by Lucy Monroe
“I imagine, if you are here for the reason I believe you are.”
“You know why I’m here?” she asked, a tiny bud of relief trying to unfurl inside her.
“It’s not the first time this has happened.”
“What exactly?”
“You’re about to claim I am your father, are you not?”
“That happens to you a lot?” she demanded, both shocked and appalled. “How many innocent chambermaids did you seduce?”
“That is none of your business.”
No, really, it wasn’t.
Eyes narrowed, Liyah nevertheless nodded. “While I find it deplorable you apparently never even bothered to find out my first name from Mom, don’t try pretending you didn’t know of my existence. She told me about the support payments.”
“Your mother’s name?” he demanded in a voice icier than she’d ever managed.
“Hena Amari.” There, that should at least clarify things. Though how he hadn’t already made the connection with her last name, Liyah couldn’t figure out.
“And I supposedly had a fruitful tryst with this Hena Amari. Did she work for one of my hotels, too? She must have, I kept my extramarital activities close to home in those days.”
“She was your chambermaid at the Chatsfield San Francisco.”
“What year?” he demanded.
She told him.
He shook his head. “While I am not proud of my behavior during that time in my life, neither am I going to roll over for blackmail.”
“I’m not trying to blackmail you!”
“You mentioned support payments.”
“That you made until I graduated from university. They weren’t large, but they were consistent.”
“Ah, so now we are getting somewhere.”
“We are?” Liyah was more confused than her father had seemed when she first arrived.
“You’re looking for money.”
“I am not.”
“Then why mention the support payments?”
“Because they’re proof you knew about me,” she said slowly and succinctly, as if speaking to a small child.
Either he was being deliberately obtuse, or something here was not as she believed it to be. The prospect of that truth made Liyah pull the familiar cold dignity around her more tightly.
“I never made any such payments.”
“What? No, that’s not possible.” Liyah shook her head decisively. He was lying. He had to be. “Mom told me you weren’t a bad man, just a man in a bad situation.”
Hena had refused to name Liyah’s father while living, but she’d done her best to give her daughter a positive impression of the absentee parent.
As positive as she could in the face of undeniable facts. The man had been much older and married. Hena had been a complete innocent, in America for the first time and too-easy prey.
“She said the support proved you cared about me even if you couldn’t be in my life.” Though that had been his choice, hadn’t it?
He’d kept his affairs secret; he could have kept a minimal relationship with his illegitimate daughter just as heavily under wraps.
“It sounds to me like your mother said a great deal, much of it fabricated.” He sounded unimpressed and too matter-of-fact to be prevaricating.
Sick realization washed over Liyah in a cold, unstoppable wave that made her feel like she was drowning. She was breathing, but couldn’t get enough air. Betrayal choked her.
Her mother had lied to her.
The one person in her life Liyah had always trusted. Her only family that mattered.
Something inside Liyah shattered, loosening feelings and entrenched beliefs like flotsam in the miasma of her emotional storm.
Liyah’s entire reasoning behind following through on Hena’s last wish was false. Her father didn’t know about Liyah, wanted nothing to do with her and never would.
“I can only repeat, I never made any such payments.” There was no compassion, no understanding, in his cold blue eyes. “If you really were my child and I had elected to help support raising you, you can rest assured the monetary stipend would not have been negligible.”
She stood, her legs shaky—though she wasn’t about to let him know it―her heart a rock in her chest. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I won’t do so again.”
“See that you don’t. Your regret would far outweigh anything you might hope to gain.” He rose, as well, towering over her, despite the slight stooping of age. “If you attempt to cash in on our supposed connection in any way, I won’t hesitate to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”
She reeled back, feeling as if he’d struck her. “My mother was wrong.”
“She certainly was to send you on this wild errand. Is she even dead? I doubt it?”
“Yes, the only parent that will ever matter to me died four months ago.”
“And it took you this long to come find your supposed father? More like you worked out how to cash in on some convenient coincidences.”
Drawing on the brittle exterior she’d had to show to the world too much in her life, Liyah lifted her head and looked at Gene Chatsfield like the worm he was. “The only convenience is the fact your hotel paid for my trip here.”
“I will expect you to put in your notice tomorrow. I won’t have a would-be blackmailer working in my hotel.”
“I would leave right now but unlike some of the children you raised, I have a work ethic.” With that, Liyah swept from the suite on legs that barely held her up.
Not that she’d let the man in the suite see her weakness. He’d gotten the single moment of vulnerability from her she would ever give him. The moment when she’d asked him in so many words to be her father.
She was on the elevator before Liyah remembered she’d left her mother’s locket with Mr. Chatsfield. Only, when the elevator doors opened to the lobby, she found herself incapable of keying in access to the hotelier’s floor again.
She stood there in a fugue of inner turmoil as two men got on the elevator with her. Liyah should have stepped off, not ridden it with guests.
She did nothing, turned away from them as one keyed access to the presidential level.
