by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
Samira desperately wanted to tell her mother that Farid hadn't betrayed the trust, that he had been so honorable he'd given his name to her to cover up her dishonor.
But she'd given her promise to Farid, and in truth, she was afraid that at this moment, telling the truth to her father would only make things worse.
"I think perhaps Farid's betrayal cuts deeper than anyone else's because you have always been the most gentle, the most naïve of our children."
Samira stood and walked back over to the window. "I'm not feeling very gentle at the moment." She sighed tremulously. "I feel as if my heart is breaking."
It was at that moment that Samira realized she truly did love Farid. Her love for him filled her up, momentarily making speech impossible.
When had it happened? How was it possible that she had managed to fall in love with the man she had married? The man who had married her not because he loved her, but because he'd believed it was his duty?
She turned back to her mother, her eyes once again awash with tears. "Oh, mother, I don't know what to do."
Alima took her by the shoulders. "Have you seen a doctor since you realized you were pregnant?" Samira shook her head. "Then that's our first order of business. I'll ring Dr. Mallah and we'll go see him immediately."
Once again Samira sank down on the bed. She watched as her mother picked up the phone and made the arrangements with the royal doctor.
Nearly an hour later Samira and her mother left the office of Dr. Mallah. Samira had been given a clean bill of health and Dr. Mallah had assured her that everything seemed to be progressing quite normally with her pregnancy.
The whole time the doctor had talked to her about diet and exercise and what to expect in the coming months, Samira's heart had ached in despair.
"Samira, talk to me," Alima said once they were back in Samira's bedroom. The two women sat together in the window seat, Samira staring out at the gardens below.
She remembered the first time she and Farid had kissed … really kissed. It had been in the gardens of Montebello, when she'd thought the man approaching in the darkness might be Desmond,
Had that been the moment when she'd fallen in love with Farid? When his lips had been so warm against hers? Or had she fallen in love with him as he'd told her silly stories that made her laugh? Or when he'd bared his past to her, talking of the pain of his mother's secret?
"I just don't know what to do. I'm so afraid of making Father more angry," she said softly and turned her gaze to her mother.
"Do you love Farid?" Alima asked.
"With all my heart," Samira answered without hesitation.
"Then you must decide what frightens you more – your father's anger, or being without the man you love." Alima reached out and touched Samira's cheek, her fingers warm against her skin. "Follow your heart, Samira. It will never lead you astray."
With a final pat to Samira's cheek, Alima stood and left the room.
Samira returned her attention out the window. Follow her heart? Could she do that? It would be so easy to remain here in the bosom of her family where she knew she would always be loved.
Follow her heart? Should she do that? Even if her heart led to a man who had already told her he would never, could never love her in the valentines-and-flowers way she'd once dreamed of being loved?
Chapter 12
There was a sense of welcome in the small farmhouse that hadn't been present in the year since his mother's death. As Farid put away the groceries he'd bought on his way to the farm, he realized that without the anger he'd felt toward his mother, his heart was open to the warmth and love the house possessed.
After putting away the groceries, he drifted from room to room, memories of family pressing thick against his chest. Each room held a special, cherished memory of each of his parents, and he allowed himself to bask in those memories for a little while.
He'd mourned his father deeply at the time of his death so long ago, but the grief he'd felt at the time of his mother's passing had been complicated by anger.
Now he touched one of the needlepoint pillows on the sofa, his mind filled with a vision of her head bent over the delicate work, a smile lighting her face each time she gazed at him.
A day had not passed that his mother didn't tell him how strong he was, how smart he was, and her words of praise had developed in him a positive self-confidence and esteem that had been unshakable.
He picked up one of the pillows and hugged it, emotion pressing suffocatingly tight in his chest. The house resonated with an emptiness that seemed to feed the sudden despair inside him.
He was alone, and never had he felt his loneliness as deeply as he did at this moment. He'd suffered loneliness in the years following his father's death and eventually he'd become accustomed to the feeling.
But this was different. He set the pillow down and drew a deep breath, fighting against the unsettling feeling that filled him.
It was ridiculous that he should feel so bereft after all this time. His father had been dead for years, his mother for nearly a year. And the biological father that he'd known only briefly had been dead for almost six months. Why was he feeling so empty now?
Samira . Her name exploded in his head, but he shoved thoughts of her aside. He'd known all along that their arrangement in all probability was temporary. He had been prepared for the end of it.
Deciding the best thing to do was to keep busy, he picked up a dust cloth and began to dust the living-room furniture. In the year since his mother's death, he'd only been back to the house a few times and had rarely taken the time to do any housecleaning.
It hadn't really sunk in yet, the fact that he'd lost his position and had been sent away from the palace in shame. If he looked out one of the back windows, he'd be able to see the very top of the palace in the distance.
Surely it was the loss of his job and the disgrace of being commanded off the palace grounds that filled him with such despondency. It had nothing to do with the fact that his marriage to Samira was probably at an end.
