Healing the Sheikh's Heart

by Annie O'Neil

  The only woman in the world he would trust with her care.

  He began to shake his head, eyes searching the growing darkness as night fell over London’s skyline.

  What had he done? How big a fool had he been?

  * * *

  “Anyone want to run through things one more time?”

  Robyn held up her gloved hands and scanned the pairs of eyes peeking out at her from above their surgical masks. Sure they were only practicing on a model, but it was important to mimic the exact conditions in which they would be doing the operation.

  Not a single headshake.

  Just as it should be.

  “May I get the case for the middle ear pieces, please, Rosie?”

  “You got it, Robyn.”

  The flame-haired nurse carried over the special box that would house the miniscule middle ear replacement.

  A rap on the door turned all of their heads.

  “All right, Leo?” Robyn called out cheerily. “Ready to help out with prep tomorrow?”

  The pediatrician stuck his head through the door with a smile. “Absolutely. Can’t wait to be part of history in the making!”

  He received a chorus of whoops in response. These were the moments when Paddington’s really shone. They were an unbreakable team—particularly in the face of the unknown.

  “Rosie, I’m heading down to the Frog and Peach. Meet me there?”

  “Mmm?” Rosie stood absolutely still as Robyn loaded the precious pieces into the case, releasing an audible sigh as she did. “Sorry, love. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Va bene.” Leo gave the door frame a clap and turned to go. “Get your beauty sleep, everyone. And best of luck!”

  A chorus of thank-yous went up as the doctors and nurses meticulously returned their equipment to the exact location they would be expecting it in the morning.

  “That was nice of Leo to pop in.” Robyn pulled down her surgical mask and smiled, hoping the heat in her cheeks didn’t betray the slightest—okay, the huge—bit of envy that Rosie had found love.

  “I’d love to take all the credit.” Rosie laughed. “But I think Leo’s more interested in your surgery than me today. The whole hospital is on tenterhooks about tomorrow.”

  “What a relaxing thought!” Robyn’s cheeks flared further. She didn’t mind having an audience when she was in surgery, but knowing the future of the hospital was hanging in the balance because of this one, very risky surgery...

  It was a lot of pressure she didn’t need on top of a deflated heart and ego and the splattered remains of her pride. Maybe she could fling herself on the operating table after Amira’s surgery and demand returning cardiologist, Dr. Wolfe, throw a few well-placed stitches into her broken heart.

  She smiled at the image her mind’s eye conjured and shook her head. See? Losing the man she’d never had wasn’t hurting that badly, after all. She was already able to make jokes about it—albeit to herself—but it was precisely the sort of thing she hoped would happen when she’d walked back through the high Victorian arches of Paddington’s.

  “Why don’t we call it a day, then?” Robyn tugged her mask free of her neck, giving the collection of esteemed surgeons and specialists the best smile she could muster. “We’ll all need to be here bright and early.”

  She loitered while they made their way out in twos and threes, some making dinner plans, others announcing their intention to have an early night after grabbing a quick drink at the Frog and Peach. An urge to go with them to the “hospital pub” overtook her. She could have a glass of soda water and lime—her go-to favorite when she wasn’t in the mood for an alcoholic drink. Just a chance to relax before heading to her home-not-home. Or not...

  The double doors to the surgical theater phwapped shut and, at long last, she was alone. She stared at the model they’d been working on, superimposing Amira’s little face onto the silicone one in front of her, only just stopping herself from reaching out and stroking the long, ebony hair that wasn’t there.

  Amira’s hair would have to be partially shaved. Just a little bit behind and above her ears. Her bright eyes would be closed, her head tipped to the side so they would have full access to her ear. She’d have a scar—a small one tucked behind her ear—but the surgery would mark her no matter what the result. It would be the first step in a long road, including speech therapy, follow-up gene therapy and some six months’ worth of checkups before she should receive maximum hearing. In other words—this was the beginning of a difficult journey for Amira. Maybe she would get her a service dog to see her through the transition. A beautiful hearing dog. The three of them could—

  Robyn gasped, unable to stem a sob as reality reared upon her like a wild stallion.

  The three of them could nothing. They weren’t a threesome. There was no “we” or “us.”

  The only thing she could do was perform a flawless operation.

  No pub. And she wouldn’t bother with going home. Twiddling her thumbs on her own would only drive her mad.

  Maybe she’d relieve Ryan’s parents from the vigil they were holding by his bedside. Poor little chap. He’d been through so much and to fall into a coma at this point? His parents had looked wrecked when she’d stopped in to chat with them. A nap in the family room was probably overdue. She’d offer to read to him.

  Her brain scanned through the vast book collection in her office. A fairy tale? Nothing too gruesome, though. She bit down hard on her lip a little too aware she’d need a huge injection of courage, as well.

  This was her forte. Her strength. Medicine had always been her right-hand man and she wouldn’t be trying the surgery if she didn’t have complete and utter confidence in her success.

  Then, for once in her life, maybe the planets would align and Paddington’s would be saved and she’d never have to think about the man who’d stolen her heart ever again. Perhaps tomorrow she could arrange a nice little case of amnesia...

