“That’s…wow.” The muscles in Feraz’s tanned throat worked as he swallowed. “That’s amazing, Roxy.”
Hearing him call her by her sister’s nickname helped break the spell for Isabella and she straightened, causing his hand to fall away. Awkwardness fell between them again and Feraz returned to his seat across from her, his smile fading into his usual stoic expression, the one he wore whenever he was overseeing his sheikh duties or being interviewed on TV. She’d seen it more times than she could count when she’d been up at all hours of the night to go to the bathroom or get a snack or whatever else this crazy pregnancy had made her do. At those times, all she had for company was the twenty-four-hour cable news and she’d watched avidly to catch a glimpse of her gorgeous, royal brother-in-law.
“I need to get back to Djeva as soon as possible. The government will be voting on some important legislation later this week and I want to be there to support my brother Rehaj. My private jet is waiting at LaGuardia. I just need to call my pilot and let him know what time we’d like to leave. You mentioned needing to pack some things and wanting to say goodbye to your mother. I suggest we do that now so that we may be on our way as soon as possible. I spoke with Dr. Phillips and she said you should be fine to travel. She is also emailing the names of several colleagues of hers practicing in Djeva who can take over your care from here.”
Isabella didn’t quite know what to say. This was what her mother had been hoping for, a seamless transition of one daughter to another, one life to another, without the doting husband any the wiser, but it all left a sick feeling in the pit of Isabella’s stomach. She was an honest person by nature, an oddity in her own family, and all this deception didn’t sit well with her at all. But there wasn’t much she could do about it at this point. If she came out now and blurted the truth to him, he’d either think she was nuts or he’d march her right back to the doctor’s office and demand a whole new battery of tests be done to prove the validity of her claims. None of that was acceptable. She still had the expenses of her mother’s cancer treatments to contend with and much as she hated the thought of lying to and duping an innocent man, she hated the thought of her mother lying dead in a grave beside Roxanne even more. Her mother might be a lying, cheating con artist, but she was the only mother Isabella knew. Good thing her father was already dead, since finding out his beloved daughter was running a long con on a sheik might have done him in.
No. She’d started this farce, she needed to see it through, no matter how difficult.
Isabella exhaled slowly then nodded. “Fine. We can leave whenever you’re ready, right after I talk to my mother.”
3
Isabella had hoped to do this alone, but Feraz had insisted on coming with her to East Park 92, the chic assisted-living facility where her mother lived nowadays. Regardless of the strained relationship between them, she’d wanted to make sure her mother got the care she needed and was well taken care of. The fact the place had a penthouse salon and spa and a gourmet restaurant on the first floor of the twenty-story red brick building, didn’t hurt either. Calista Germain demanded the best, especially when she was at her worst.
She and Feraz rode the elevator up to her mother’s seventh floor one-bedroom apartment. Isabella knocked on the door then hid her hands quickly to hide their trembling. The last thing she needed was for Feraz to pick up on her nervousness and start asking a lot of questions.
Her mother answered, dressed to the nines and in full hair and make-up, as always. She was a firm believer in fake-it-til-you-make-it and even though she’d been on chemotherapy for several weeks and had started to lose both her hair and some weight, you couldn’t tell with the way her layered sweater-set covered her up and the stylish new cut the salon upstairs had given her. If Isabella didn’t know better, she’d think her mother was healthy as a horse and at least ten years younger than her sixty-two years.
“Come in, come in,” her mother waved them inside then checked the hall before closing the door behind them. Old habit. Back when Isabella had been younger and her mother had been running some job on a mark, they’d always looked twice to make sure they weren’t being stalked or followed.
“My, my,” her mother said, giving Feraz an appraising stare. “Not sure if I should bow or curtsy or what, seeing as how you’re head of the country now.”
He didn’t even blink, his stern “sheikh-face” as she thought of it, firmly in place.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Germain,” he said, giving her a slight bow, his voice freezing cold.
