"Samira…" he began.
"I will never let him know that he's the father of my child," she exclaimed, interrupting whatever he was about to say. She wasn't sure exactly when she'd made this decision, but she was absolutely, positively adamant about it now.
"Don't be ridiculous," he exclaimed.
"Ridiculous?" She stared at him. "I'm not being ridiculous," she protested as she eyed him in amazement.
A darkness had usurped any light in his eyes and he looked frighteningly cold and distant at the moment. "You know what kind of a man Desmond is. I do not want that man in my child's life."
"You have no right to make a decision like that," he replied, his voice tight with an anger that seemed to have sprung from nowhere.
"I have every right," she returned, with a rising anger of her own. "I'm the baby's mother."
"And Desmond is the baby's father and no matter how you wish to change that, you can't. You and Desmond Caruso made a baby together, and Desmond has a right to know that you're going to have his child."
"I don't care. I think I know what's best for my child," she said stiffly.
"Your baby has a right to know its biological father. If you really think that it's best to keep a secret like that then you're a selfish woman thinking only of yourself and your own comfort."
She hadn't even realized they had reached the airport until he opened the car door and got out. He held out a hand to help her out but she ignored it, a seething anger rising up inside her.
What did he know about it, anyway? How dare he accuse her of being selfish? She swept into the jet, aware of Farid just behind her.
How could he be so mean and hateful to her after the tender, beautiful lovemaking they'd shared less than an hour before?
She nodded curtly to the pilot who greeted her, then made her way toward the back of the small luxury jet. There a sitting area awaited her, complete with a buttery-soft leather sofa, a coffee table bearing a fresh-cut floral arrangement and two captain chairs in the same soft gray leather.
She sank down on the sofa. Although she was as angry as she'd ever been with Farid, she was bitterly disappointed when he didn't join her.
In a thousand thoughts, she'd never have dreamed that Farid would feel as strongly as he obviously did, and she hadn't realized until this moment how much she had wanted his support, not his censure.
Was it so selfish to want to protect her child from a man like Desmond Caruso? Was it so horrible to want to keep her child from the influence of a man she knew would not make a good father? He just didn't understand. He couldn't understand how deeply she felt about this particular issue.
Tears oozed from her eyes as she thought of Farid's reaction to her announcement. Would she have to choose between protecting the baby she already loved or pleasing a husband she loved?
She loved Farid? No. Impossible. What she felt for him was gratitude for marrying her … what she felt for him was an incredible physical attraction based on their magnificent lovemaking. But she didn't love him.
Still, this wasn't the way she'd wanted to return to Tamir, with cold words echoing and a chasm of emotional distance between them.
She hated the sick feeling that their confrontation had left in her, hated the coldness that had radiated from his eyes as he'd spoken to her.
Tears once again blurred her vision as she stared out the window, the weight of Farid's disapproval like a stone around her heart.
Swiping the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand, she wondered how they could present a united, loving picture to her parents when they weren't even speaking to one another.
* * *
Farid was more angry than he could ever remember being, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was most angry with – the situation, or Samira's apparent ultimate decision, or how both had brought his personal emotional baggage smashing to the forefront.
Samira was making the same selfish decision his mother had made, and Farid recognized that her decision had stirred fires of resentment inside him that really had nothing to do with her.
Samira had no idea of the ramifications of the decision she'd made. She had no idea the harm she would do her child if she denied the child the knowledge of its biological father.
His chest tightened as he thought of his mother's deathbed confession, of all the wasted years, of all the aching loneliness. How on earth could she have kept such a secret from him? How on earth could she have been so damned cruel?
He stared out the window, wishing they were already up in the air. But traveling with a princess required more than just starting up the engines and taking off. Airspace had to be cleared and a military escort needed to be in place.
He eyed his wristwatch. Just before ten. By midnight they would be in Tamir, and in all likelihood, first thing in the morning they would face Sheik Ahmed to tell him their news.
"Farid?"
He turned to see Samira standing in the doorway that separated the two compartments of the small plane. She looked miserable, her eyes holding the residual emotion of their argument. In spite of his anger, he felt a softening as he gazed at her.
"Can we discuss this issue without yelling at one another?"
"I'm not sure," he said honestly.
"Would you come back here and we can try?" Her gentle brown eyes pleaded with him and he couldn't deny her request.
He stood and followed her into the back compartment, where she sat on the sofa and patted the spot next to her.
He sat and stared at the windows opposite them as the jet engines whined and the plane began to move. Within moments they would be in the air.
"Farid, I don't think you really understand that my only motive in not disclosing that Desmond is the father of my baby is to protect my baby."
He directed his gaze to her. "And I don't think you understand that ultimately keeping that secret might very well destroy your child."
He could tell by her expression that she thought his words overly dramatic. As the jet left the ground and ascended into the sky, Farid knew then that it was time for him to tell her about his mother's lies.