  She laughed and pushed out of the empty lab to go check on the three-dimensional printer, still hard at work making a backup set of the middle ear pieces.

  Malleus. Incus. Stapes.

  Each tiny, perfectly shaped piece would play a vital role in Amira’s ear.

  A trill of excitement took spark and held, lighting her smile properly for the first time since she’d returned. Leaving Idris and Amira so brusquely had felt like ripping off one of her own limbs. When the surgery was done and dusted tomorrow, maybe she’d feel whole again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE CLOCK HAND dropped a single measly stop. Two hours and forty-three minutes since Amira had been taken into surgery. Each painful second after the last, moments ticking away with the exhaustive slowness of sap running from a tree, drip by even slower drip with no concern for those who lay in wait.

  Idris forced himself to sit down in the softly lit “family room.” There’d be holes in the practical, overdesigned carpet if he didn’t cool his jets.

  A low growl formed and flew out of his throat unchecked. He was beginning to wish he’d taken the hospital up on its offer of a suite. Not for the luxury of it, but for the rooftop space. He could pace freely there. Shake his fist skyward. Even the illusion of being able to roar from the rooftops if things didn’t go as planned would provide some release to the agony he was feeling.

  He thought of Robyn’s beautiful face and knew he’d find solace there whatever the outcome.

  Solace he didn’t deserve.

  Those amber eyes of hers, ever generous even though he’d been unnecessarily cruel.

  This morning, when she’d entered Amira’s room to bring her up to the surgical ward, she’d managed a smile. Some kind words. Her touch, when she’d reached out to put her hand upon his wrist, had been a salve against the strains of the day.

  “We�
�ll do our very best.”

  Those were the final words she’d spoken to him and he believed her. Heart and soul he believed her. Which was a damn lucky thing because the feeling of sheer helplessness encapsulating him now was suffocating.

  Every fear that could have come his way was piercing him in psychic knife blows so vivid he was surprised the waiting room wasn’t running with blood.

  Had he pushed Amira into this?

  Was the risk worth it?

  An abrupt shift change crowded all his other thoughts away.

  It wasn’t the risk of surgery he was worried about. How blind he’d been. All his anger, the crudely executed rage—it was all cruel bluster to mask the truth that lay within his heart.

  He loved Robyn.

  Loved her with every fiber of his being. Not to act on that love would be to condemn himself and his daughter to a lifetime of fear and pain that neither of them deserved.

  He closed his eyes, fingers spread wide on the sofa cushions as he pictured the woman he’d married nine years earlier. Her beautiful smile, the soft laugh and almond-shaped eyes he saw every time he looked at their daughter.

  A warm heat filled his chest as he thanked her for the love they had shared and the daughter she had bravely borne him at the cost of her own life. The heat strengthened and grew within him as he asked for her blessing to leave the days of mourning in his wake and fill them instead with a life of love and laughter only a future with Robyn could bring.

  When at long last he opened his eyes, he knew there was only one thing he could do.

  * * *

  “All right, everyone, are we ready for the stapedotomy stage?”

  Robyn took the familiar scan, cataloging the nods and yeses. “Okay, let’s get that eardrum elevated and turned.”

  This was where she was in her element. Where she felt her confidence was best placed. Time became irrelevant. Energy continued unabated. All that mattered was the patient.

  Through the operating microscope she watched her instruments as her hands elevated and turned the miniscule eardrum forward.

  Robyn’s concentration intensified, each movement more critical than the last.

  The laser to vaporize select parts of the middle ear. The placement of a platinum piston. Connecting the piston to the second hearing bone—now the 3-D printed incus they had inserted earlier was in place.

  Each step required follow-on steps, all of which would take months to be fully realized. But once they had injected the engineered virus designed to encode the ear’s crucial microvilli, Amira should, pending the level of swelling, be able to tell them if the operation had been successful.

  A cloth was passed across Robyn’s brow. She glanced up from the surgical spectacles and saw the clock. Four hours. Only a few more steps to go—none of them rushed—and Idris could see his daughter again. She closed the mental door on what would follow. The only thing she could think about right now was Amira and the chance the little girl might have to hear.

  * * *

  “How long will it take?” His voice was low, but impatience snapped and crackled in Idris’s every word. His body was taut with a barely contained frustration. An energy so charged Robyn could easily envision it coiled like a whip ready to lash out in biting snaps and flares at anyone or anything that stood in the way of his daughter’s recovery.

  She kept her eyes glued on Amira. It was the only way to keep her emotions in check. Of course, she couldn’t blame Idris for being anxious, tense even, but he wasn’t the only one clock-watching.

  “It can take between ten and twenty minutes from now.”

  “That long?”

  The strain had turned his voice hoarse. His tapping fingers drummed out all of the unspoken words on the doorframe.

  I’ve already waited five hours and now you want more of my precious time?

  “I’m not sure if you remember,” Robyn began cautiously, “but Amira seemed to really enjoy the folk music we heard back in Da’har.”