Realizing there was no way she was returning to the suite, she managed to press the button for her concierge level, not at all sure what she was going to do when she arrived there.
She only knew one thing with certainty. Liyah wasn’t asking Gene Chatsfield for the necklace. She wasn’t ever going to ask that man for anything again.
He’d most likely see she got it back via employee channels, anyway. And if he didn’t?
Liyah would let go of the memento the same way she’d had to let go of her belief Hena Amari would never lie to her.
Her entire childhood had been influenced by the deception that her father knew and cared about her in even some minimal way. The realization he did not shouldn’t be so devastating, but shards of pain splintered through Liyah’s heart.
Only then did she realize how much it had meant to her to believe she had a father, no matter how distant and anonymous.
Liyah tried to tell herself that her life was no different today than it had been yesterday. Gene Chatsfield had never been anything more than an ephemeral dream.
So, he denied his paternity? It didn’t matter.
She wanted to believe that, but she’d never been good at lying to herself no matter how impenetrable the facade she offered the rest of the world.
Cold continued to seep through her, making her shiver as if she was standing at the bus stop in the winter’s chill. Her usually quick brain was muzzy, her hands clammy, her heart beating a strange tattoo.
If she didn’t know better, Liyah would think she was in shock.
Sounds came as if through a tunnel and colors were strangely sharp while actual details grew indistinct.
She felt like if she reached out to touch the wall, her hand would go right through it. Nothing felt real in the face of a lifetime and what amounted to a deathbed c
onfession marred by lies.
Deceptions perpetrated by the one person she would never have looked for it from destroyed Liyah’s sense of reality, Gene Chatsfield’s denial a blow she would have never expected it to be.
Despite her inner turmoil, clipped tones managed to draw Liyah’s attention. Perhaps because they came from the one man who managed to occupy her thoughts more than her biological father.
Sayed spoke in Arabic to his personal bodyguard, the man she’d heard called Yusuf.
So furious he seemed unaware of Liyah’s presence, she realized why as the import of his conversation hit her.
Apparently, Liyah wasn’t alone in facing betrayal today. Unbelievably, the future emira of Zeena Sahra had eloped with a palace aid.
Another kind of shock echoed through Liyah. What woman would walk away from a lifetime with Sayed?
The doors whooshed open and she stepped onto the floor that had been blocked off for the harem of Sayed’s entourage, one thought paramount. The no-longer-future emira’s rooms would not be occupied. Not tomorrow, or any day thereafter for the next week.
Liyah’s overwhelming need to be completely away from the potential of prying eyes had an outlet.
She kept her eye out for anyone in the hall, but it was blessedly empty. As much as she liked Abdullah-Hasiba, Liyah felt an almost manic fear of being forced to speak with the older woman, or anyone else related to Sayed.
She was barely handling her own destructive revelations; Liyah wasn’t up to hashing out the prince’s woes with his loyal staff.
Using her pass card, she quietly let herself into the former fiancée’s room. Tears Liyah never allowed herself to shed in front of her mother for Hena’s sake, much less before strangers, were burning her throat and threatening to spill over.
Once inside the lavishly appointed suite, Liyah had no interest in the mint-green walls and elegant white accents and furniture. Her focus was entirely on the fully stocked liquor cabinet in the alcove between the suite’s sitting room and small dining area.
The request for the full accompaniment of alcohol had surprised Liyah, but it had come from Tahira herself, rather than through Sayed’s staff.
It was Liyah’s job to see that hotel guest’s requests were attended to, not determine their appropriateness.
Though considering the fact Sayed’s suite had no alcohol and neither was any requested for his support staff, Liyah had thought it wasn’t a habit he was aware his future emira indulged in.
It was pretty obvious in the face of recent events that drinking wasn’t the only thing Tahira had been hiding from her fiancé.
Liyah was on her third glass of smooth aged Scotch, without the dilution of ice, when she heard the telltale snick of a key card in the suite’s door lock.
She watched with the fascination of a rabbit facing off a snake as the heavy wooden door swung inward.
The handsome but set face of Sheikh Sayed bin Falah al Zeena showed itself, along with his imposing six-foot-two-inch body clad in his usual designer suit under the traditional black men’s abaya.
Dark eyes narrowed in shocked recognition.
CHAPTER FOUR
SAYED KNEW EXACTLY what drove him to his former fiancée’s suite and it wasn’t any form of sentimentality.
It was for the fully stocked liquor cabinet he could indulge in without witnesses.
He’d stopped in shock at the sight that greeted his eyes once inside, his body’s instant response not as unwelcome as it would have been only two hours before.
Aaliyah Amari lounged on the sofa, a crystal glass in her hand, her emerald eyes widened in surprised befuddlement. The scent of a very good malt whiskey lingering in the air implied she’d come to Tahira’s room for the same reason he had.
To drink.