He placed his dust cloth on the coffee table and sank down on the sofa, his thoughts chaotic in his head. He'd known someplace deep inside that Sheik Kamal would be angry. He'd also known it was possible he would be the scapegoat for that anger.
However, his job had been to protect Samira and that's what he had done. Although he knew there would be a certain amount of gossip concerning their marriage and her pregnancy, it wouldn't be the same kind of gossip that would have filled the tabloids had she been unmarried and pregnant and the father of her baby was unknown.
A knock on his front door pulled him up off the sofa. Samira? His heart leapt with joy, a joy that was instantly dashed when he opened the door to see a tall, slender old man.
"Izzat!" He greeted the man with a warm hug. "How did you know I was here?" he asked as he gestured the old man across the threshold.
"I was driving by and saw your car, and thought I would stop in and say hello."
"I'm glad you did. It's been far too long. Come, let's go into the kitchen and have something cold to drink."
Izzat Naggar had been an old friend of Farid's father, Hashim. Farid had grown up thinking of Izzat as a favorite uncle. He had visited often when Hashim was alive, though less frequently in the years after Hashim's death.
"You're looking well, Izzat," Farid said as he poured them each a cold drink.
Izzat smiled. "I have the complaints of an old man. My bones ache and my digestion isn't what it once was, but I'm doing all right."
"Your family is well?"
"They are fine."
For a few minutes the two men visited, catching up on what had been happening with each of them. Farid, unsure what the official story might be from the palace, mentioned nothing about his marriage to Samira or the fact that he'd been banished from the palace grounds and fired from his job.
Instead, their talk turned to the old days, when Hashim was alive and Farid was young. Memory recalled memory and th
e two men laughed, sharing the good days of the past together.
For Farid, the talk was a balm to his wounded spirit, evoking in him a warmth for both his parents and cherished moments he'd thought long forgotten.
It wasn't until Farid sensed that Izzat was getting ready to leave that he decided to broach the subject of his parentage with him. "Izzat, did you know that Hashim wasn't my biological father?"
The old man leaned back in his chair and stroked his gray beard thoughtfully. "I did. Your father confided in me before you were born."
"I've been trying to figure out why my mother waited so long to tell me the truth," Farid said.
"I can answer that for you. She promised Hashim she wouldn't tell you," Izzat said without hesitation. He stroked his beard once again, his dark gaze warm as it lingered on Farid. "I've never seen a man as besotted with a child as Hashim was with you. The sun rose and set solely for your pleasure as far as he was concerned. He adored you and in his heart you were his and nobody else's."
"Why would he make my mother promise not to tell me the truth?" Farid asked, wanting to understand the forces that had been at work in his parents' lives.
"Hashim knew who your real father was, and I think it threatened him. Hashim loved you so much. He was afraid if you knew the truth, he would lose you. I'm not saying what he did was the right thing to do, but he was only human."
"I loved Hashim. He would have never lost my love." Even now, saying his name evoked a surge of love inside Farid for the man who had been his father for twelve years.
"Ah, Farid, but hindsight is always so much more sharp than foresight. Hashim didn't intend to die when you were young. I'm sure he assumed he would live to see you grown and married with children of your own."
Farid leaned back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. "I wonder why Mother didn't tell me then – when he died – instead of waiting so many more years to finally confess the truth to me."
"Who knows? Perhaps she was still honoring her promise to Hashim, or she was frightened as well."
"Frightened of what?"
"She'd already lost her husband, maybe she was afraid that if you knew the truth she would lose you as well." Izzat stood. "Your biological father was a nobleman, a man with money and position. Your mother was a simple woman with simple values. Perhaps she was afraid your head would be turned by the man who fathered you and you would lose sight of all she and Hashim had taught you. And now, my dear Farid, I've got to get to the marketplace."
Farid walked him out and at the door the two men hugged. "Stay well, Farid," Izzat said. "Know that you were loved deeply by the two people who raised you."
Farid nodded and hugged the man one last time, then watched as he headed to his car. He stood in the doorway until the dust from Izzat's car had disappeared, then he closed the door slowly.
Although Farid had believed his discussion with Samira had resolved any resentment he might feel about his mother, had there been any left in his heart, Izzat's words had shoved it out completely.
Farid was left only with love for the parents he missed and a new emotion that pierced deeply into his heart – the pain of a crazy loneliness he didn't know how to deal with.
He hadn't realized until now how completely Samira had filled up his life, bringing light into the dark corners, pulling laughter from his lips and stoking inside him a passion for life … and for her.
For two weeks they had lived as husband and wife, and he missed her presence here … now.
He hadn't really expected her to defy her father, pack up her bags and move to this small farmhouse. She was a princess, and he was a disgraced bodyguard. He didn't want her here. She deserved better.
As he washed the glasses he and Izzat had used, once again he shoved thoughts of Samira out of his head. Time would tell what became of their so-called marriage.
He'd never believed it was a forever kind of deal. She'd been panicked and heartbroken, and marriage to him had seemed like the answer to her problems, but he'd known deep in his heart all along that she'd simply been afraid of her parents' reaction and had wanted somebody at her side.