“Calista, please.” Her mother gestured toward them to take a seat on the cream-colored sofa in the small living room. As far as assisted living facilities went, this was probably considered top-of-the-line. The price certainly was, Isabella could attest. Still, it was pleasant enough—lots of white and beige, warm hardwood floors and area rugs, a galley-style kitchen with stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops. If one had to give up their freedom, this wasn’t a bad way to go. Isabella took a seat on the sofa with Feraz beside her. Her mother sat in an armchair across from them. She gave Feraz a sly smile. “We are family now, after all.”
Isabella felt Feraz stiffen beside her and prayed this awkward situation would be over soon. “Mom, I wanted to stop by and see you tonight before we fly back to Djeva tomorrow.”
That got her mother’s attention. Her shrewd green gaze darted from Isabella to Feraz, then back again. “Already? Don’t you work fast, huh?”
Feraz frowned. “I want to take my wife and child home.”
“Sure you do.’ Calista winked. “Never could keep your hands off my Roxy Isabella, could you?”
“Mom!” Isabella felt like her cheeks were hot enough to catch fire. Bad enough she’d agreed to this charade in the first place. Now to have her mother toy with her and Feraz like they were some kind of wonky cat toy and she was a panther ready to strike made her physically ill. Bile rose hot in Isabella’s throat before she swallowed it down. “Please, I wanted to say goodbye before we left. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Hard, eh?” She looked her daughter up and down. “I’ll tell you what’s hard. Raising two kids on my own without any support at all from that dead-beat dad of yours, God rest his slimy soul.”
Feraz looked about ready to say something when his phone rang. Scowling he pulled it out and stared down at the screen. “I’m sorry, it’s my brother Rehaj. I must take this.” He leaned over and kissed Isabella on the temple. “Okay, rohi?”
She nodded, her chest squeezing with the sweetness of his attention, even though she had no right to it. Not really. She watched as Feraz left the apartment for privacy. Good thing too, since her mother wouldn’t hesitate to eavesdrop to pick up any juicy tidbits.
“How’s the little critter cooking?” Calista asked, leaning toward Isabella. “You had another doctor’s appointment today, right? Did he show up? Is that why he’s so interested now?”
“Yes. I-I don’t know about this anymore, Mom.” Isabella shook her head. “Maybe we should end this now before anyone else gets hurt.”
“Gets hurt?” Any warmth in her mother’s eyes froze over beneath a layer of cold intent. “Your sister is dead. So’s your father. I’ve got cancer. Who do you think is going to help you take care of that baby you’ve got inside you if it’s not him? No one, that’s who. Don’t you dare think of backing out of this now. You made a promise to me. You made a promise to your sister.”
“But it’s lies, all lies.” Isabella bit back a sob. She wasn’t a crier, really she wasn’t, but between the baby hormones and the stress of all this deception, it brought out her emotional side. “I know I said I’d go through with it and at the time I thought I could, but now it doesn’t feel right.”
“Feelings?” Her mother all but spat the word. She pushed to her feet to pace the small room, keeping one eye on the door to make sure they weren’t overheard. “This has nothing to do with your feelings, Issy. Have you forgotten just how
broke you were before Roxanne made you that offer? You would have been homeless by the end of the week if it wasn’t for Roxanne. Living on the streets is no picnic, sweetheart, let me tell you. I’ve been there, done that, and ain’t never going back again.”
Isabella exhaled slowly. “But I’m not like you or Roxanne. Money isn’t everything to me.”
“Money?” Her mother gave a short laugh, brittle and mirthless. “You think all this is about money? It’s not. It’s about security, protection, the future. The safety net’s gone now, Issy. Your dad was never there, but Roxanne and I were.” Isabella opened her mouth to protest, but her mother held up a hand cutting her off. “Don’t. Stop right there. I can’t listen to any more of self-righteous, sanctimonious dreaminess right now. I know what you think of me. That I’m nothing but a liar and a cheat. Hell, you might be right about that. But I took care of you and your sister, didn’t I? Always made sure you had food and clothes and a safe place to sleep at night. I will not stand here now and let you belittle that. Especially when you’re pulling off the biggest con job ever, darling.”
