Secret: The Maid And The Sheikh

by Lara Hunter

  She bent over under the weight of the future and pressed her forehead to the shiny wooden floor, clutching her heaving stomach. This was just a setback. She'd gone through so much already. She could get through this too. She had to hold it together for Charlie. She was never going to let him see her give up. They'd just have to tighten their belts a little for a while. Never mind that their belts were already so tight they could be mistaken for corsets. She was going to give Charlie the life he deserved, one day at a time.

  Even if that meant flipping burgers and drowning in debt. Even if that meant working a job she hated for the rest of her life. There was nothing she wouldn't do for Charlie.

  She stayed there until she found her composure again. Then she dried her tears, took the largest piece of the vase, and headed downstairs.

  TWO

  Sheikh Adil was still by the pool when she reached it. He was just climbing out of the opposite end. Water ran over the planes and valleys of his muscular back in shimmering rivulets and streams, and Tracey's heart stuttered in her chest, telling her to run. She held her breath till she could stop shaking as he reached for a towel and dried off.

  "Sheikh Adil?" she said, her voice shaking. "Sir?"

  The Sheikh turned. He looked surprised, no doubt having thought he was alone. Tracey was painfully aware of how ridiculous she must look, standing in the sun next to this beautiful pool in her plain gray housekeeper's uniform, her eyes red, clutching a piece of broken glass.

  "Yes?" Adil turned to face her slowly, still drying his hair with a soft white towel that was monogrammed. He frowned as he took in her disheveled state. "Is something wrong, Miss..?"

  "Tracey," she said, her voice strangled with nerves. She tried again, forcing herself to speak more clearly. "Tracey Anderson. I'm with the maid service. I'm sorry, sir. I-it was an accident. I tried to—I'm so sorry, sir."

  She held up the broken piece of the vase, and the Sheikh, clearly puzzled, came closer to take it.

  "Is this the antique Murano from upstairs?" he asked, frowning.

  "The sitting room at the end of the east hall, third floor," Tracey said miserably. "I-I bumped into it while I was cleaning. I'm sorry. I-I can't pay for it, I know. But I'm going to resign immediately. You'll never hear from me again, I promise, so please—"

  The Sheikh turned the piece of glass over in his hand, his frown deepening when he noticed a smear of blood on the other side. He reached for Tracey's hand, pulling it toward him.

  "You're hurt," he said, casting the bit of glass away. "Andre! Bring the first aid kit."

  A man in a dark suit standing in the shadow of the door, whom Tracey had not even noticed, nodded silently and disappeared into the house. She also hadn't noticed the numerous small cuts on her fingers and palm from handling the broken glass.

  "It's nothing, please," Tracey said as she pulled her hand away. She was puzzled by his behavior. "It's my own fault. Please, the vase—"

  "It was a vase," Adil replied, his brow furrowed. "A ten-thousand-dollar vase, perhaps, but still a vase. This is more important."

  Tracey felt lightheaded. She couldn't be sure if it was a result of hearing just how much the vase was worth or the Sheikh Adil's surprising concern for her. His hands had been warm and soft against her own. She remained quiet, unsure what was happening, as Andre returned with the first aid kit.

  Andre, who Tracey assumed was some sort of butler or bodyguard, was shockingly quiet for such a large man and distressingly easy to lose track of, perhaps because of how perfectly still he could stand. As Tracey sat at one of the umbrella-shaded glass and wrought-iron tables by the pool, letting Sheikh Adil bandage her hands, the man seemed to disappear entirely. She had to put concentrated effort into finding him again, which she did. He was standing silently just a little way away, in the shade of a potted palm tree.

  "Now," the Sheikh said, releasing her hands once he was done, "please tell me what has you so upset."

  "Well, the vase—"

  "Meaningless. I could buy ten more like it today. I didn't even like it, which is why I put it in a room I never visit. It was a gift, so I couldn't get rid of it. Now, truly, why are you so upset?"

  Tracey needed a moment to process that. He really didn't care about the vase? Her brain seemed to short-circuit, trying to figure out where she stood. That vase had cost more than her car! Maybe more than her house! How could he just not care?

  She felt tears overwhelming her again, and this time she couldn't stop them.

  "I just can't lose this job," she sobbed, and all at once everything came spilling out. "I already can't pay my bills, and my son is starting school in the fall. I can't even count on child support from my ex anymore, and on top of everything, my mom is—was—"

  She pressed her bandaged hands to her eyes to try to stop the tears, hating herself for breaking down like this even as she kept going.

  "She just passed away a few months ago. She'd been fighting illness for years. By the end of it, she didn't even recognize me. She couldn't take care of herself, and the medical bills—I'm never going to be able to pay them off, but I couldn't just give up on her. She didn't have anyone else. And now I'm just completely alone..."

  She dissolved into wordless sobbing, unable to continue. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, supporting her, but the Sheikh said nothing, letting her cry herself out. At last it subsided, dwindling into hiccups. Tracey felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders just being able to finally say it all aloud, to confess the stress she'd been under. The Sheikh just smiled patiently as she recovered herself, his dark eyes kind.