Raking a hand through his hair, fighting to suppress the deep, wrenching emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, he moved to one of the captain chairs facing her.
"My mother lied about who my father was until the day she died," he said without preamble.
Samira's brown eyes stared at him intently. "I don't understand … you said your father was Hashim Nasir and that he died when you were twelve years old."
"That's what I was told until last year when my mother got sick. Then she confessed to me that Hashim Nasir wasn't my biological father." He gazed out the window where there was nothing but darkness, the same kind of darkness he'd felt when Hashim had died.
For him, the sun had stopped shining on the day they had buried Hashim. "I grieved so long and so hard for Hashim," he said aloud, his voice sounding thick and deeper than usual. "And for years I missed his presence in my life – and all the while my mother knew that I had a biological father I could have turned to."
She frowned thoughtfully. "And that knowledge would have taken away your grief at losing Hashim?"
He stared at her in surprise. "Of course not," he exclaimed automatically. And yet, wasn't that what he'd secretly believed? That somehow if he'd known he had a father somewhere else his grief over losing Hashim would have been taken away?
Of course, the idea was utterly ridiculous. Nothing and nobody could have eased the grief he'd felt over losing Hashim.
He sat forward and once again raked a hand through his hair in perplexity. "I don't know, maybe I did sort of believe that if I'd known my real father, then I wouldn't have felt such grief over losing Hashim. But that's not true. I loved Hashim."
"So, who is your real father?"
"His name isn't really important. Apparently he drove through the little village where my mother lived when she was eighteen years old. His car broke down and he came to her house for help
. One thing led to another and I was conceived that night. The next morning he was gone."
"Then your mother married Hashim," Samira said.
He nodded. "She and Hashim had been promised to one another for years. I think they loved each other very much but they had had a fight the day before my real father showed up at my mother's house. Anyway, she never spoke of my real father, never told me the truth about the circumstances of my parentage."
"Did you ever meet him? Your real father, I mean?" she asked softly.
"Yeah. When my mother discovered she was so ill, she wrote him a letter, telling him of my existence. The day that she was buried, he came to meet me and we developed a relationship that lasted six months." Again pain ripped through his guts. "Then six months ago he was killed in a car accident."
He stood, the anger rich and bold inside him. "Don't you see? She did to me exactly what you want to do to your baby … she deprived me of my real father."
"Farid…" She reached out and took his hand and pulled him down to sit next to her once again. She cupped his face between her hands, her eyes radiating a tenderness that somewhat soothed the beast inside him. "My hearts aches with the losses that you've suffered in your life. You lost not only your mother, but two fathers in the space of one lifetime."
He jerked away from her touch, needing to sustain his anger so that the pain didn't consume him. "She could have made things easier on me if she hadn't kept the secret. I lost years of time with my real father because she was too damned selfish to tell me the truth."
Samira sighed, her gaze troubled as it lingered on him. "Oh, Farid, do you really think it was selfishness that drove your mother?"
He didn't reply … couldn't because of the emotion that clogged his throat. It was a combination of anger and anguish, blended with regrets and recriminations.
Samira grabbed his hand in her small, warm one. "Needless to say, I didn't know your mother, but you said she was a warm, loving person whose family was her priority."
She looked down at the wedding band that circled her ring finger. "The ring is warm, Farid … warm with a mother's love, and I can't imagine that the woman who wore this ring made a decision to intentionally hurt her child. I can't believe her decision was based on anything but tremendous love for you. Do you really, in your heart of hearts, think differently?"
For the first time since his mother's death, for the first time since the startling confession that had brought his real father into his life, Farid was faced with the realization that the mother who had raised him, the mother who had loved him, would have never intentionally hurt him.
The emotions that had moments before been so tight, so suffocating in his chest, broke apart.
"I just wish I'd had more time with my real father," he finally said and squeezed Samira's hand in his. He looked at her searchingly. "I don't want you to make the same mistake my mother did. Don't steal away the relationship between Desmond and your child. You never know what kind of an impact that will have later."
She nodded almost imperceptibly. "All right, Farid, when the child is old enough I'll tell him the truth about his father and Desmond can decide then what sort of an influence he will be in his child's life."
Once again she framed his face with her hands, her eyes so sweet, so gentle he wanted to fall into their depths forever. "I wish you were the father, Farid."
Her words, spoken with such heartfelt emotion, shattered the last of any anger he might have about his past, leaving his heart open and vulnerable.
He drew her against his side. She came willingly, snuggling into him as if she belonged with her head against his heart, his chin resting on the top of her head.
He sighed, feeling a helplessness soar through him with every mile that carried them closer to Tamir. He was glad she'd changed her mind about telling the baby about his real father, but she had capitulated to his wishes so easily.
If she wouldn't stand up to him for what she believed to be best for her child, how on earth would she ever stand up to her father if push came to shove?
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
Her bedroom.
