how I feel about outsiders. I didn’t let you come and watch my children so you could study them.” The older woman gave her a tender smile that spoke volumes before releasing her hand. “I could see the pain in your eyes. Your heart is broken, and you’re running away from that pain.” Her smile shifted, and she appeared wistful. “Children are great healers. You should not be ashamed for how much you love them, even if it’s not how you scientists do things. Enjoy being here, and let them mend your broken heart.”
At a loss for words, Amy swallowed hard and nodded. She’d hoped that her pain wasn’t so obvious. She simply wanted to be an observer and a writer. Not some amateur who let her personal experiences taint her work.
Shatha returned the nod and turned back to the laundry, and Amy immediately went to find Aisha. The young girl was leading a merry chase, keeping ahead of one of the older boys. A little tall for her age, she was naturally fast and agile. Her dark hair flew behind her as her hijab came undone, and her blue eyes flashed with the thrill.
Suddenly, the girl came to a stop, clutched her middle, and doubled over, retching loudly.
“Aisha!” Amy raced to her side, reaching her as the young girl started to dry-heave. The other children scrambled to them, but Amy waved them away. “Go inside,” she ordered with a jerk of her head.
Muttering among themselves, the boys and girls trailed to the house. Amy knelt down and felt the girl’s forehead. Even though the little girl had been running around, her skin was warmer than it should be, and she looked miserable. “Aisha, how long have you been sick?”
“I’m not sick!” Aisha protested. “I just ran too much.”
“We saw the vomit by your bed. You cleaned it up so we wouldn’t know,” Amy admonished gently. “If you’re sick, we need to send for the doctor.”
“Shatha will make me stay alone in the guest house, and I don’t want to do that!”
“It’s only a precaution, and you won’t be alone. I’ll come hang out with you as much as possible, okay?”
Aisha’s eyes widened. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Amy frowned when she heard the child wheeze. She hadn’t been running around that much. She slowly pulled up the girl’s shirt and probed at her abdomen. There was a small, heart-shaped birthmark above Aisha’s belly-button, and Amy smiled. It seemed right that the girl would be marked with a heart.
“Does this hurt?” she asked. The abdomen didn’t look distended, but Amy wanted to make sure that Aisha didn’t need to go to the hospital.
Aisha shook her head, and Amy pulled the shirt down once more and tapped lightly on the girl’s chest. “All right. You head over to the guest house, and I’m going to pack a few things for you and grab some games. How does that sound?”
“You won’t forget Kedar?” Aisha had a strong attachment to her stuffed octopus. Shatha had said that the toy was the only thing that Aisha had been carrying when she arrived.
“I won’t forget Kedar. I promise.”
After sending the girl on her way, Amy stood and sighed. It looked like her first article was going to have to be postponed for a few days.
3
“Are you two ever leaving?” Iman growled.
Bahir responded to his older brother by tapping the pen in his hand even louder on the large mahogany desk. Bahir and Riyad had both remained at the palace after the royal wedding while Iman and Natalie went on their honeymoon. Now that the newlyweds had returned, both younger Karawi brothers were free to head back to their own lives. For Riyad, that meant partying it up in Europe, but Bahir had an international export business to run. He’d been trying to get Riyad on board for the last few months. It was time for his brother to quit drinking his life away and start helping out, but in truth, he wasn’t sure why he and Riyad were still hanging around the palace.
Part of it was Iris. It had been stunning to discover that Iman had a five-year-old daughter that he hadn’t known about. The girl had the entire Karawi family wrapped around her little finger. Bahir had never seen himself as a father figure, although he knew it was expected that one day, he’d marry and produce heirs.
Another reason that he hadn’t left was that he’d heard rumors of unrest in the outskirts of the kingdom. Although most of Haamas had fallen in love with their American queen, there had been word of a rising rebellion, people who wanted to dethrone the Karawis. Bahir and Riyad both wanted to be there to protect Iman if needed.
It also didn’t hurt that he was driving his older brother crazy.
Two desks dominated the large office. Iman sat at their father’s desk, where he looked over reports from his advisors. Bahir was sitting at their deceased uncle’s desk and trying to focus on the emails from his board members, but he was feeling restless and rattled.
To divert himself from his uneasy thoughts, Bahir looked up and grinned. “We might stay forever,” he teased. “Although I don’t think there’s enough booze for Riyad.”
“I thought he was going to start working with you,” Iman grumbled.
Rapping his knuckles against the surface of the desk, Bahir wrinkled his nose. “We’ve talked about it. Well, I talked. He nodded his head and grunted. Then he talked about flying to France. I don’t really think he got the message.”
Tapping his way across the desk, he frowned when the solid thunk turned into something else. Hesitantly, he knocked on the wood again. The resulting sound was hollow.
Pushing his chair back, he looked under the desk and moved his fingers around until he found a groove.
“What are you doing now?” Iman demanded. “Other than driving me insane.”
“I think Uncle Salah has a hidden compartment in his desk.” His fingers skimmed across a small hole. “Oh yeah, there’s definitely something here.”
Iman joined him and knelt down to look under the desk. “That looks like it would fit an Allen wrench. Is there anything like that in the drawers?”
Bahir pulled the drawers open, one by one, and shuffled through the papers. He was about to give up when he felt something taped to the top of the last drawer he tried. “Got it.” Ripping the wrench free, he inserted it in the hole and twisted. He heard the distinct sound of a lock sliding out, and the flap opened. A small box dropped out from the hiding spot. Long and slender, it was made of simple pine and adorned only with a brass keyhole.
“Great. Another lock.” Bahir lifted the box and shook it. The brothers could clearly hear the sound of something shuffling inside. “I don’t suppose you remember seeing him with a key?”
Iman shook his head and pursed his lips. “What do you think he was hiding?”
“Who knows.” Opening another drawer, Bahir pulled out some paper clips and unbent them. “A little party trick I learned in school.”
It took a few minutes before Bahir picked the lock.
Iman eyed him inc
redulously. “Party trick, my ass. You were the one who kept nabbing Father’s fountain pens, weren’t you?”
Bahir chuckled. “He used to get so red in the face.”
“I got blamed for that!” Iman roared. “Why would you steal pens?”
Bahir opened the box. “I wasn’t after the pens. I did it whenever I was mad at you.” Inside, he found a few letters. Tossing them on the desk, he turned the box upside down. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a bunch of papers. What would Uncle Salah want to lock up?”
Iman pulled the letters out of the envelopes and opened them up. After scanning the writing, his jaw dropped open. “Brother. Do you know an Amalia?”
At the name of his former lover, Bahir looked up sharply. “Excuse me? How do you know about her?”
“Because these letters are to you. And they’re from her.” Slowly, Iman handed the papers over. Bahir could see the look of disbelief on his brother’s face, and he had a feeling that these weren’t love letters. Scanning over the writing, he felt his whole world darken.
Letter after letter. Dated seven years ago, they were all the same. Pleading for him to help her, to marry her, because their last liaison had ended in pregnancy.
“I met her eight years ago in Que’Harabi when I was with Uncle Salah during a business trip. I was young and stupid and bored. She was the daughter of an associate. She seduced me.”
“Bahir,” Iman slowly. “Don’t lie to me.”
Chuckling, the younger brother shook his head at the memory. “I’m not. I don’t really know what her motives were, and I honestly didn’t even ask. I continued the affair for a few months while Uncle finished up business. She told me that she’d met someone, and she wanted to end it. We weren’t in love, but I did miss her and think of her often.”
Iman pressed his lips into a thin line. “I guess whoever she fell for didn’t take too kindly to her being pregnant.”
The Karawi Sheikhs Series: The Complete Series Page 11