He'd done his job and now it was, for all intents and purposes, finished. Now he had to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life.
Working for the palace, working in some form of royal security, was all Farid had ever wanted to do. Every choice he'd made in his life, everything he had done had been to achieve that goal. Now it was all gone, and what amazed him was that he'd gladly lose it all again to help Samira.
He had just cleaned up the kitchen when he heard the sound of cars pulling up outside. He hurried to the front door, opened it and stared in astonishment as he saw two palace cars. What now? he thought.
His astonishment increased when the driver of the first car got out and hurried to open the back door and Samira stepped out. At the same time several guards got out of the other car. Sandra approached him, a fierce determination on her pretty face.
"Samira, what are you doing here?" he asked. She was still dressed in the silver jalabiya she'd had on when they'd confronted her parents. The silver material complemented her skin tones and the darkness of her hair.
She swept past him and into the house, then turned back to him. "Where else would I be but with my husband in his home?" Her gaze went around the room. "And it appears to be a very nice home."
"What about your parents? Do they know you're here?" At that moment the driver appeared in the doorway with two suitcases.
Samira motioned him inside. "Let's just place those in the bedroom. Farid, which room is ours?"
"Second doorway on the right." He gestured down the hallway, shock still rippling through him.
"What a lovely room," she said a moment later as she and the driver returned from the bedroom. "I notice it will get the sun in the mornings. That will be nice."
The driver left, and as Farid closed the front door after him, he noticed that two guards were now stationed at the entrance of his driveway. He suspected that two more were probably at the back of his house.
He turned back to Samira, who had sat on the sofa and gazed at him expectantly. "Would you like to tell me what's going on?"
"There's nothing going on. I'm where I belong – with my husband." She raised her chin and held his gaze intently.
Farid sat next to her, noting the lines of tension around her eyes … eyes that showed the telltale signs of recent tears. "And your father has given his blessing to you being here?"
She quickly looked down at her hands in her lap. "Not exactly. Right after you left, my mother insisted I see the physician and get a complete check-up."
"And everything is all right?" he asked urgently.
"Oh, yes." She raised her gaze to meet his and smiled reassuringly. "He informs me that I'm in perfect health and everything is fine with the pregnancy."
A wave of relief swept through Farid.
"After I had my check-up, I had a discussion with my mother."
"You did not tell her the truth, I hope."
Samira shook her head, her dark hair swirling around her shoulders. "No, I kept my promise to you and didn't tell her the truth. But after talking to her, I realized I needed to speak with my father once again, so I went back to his office to talk to him."
She laced, then unlaced her hands in her lap, looking down once again. "He was still very angry … more angry than I've ever seen him in my life. I demanded that he give you back your job and allow you back into the palace."
Again astonishment swept through him. "You demanded?"
A small smile curved one corner of her mouth. "Yes. I'm not sure who was more surprised, my father or me. Needless to say, he only got angrier. I told him that if he didn't allow you at the palace, then I would have to leave, and he forbade me to leave."
"Then you shouldn't be here." Farid stood. "You need to go back." The last thing Farid wanted was to be the cause of a permanent break between daughter and father.
"I wi
ll not go back. My place is here with you." Once again she raised her chin and eyed him with a steely resolve he'd never seen before.
"You are Princess Samira Kamal and you belong at the palace," he exclaimed.
"I am Samira Nasir and I belong wherever you are," she countered.
He stood, needing some distance from her. He needed to stand where he couldn't smell her lovely, fragrant scent, walk far enough away that he couldn't feel the sweet heat radiating from her body.
"I am an outcast, Samira. I have been banished from the palace grounds. I have lost my job."
"Then you will find a new job," she said briskly. She stood. "And now, why don't you show me our home."
This wasn't right, he thought as he led her into the large, airy kitchen with the modern conveniences he had installed over the years.
"How nice," she exclaimed. "And decorated in yellow." She smiled at him. "Did you know that yellow is my favorite color?"
"No, I didn't know that," he said absently. He was still shocked by her appearance here and the news that she'd fought with her father on his behalf.
"And what's your favorite color, Farid?" she asked.
Whatever color you're wearing, he thought, but he didn't speak the words aloud. "We have more important things to discuss than favorite colors."
"You're right," she agreed. "Like how many bedrooms there are."
He sighed in frustration and followed behind her as she swept out of the kitchen and down the hallway, stopping at the first bedroom on the left and stepping inside.
Her gaze swept around the small room, lingering on the small bed with its navy spread, the collection of children's books on the shelf and the drawings that decorated the walls.
"This was your room?" she asked, standing before the drawings, a smile curving her lips. He nodded. "And this is your artwork?" The pictures were of different angles of the palace.
"Yeah. The year before Hashim died, he bought me a set of drawing pencils." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door jamb. "I tried drawing people, but had no talent for that. It was Hashim's idea that I try to draw buildings."