  "I can't even imagine what you've been through," he said, his accent a soothing, lyrical murmur. "It must have been terrible. Your mother, what was she like? If you want to talk about her, that is."

  "She was incredible," Tracey said, taking the clean towel Adil offered to dry her face. "There's no one I looked up to more. She raised me alone after my father died during the Gulf War. I never met anyone who worked as hard as she did."

  "Being a single mother is a difficult job," the Sheikh said with sympathy.

  "One year, not long after Dad passed," Tracey said, her thoughts far away, "she saved up enough to take a vacation during the summer, and we got a hotel near the beach. I want to take Charlie there one day. It ended up being gray and rainy the entire weekend, but I didn't care. We collected shells and ate ice cream, with our toes in the sand. I can still remember her face that afternoon. We talked about Dad for the first time since his funeral. She was so strong. She never wanted me to see how much losing him had hurt her. But that day we finally really talked about it, about what to do next. Afterward, I really felt like we were going forward together, facing the future as a family."

  "That sounds like a wonderful memory," Adil said, a wistful smile on his face. "It sounds like she was an excellent mother."

  "I wish I could be even half the mother she was for Charlie," Tracey said. "I know I'm not doing enough. I work too much to see him. I can't afford the things he needs. I'm so scared of failing him."

  "If you care as much as it sounds like you do," the Sheikh said, "then I'm certain he knows it. That's all that matters. You said his father isn't in the picture?"

  Tracey nodded shamefully.

  "I got pregnant with Charlie when I was twenty-one," she said. "And I married his dad because...well, that's what you're supposed to do, right? At the time I was in school—"

  "Oh, what are you studying?" Adil asked, and Tracey couldn't help being pleased by how genuinely interested he seemed.

  "Veterinary science," she replied. "I've always wanted to work with animals. I was in the middle of a really promising internship as well. But Derek, my ex-husband, had a gambling addiction. I had to quit school when Charlie was three and get another job in order to pay his gambling debts. I thought Derek would snap out of it eventually. I thought I could make him pull it together. But a couple of years later it worse. The power was shut off in the middle of Janua
ry and he was still stealing the grocery money to gamble. I decided that was enough. I should have drawn the line well before that, honestly. Might have saved Charlie and me both some pain. Derek barely fought it. I think he was relieved to be rid of us. He'd pay child support when he won big enough for it, but otherwise he just walked out of our lives. And now he's just disappeared entirely. Not so much as a Christmas card."

  "Do you want him found?" the Sheikh asked, deadly serious. "It would be no trouble."

  Tracey, surprised by the offer, quickly shook her head.

  "No. No, thank you," she said. "I think it might be better this way. Not knowing is hard, but when he was around it was worse."

  "I will respect your decision," Adil said, inclining his head. "Though I disagree. You would be surprised how much a conversation with Andre can change a person's behavior."

  "Thank you for listening, anyway," Tracey said, pressing the towel to her still damp eyes. Her face still felt flushed, and she was certain she looked terrible. "I can't believe I just dumped all of that on you. I'm so sorry."

  "No apology is necessary," the Sheikh replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I wanted to know."

  "I just don't understand why you're being so nice," Tracey said, confused. "Aren't you firing me?"

  "No." Adil shook his head emphatically. "On the contrary, I am more certain I want you working here than ever."

  "Then you want me to pay for the vase?" Tracey guessed, wilting. She could work for ten years and never pay that off, not with all her bills.

  "Of course not," the Sheikh said instantly. "A man who charges more than he knows can be afforded is a man who will never be paid. The vase means nothing. Please forget it."

  "Then what do you want?" Tracey asked, beginning to get a little worried, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  "Nothing except for you to keep working for me," Adil said, sitting back. "I've noticed you in these months you've worked here. You're a very hard worker. You're trustworthy, as you've proven today. Who else would come to me crying and offering to resign over a broken vase?”

  "Thank you, Sheikh Adil," Tracey said, as moved as she was baffled by his kindness. "I don't know how I could ever repay you."

  "Continue to work as hard as you have been," he said, smiling. "And take your son to that beach one day. I could ask for nothing more."

  "Sheikh Adil."

  Tracey looked up in surprise, Andre seeming to appear by the Sheikh’s side from nowhere.

  "It's almost time for your lunch appointment," the large man reported. Adil sighed.

  "It was a pleasure to speak with you, Miss Anderson," he said fondly. "But I must get to work as well. I am certain I will see you again soon."

  He winked at her as he stood, and Tracey watched him go, still a little in awe.

  She spent the rest of the day in a daze, struggling to focus as she finished her work. It was a good thing today was Friday, because she was going to need some time to recover from this. Her already significant crush on the man had not been helped by learning how genuinely kind he was. It had been bad enough just knowing he was gorgeous.

  THREE

  "Mommy!"