“This wasn’t my idea. It was never my idea.” Isabella’s tone rose along with her anger. “I’m going to tell him, now, before this goes any farther. It’s the right thing to do. I’ve been saving money and have a little nest egg saved up. It’s not a huge amount but if I move out of the city I can get a small house, raise this baby on my own.”
“Like hell you can. I don’t care how much money you’ve got saved up, it won’t be enough. You tell your hubby out there and he’ll fight you tooth and nail to get his kid. He’s got the finest lawyers money can buy. He’ll take that baby away from you faster than you can say dashiki. And you’ll never, ever see it again. Is that what you want?”
She’d tried hard to keep her heart separated from the child growing inside her because until Roxanne’s death, she’d always known it would ultimately belong to someone else. But now. Isabella placed her hand over her stomach, feeling the baby’s tiny kicks. Having her child torn away from her would kill her. She loved the baby, no matter how hard she’d tried not to.
Her mother was at her side in an instant, color rising in her perfectly powdered cheeks. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? Yes, I can see it does. You listen to me, Isabella Roxanne Germain, you are going to go through with this, or I swear I will call his attorneys myself and tell them about this little scheme, you understand me? Is that what you want?” Her mother’s green eyes looked glassy and she swayed a bit on her feet, collapsing down onto the seat vacated earlier by Feraz. “I don’t want to do that to you, Issy. Please don’t make me do that.”
Alarmed by her mother’s sudden pallor, Isabella wanted to ask more, but Feraz opened the door and walked back in, his broad-shouldered presence seeming to suck all the oxygen from the room. His gaze darted from Isabella to her mother then back again. “I’m sorry, Roxanne, but we will need to leave as soon as possible. There are important meetings on my agenda for tomorrow and my brother and I need time to coordinate our strategy before then.”
Breath held, Isabella’s eyes met her mother’s. Calista had somehow regained her composure, her complexion back to its regular creamy perfection and her eyes glittering with triumph. Had all that previous drama been just an act? Hard to tell with her mother, but it didn’t matter now anyway. If Isabella had any doubts about going ahead with this charade they were gone now in the face of sickening awareness that she could lose her child if Feraz found out the truth. She couldn’t allow that to happen, wouldn’t allow it.
Isabella bit her lip and took her mother’s hand, squeezing it in a show of solidarity. “I’ll call you as soon as we land to let you know we arrived safely, okay?”
Her mother raised her chin and smiled, genuinely this time, and pulled her daughter into a hug. “Good girl,” she murmured. “You were always my smart one, Isabella. So smart and kind and funny. I’ll miss you.”
Stunned, Isabella hugged her mother back, doing her best to keep her face placid since Feraz was watching. “Okay, Mom. Stay safe and get better. See you soon.”
Calista held her tighter for a moment before pulling away. “Safe travels, you two.”
4
By the time his private jet taxied down the runway and finally took off, Feraz felt nothing but bone-deep weariness. He’d known that seeing his mother-in-law again would stir up old resentments for him, but he’d not realized just how difficult it had been. It wasn’t just the fact that Calista Germain had all but orchestrated his disastrous marriage, but that she’d also manipulated everyone around her to do her bidding.
From the minute he’d walked into that assisted care facility in Brooklyn with Roxanne, his skin had prickled with the awareness that she’d been watching him. Hard to believe that someone as ruthless and conniving as Calista had fallen ill. He’d have imagined she’d swindle the Grim Reaper himself to stay alive. She’d still looked as well-preserved and well-dressed as he remembered, her hair and makeup done to perfection despite the fact she was dealing with a potentially terminal illness. Truthfully, if Roxanne hadn’t told him her mother had Stage I lung cancer, he never would’ve guessed.
Calista had looked ready to scam the world tonight, as usual.