  “You think I would’ve forgotten something like that?” Idris’s dark-eyed gaze snapped to her, demanding her attention. She inhaled a deep breath, held it and looked up, almost frightened to see the emptiness in those jet-black eyes she had fallen in love with.

  When her eyes met with his, she was physically struck by the story they told. Of course he remembered that day in the tent. They had laughed, sung and danced as a family that day. It was one of the pivotal moments, she was certain of it, that had led to their beautiful night back at the palace.

  “Well, anyway—” she looked away, unable to bear the memories “—I hope you don’t mind but I downloaded some music and thought I might put it on so Amira could wake to it.”

  “How on earth did you find Da’harian folk music?”

  His bewilderment gave him a slightly more human edge, one that softened the sharp lines and angles of the man who held her heart in captivity.

  A smile tweaked at the edges of her lips despite the rivulets of anxiety weaving their way through her nervous system. “I had a lot of...extra energy last night. I thought it best if I put it to some use.”

  “Trawling the internet for arcane folk music?”

  “If by arcane you mean beautiful—” she shot back only just stopping herself from launching into a full speech telling him what she well and truly thought of him, how he was behaving, how ridiculous it was to be so miserable when all they had to do was open their hearts to love.

  Or something like that.

  “I’m trying,” Idris ground out, “to thank you.”

  “Well, you might need to work on your delivery,” Robyn parried with a huff that collapsed into a sigh. No matter what happened today, her journey with Amira and Idris was over.

  Best to retain what few shreds of dignity the situation could afford her. She shifted on the bouncy rubber of her favorite trainers and wished, for the moment, she hadn’t worn the smiley-face surgical cap she was only just remembering to take off. Looking goofy while your heart was breaking really was an unneeded lavishing of icing on the misery cake.

  “Perhaps, Dr. Kelly, it might be a good idea to play the music.”

  Both of them stood tall, heels ground solidly into the hard hospital floor, eyes locked and trying to divine if they were fighting or agreeing.

  Amira’s small body lay between them, her hands resting atop the multicolored coverlet Idris had insisted they use in lieu of the regulation-issue sheets and blanket, her breath coming steady and slow. Robyn ached to touch her, stroke her soft little cheek, cup it with her hand. Kiss her darling sweet brow, tucking a few strands of silky hair back behind her ear, but knowing she couldn’t now that Idris was here. Amira wasn’t hers to love, but love her she did. With every aching pore in her body. Every bit as much as she loved the girl’s stubborn, beautiful, irritating-in-ways-she-hadn’t-imagined-possible father. The one whose eyes she could feel burning into her the longer she refused to obey.

  Amira shifted ever so slightly. The last thing in the world Robyn wanted was for Amira to wake up and find two scowls hovering above her. Amira, on this day more than most, needed to wake up and see love. Because of her, for her, Robyn dug a hand into her white coat and pulled out her phone, fingers flashing along the touchscreen to find the music that had played throughout the entire surgery, fueling her to do her best.

  * * *

  Idris watched as Robyn, cheeks flushed with emotion, plugged the phone’s attachment unit into the speaker and pressed Play.

  “It might be a good idea if you sat alongside her, maybe held her hand.” Her amber eyes lifted to meet his, then fluttered away just as quickly.

  “Should I be facing her, or holding her?”

  “Face her,” Robyn gently encouraged. “If the surgery went as well as we believe, she should be able to hear you, but her brain
will take some time to catch up with everything she is experiencing so you may want to sign, as well. She’s used to reading your lips, so just behave as you always have with her.”

  Idris nodded, his chest constricting with emotion. This would be the first time his little girl would hear him speak. Robyn’s calming instructions were the only things keeping him afloat as his mind raced with things to say.

  Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Would the simplest but truest of sentiments be the best? I love you. Or should it be a prayer of thanks? The name of their country. How much would compute with the words she read upon his lips with the sounds she would be hearing for the very first time?

  Hello? Or perhaps, Can you hear me? So basic, but straight to the point. He cut himself short when he realized he was about to swear with frustration. He certainly wasn’t going to have that be the first thing his cherished daughter heard!

  The importance of language had never stood out so vividly before. His daughter would be hearing him. He clenched his eyes tight and tilted his chin up to the invisible heavens offering prayer upon prayer that the operation had been a success.

  Idris tucked his fingers beneath Amira’s hand when she stirred again. As her fingers clenched and released upon his own, Idris’s blood began to rush and flow with the urgency of a river in a spring thaw. He forced himself to take slow, steadying breaths, not wanting to miss a single moment of his daughter’s experience. This was for her. Everything was for her. Having Robyn here with them—the very reason this miracle might occur—was the most natural thing in the world. Without her...

  * * *

  He forced himself to align his scattered thoughts with the music, humming distractedly at first, then with a greater depth of feeling as he realized the reason the tune was striking such an emotional chord deep within him was because it was the very same song he had sung to Amira on that glorious day in the desert. The words came back to him, fitfully at first, and before he knew it, he was singing to his daughter. It was an ever hopeful serenade that would mark the success or failure of the incredible risk they had just taken.