  Tracey knelt to catch Charlie as he ran into her arms, lifting him up with a laugh. After a long day of work, picking Charlie up from daycare was usually the highlight of her day. Today there had been more competition than usual, and it was a close race.

  "Look what I made!" Charlie held a construction of Play-Doh and popsicle sticks uncomfortably close to her face. She chuckled as she leaned away from him to try to see it.

  "Well hello to you too," she said. "What's this?"

  She took the object, trying to identify it as anything other than a lumpy red and blue shape.

  "It's a spaceship!" Charlie said excitedly. "I'm going to be an astronaut!"

  "I thought you wanted to be an archeologist?" Tracey said, smiling.

  "Space is cooler than bones," Charlie replied with a sage nod. Then he pointed at a spot on the ship. "Look, this is where the pilot sits, and that’s for shooting, and this is where the sword fights go."

  "Sword fights," Tracey confirmed, nodding. "Working your way through the collected works of some Hollywood star, Detta?"

  Detta, seeing another child off nearby, just laughed.

  "Those were the last great adventure movies and you know it," the older woman said. "Everything now has to be so dark and edgy!"

  "Maybe some of those puppet movies next week instead," Tracey said. "The Treasure Island one is great."

  "I still have that one with the Skeksis on VHS," Detta offered instead.

  Tracey frowned. "Isn't that one kind of scary?"

  Charlie made spaceship and gunfire sounds as he flew his lump of Play-Doh in orbit around Tracey's head. Then he faked a dramatic scream and withdrew his hand into his sleeve, shouting, "Nooooo! My hand!"

  "On second thought," Tracey said, "he'll love it. Come on, Charlie Skywalker, let's get you some dinner."

  "Call me Darth Buttkiss!"

  "Oh boy."

  ***

  Tracey often got home from work later in the evening than she would have liked, but she did her best to always cook a real dinner anyway. Some nights she just didn't have the energy, but even if dinner was fast-food nuggets, they ate it together at the table. With everything else going on, it was one of the only ways Tracey could feel like she was still doing something right. If they could still sit together at the end of the day over a home-cooked meal, things could still work out.

  Tonight, still floating on the buoyant cloud of her interaction with Sheikh Adil earlier that day, she felt like she could have cooked a five-course meal. She'd only had the money to get ingredients for chicken parm, though, so that would just have to do.

  "You're floaty today," Charlie said as he picked the breading off his chicken.

  "Good floaty or bad floaty?" Tracey asked, still mentally tallying up what she needed to do this weekend. She was behind on dishes and needed to buy groceries for next week. She kept losing track of her thoughts, remembering Sheikh Adil instead.

  "Hmm. Good floaty," Charlie decided. "Like, ooowooowooo!"

  He demonstrated with a green bean, waving it through the air in a dizzying, fanciful pattern. Tracey, mildly embarrassed, shook her head to clear it.

  "Sorry," she said. "I had a really nice day at work, and I keep thinking about it."

  Charlie stuck the green bean in his mouth.

  "Why?"

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," Tracey admonished. Charlie swallowed.

  "Why?"

  "I talked to the man I work for today," Tracey said. "He was a lot nicer than I expected. That makes me happy, because I think it means I'll get to keep this job for a long time."

  "I thought you wanted to take care of animals?" Charlie said, poking his chicken with his fork.

  "I do," Tracey admitted a little wistfully. "But that just costs too much money right now. It's more important to me that you get to be an astronaut, or an archeologist, or whatever you want to be."

  Charlie pondered this for a moment and went from stabbing his chicken with his fork to using it to draw in the sauce.

  "You could be an astronaut too!" he finally said. "Then we could share."

  "I don't think so, buddy." Tracey shook her head, amused. "Space gives me the heebie-jeebies."

  "But it’s so cool!"

  "Nah. Too big and empty."

  "It's full of aliens and stuff!"

  "Tell you what," Tracey said. "You become an astronaut, and I'll fly in your spaceship with you."

  "Yeah!" Charlie cheered, and Tracey winced as his excited gesture splattered tomato sauce across the table. "Oops."

  Tracey handed him a paper towel and took one for herself, wiping up the mess. After dinner and Charlie's bath, Tracey, her eyes already itching and her head heavy with tiredness, read Charlie a chapter of the book they were working on together while he settled into bed. It was a familiar ritual, one Tracey had, t
o the best of her ability, kept up for six years, even before Charlie was able to talk. Even during the worst times with Derek, this end-of-the-day routine was what kept her stable. Dinner, bath, story time, bed. She hoped the stability of it did as much for Charlie as it did for her.

  "Mom?" Charlie asked as Tracey put the book away and pulled his blankets up. "Do you like working?"

  "Why do you ask, sweetie?" Tracey frowned, confused by the surprisingly somber question.

  "Mike's dad is always mad when he gets home from work," Charlie said. "Mike says he says he hates it. He talks about how much he hates it all the time. I don't want you to be angry."