Always in the past when Samira had entered this room, decorated in sunshine yellow and white with accents of green, she'd felt warm and secure and happy.
Tonight she felt only an abiding loneliness as she looked at the king-size bed where she'd always slept alone and would sleep alone again tonight.
She had tried to talk Farid into staying here with her tonight. After all, they were married and would announce that fact to her parents first thing in the morning.
But he had insisted that he go to his own quarters, that it would not be right for him to sleep in her room until after they had talked to her parents.
He had left her at the foot of the staircase that led up to her private quarters, assuring her that he would be at her side in the morning when they met with her parents.
Saarah had laid out Samira's favorite nightgown on the bed and had offered to run a bath, but Samira had sent her away, preferring to be alone.
She now pulled on the nightgown and within minutes was in the big bed alone, wishing Farid was next to her.
Reaching out an arm, she touched the pillow next to hers, wishing Farid's head were resting there. How was it possible that sleeping next to a man for a mere two and a half weeks could create a habit of familiarity that when taken away would cause such a bereavement?
She'd grown accustomed to falling to sleep with the rhythm of Farid's breathing matching her own. She'd grown used to the male scent of him, the warmth that radiated from him. She'd even grown to like the faint snoring that emitted from him early in the morning.
She'd never dreamed she'd desperately miss having him in her bed. She'd never dreamed how quickly he would become such an integral part of her life.
Turning over on her back, she placed her hands on her lower stomach and thought of the baby inside her. Farid's story of his past had illuminated the reasons why he'd been so volatile concerning her initial decision to never tell her baby about Desmond.
Her heart ached for Farid, who had lost years of knowing his real father, but she'd meant what she'd told him. They couldn't begin to guess Raisa's reasons for keeping such a secret from her son, but there was no doubt in Samira's mind that her decision had been based on love for her son.
Samira knew, because she loved her baby and desperately wanted to protect it from harm. She would tell Desmond about his baby … eventually.
Farid was correct. She had no right to keep a father from his child or a child from its father. She could only hope that Desmond would rise to the challenge of being a wonderful, loving, caring influence in the child's life.
And if he couldn't, then she could only hope that she and Farid could counteract any negative influence Desmond might have.
Would she and Farid even be together to accomplish such a lofty goal as to raise a child together? Could they survive as a couple without the kind of love Samira had once dreamed of having? Could they survive years together in a marriage that was based on Farid's duty and her own desperation?
She closed her eyes, drifting to sleep with no answers forthcoming, and awakened with the sun streaming through her windows.
For a moment she was disoriented.
Farid.
Why wasn't he next to her? With his body warming hers? Why weren't his arms around her, holding her tightly against him? Then she remembered they were in the palace in Tamir and she was in the bedroom of her girlhood.
The anxiety that had haunted her each time she'd thought of telling her parents of her pregnancy and her marriage now exploded inside her as she realized the moment was nearly at hand.
Her bedroom door creaked open and Saarah stuck her head in. "Good morning, Princess."
Samira forced a smile, although she'd rather bury her head in her pillows and not face the morning to come.
"Would you like me to bring you something from the kitch
en or would you prefer I draw you a bath?"
"A bath." Samira said. "And would you get out my silver jalabiya with the matching trousers?"
"But of course," Saarah replied and disappeared into the bathroom to begin her duties.
Her father liked to see his daughters in traditional clothing and Samira figured she needed every edge she could get when she and Farid told them their news.
Moments later she sank down into the warm, jasmine-scented water in the tub and listened to Saarah as the maid filled her in on the latest palace gossip. As she listened to Saarah's harmless chatter, she tried to calm the nerves that raced through her.
As Saarah helped her dress, the maid didn't mention that Samira had gained weight while on her trip or how snugly the trousers fit around her waist. But Samira saw the light of knowledge in Saarah's dark eyes.
"Thank you, Saarah, that will be all for now," Samira said as Saarah finished brushing her hair.
Saarah gave her a respectful bow, then silently left the room. She cast herself one final glance in the mirror, reminding herself that her father obviously liked and trusted Farid, otherwise he would have never appointed Farid her personal bodyguard. Perhaps he would be happy at their union, and all Samira's worries would be for naught.
With this positive thought in mind, she left the wing where her bedroom was located and went downstairs. Farid seemed to appear from nowhere.
"Good morning," he said softly.
He looked as handsome as she'd ever seen him. His navy slacks were sharply pressed, as was his white shirt and navy jacket. He looked crisp and coolly professional, and a small flutter of panic shot through Samira as she felt an emotional distance from him.
Then he smiled and reached out a hand to her. "Are you okay?" he asked. The warmth that radiated from his eyes momentarily banished her nervous tension.
She squeezed his hand. "I am now."
"Your father went into his office a few minutes ago and I believe your mother is in there with him," Farid said.
A new burst of anxiety swept through Samira. "Then I guess it's time to go tell them our news."
SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS Page 13