His hackles rose just thinking about it. Feraz’s own family were nothing if not honest. Even his father, for all his faults, had never denied his rule over Djeva had been less-than-effective. But not Calista Germain. He didn’t doubt she’d spit in Allah’s face if she thought it would get her what she wanted.
Their plane ascended then banked to head out over the Atlantic Ocean. Feraz leaned back in his leather seat and hazarded a glance at his wife, who sat across the aisle from him on a matching leather dais, lots of plump pillows around her for support. She’d toed off her tennis shoes and had her feet propped up on a small ottoman, a glass of juice balanced atop her rounded baby bump while she flipped through a magazine she’d picked up at her apartment when they’d stopped there for her to pack.
Again, Feraz was struck by how different she seemed now from the last time he’d seen her. Roxanne, despite her polish and poise, had always had a slight brittleness about her, as if she’d shatter beneath the slightest pressure. At first, that fragileness had called to Feraz’s inner alpha, making him want to protect her. Soon thought, that feeling of always having to walk on eggshells around her had grown tiresome. He wanted a wife he could depend on, lean on in times of trouble and strife, a partner and a friend, not just a fantastic lover.
He sighed and looked away, staring out the window at the twinkling lights of New York City receding into the distance. In the end, it hadn’t mattered anyway because theirs was a marriage in name only now and Roxanne hadn’t turned out to be nearly as delicate as he’d thought. She had a mind and a will of her own and wasn’t afraid to use them, to suit her own purposes, of course, Even if those purposes were in direct conflict with Feraz’s own.
His wife sipped the rest of her juice then set the empty glass aside, along with her magazine. “Thank you for coming in to see my mother with me. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you.”
Feraz looked over at her, a brow raised. “I didn’t know you cared.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt. “I don’t. I just…” She shrugged. “That juice was really good. Fresh squeezed, right?”
“Only the best for the Nazrani royal family,” Feraz said, tilting his head toward the slim man dressed in an attendant’s uniform near the back of the cabin. “Thank Mozy. He’s the one who made it for you.”
To his surprise she did, as soon as the man came over to collect her dirty glass. The old Roxanne would never have done that. He frowned. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s death. I know you and he were close.”
“Thanks. And yes. We lived with him from the time we were sixteen, so we were close.” She stared down at her stomach again. “His funeral was hard. Especially coming on the heels of my sister’s accident.”<
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A strange urge to pull her into his arms and hold her close came over Feraz. He hadn’t held Roxanne for nearly a year and a half. Their relationship had been fiery between the sheets but otherwise lacked even the smallest displays of physical affection. Roxanne had told him once that she didn’t like to be manhandled in public, but perhaps that had just applied to him, because from the latest sets of tabloid photos he’d seen of her from before the pregnancy, she’d been groped by some of the richest men in the world.
He shook off those thoughts and focused on something else. Dwelling on the mess of his relationship with his wife would get him nowhere at this point. They were having a baby now. That changed things.
Roxanne shifted in her seat and flinched. Once more he wanted to rush to her side, to take her into his arms and soothe her pain. He fisted his hands at his sides instead.
“Honestly, my father’s death was bad, but losing my twin sister was the most soul-crushing thing I’ve ever been through,” she said at last. The catch in her voice made his heart ache. “We’ve been together since before we were born. There was no one I was closer to in this world, even when we weren’t getting along. It was like losing half of myself.”
Feraz nodded and hailed the attendant to bring them waters. “Such a tragedy, the way Isabella died. She was such a smart, sweet woman. I’m sure she’ll be greatly missed.”
Roxanne looked up at him then, her expression peculiar before she quickly hid it behind her usual mask of cool indifference. “Thank you.” She shifted on her seat. “How is your family?”
“Fine, I’m sure they’ll all be waiting for us at the airport in Al-Qusta when we arrive. My sisters have been bugging me for months now about giving them a niece or nephew to look after. Now, perhaps they will leave me alone and fuss over you instead.”
The Sheikh’s Pregnant Fake Wife: Sheikh’s Meddling Sisters Book Three Page 3