On any other day, he would have been livid, demanding an explanation for her wholly unacceptable behavior. But today all his fury was used up in response to the betrayal dealt him by his betrothed.
“She’s not here,” Aaliyah said, her words drawled out carefully.
“I am aware.”
Aaliyah blinked at him owlishly. “You’re probably wondering why I am.”
“It would appear you needed a drink and a private place to have it.”
Her expression went slack. “How did you know?”
He shrugged.
“Have you been speaking to my father?” She leaned forward, her expression turning nothing short of surly.
The woman had to be inebriated already if she thought the emir of Zeena Sahra had taken it upon himself to converse with her parent. “If I have seen Mr. Amari, I am unaware of that fact.”
Her lush lips parted, but the only sound that came out was a cross between a sigh and a hiccup.
He almost laughed. “You are drunk.”
“I don’t think so.” Her lovely arched brows drew together in an adorable expression of thought. “I’ve only had three glasses. Is that enough to get drunk?”
“You’ve had three glasses?” he asked, shocked anew.
“Not full. I know how to pour a drink, even if I don’t usually imbibe. I only poured to here.” She indicated a level that would be the equivalent to a double.
“You’ve had six shots of whiskey.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Is that bad?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“Why you’re drinking.”
“I learned someone I thought would never lie to me had done it my whole life, that I believed things that were no more than a fairy tale.”
That sounded all too familiar. “I am sorry to hear that.”
It was her turn to shrug, but in doing so she nearly dropped her mostly empty glass. “She said my father wasn’t a bad man.”
“She?” he heard himself prompting.
“My mom.”
“You didn’t know your father?” His life had not been the easy endeavor so many assumed of a man born to royalty, but he’d had his father.
A good man, Falah al Zeena might be melech to his people, but for Sayed, the older man wasn’t just his king. He was and had always been Sayed’s loving father—papa to a small boy and his closest confidant now.
“Not until recently.” Aaliyah’s bow-shaped lips turned down. “I think Mom was wrong.”
“He is a bad man?” Sayed asked, the surreal conversation seeming to fit with the unbelievable day he’d already had.
Aaliyah sighed, the sound somehow endearing. “Not really, but he’s not very nice.”
“I think many might say the same about me.”
“Probably.”
He laughed. “You are supposed to disagree. Do you not realize that?”
“Oh, why? I think’s it’s the truth. You’re too arrogant and imperious to be considered nice.”
“I am emir.”
“Exactly.”
“You do not think a ruler can be kind?”
“Kind isn’t the same as nice and you’re not ruler yet, are you?”
“As emir I have many ruling responsibilities.” Which were supposed to increase tenfold when he became melech after his wedding to Tahira.
A wedding that wasn’t going to take place now, not after she’d eloped with a man a year her junior and significant levels beneath her in status.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I’m not sure.” She looked at him like he was supposed to explain the conversation to her.
“You’re smashed.”
“And you want to be.”
“You’re guessing.”
“My brain may be fuzzy, but it’s still working.”
“Yes?”
“You guessed I wanted a private place to drink because you do, too.”
“That’s succinct reasoning for a woman who probably couldn’t walk a straight line.”
“I’d prefer not to try walking at all right now, thanks.” She waved a surprisingly elegant hand.
“I’ll get my own drink, then
.”
She made a sound like a snort, putting a serious dent in any semblance to elegance. “You were expecting me to do it?”
“Naturally.” He failed to see why that should cause her so much amusement.
But his response was met with tipsy laughter. “You really have the entitlement thing down, don’t you?”
“Is it not your job to serve me?” He dropped ice in a glass and poured a shot’s worth of ouzo over it.
“You wanted to make this official?”
“What? No, of course not.” He found himself taking a seat beside her on the sofa rather than settling into one of the armchairs. “You will tell no one of this.”
She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. “What is it with rich, powerful men assuming I have to be told that? Believe it or not, I don’t need anyone knowing I was caught getting sloshed in a guest’s room.”
The mental eye roll was as palpable as if she’d done it with her glittery green gaze.
“Tahira won’t need it.” Not the room and not the liquor she’d ordered for her rooms. The words came out more pragmatic than bitter, surprising him.
Sayed might be undeniably enraged at Tahira’s lack of commitment to duty, her deceptions and her timing, but it was equally undeniable that he felt no emotional reaction to her elopement with another man.
“That worked out conveniently for both of us.”
That was drunken logic for you. “I would not be here if she had kept her promises,” he pointed out.
“She ran off with someone else, right?”
“The press already have the story?” he demanded.
Things were going to get ugly very quickly, but for the first time in his memory, Sayed could not make himself care right at that moment. He’d lost his brother and the rest of his own childhood to politics and the violence they spawned in angry men.
Sayed had spent the intervening years taking on every duty assigned him, dismissing his own hopes and dreams to take on the welfare of a nation. He’d put duty and honor above his own happiness time and again, doing his best to fill an older brother’s shoes he’d never been meant to walk in.
He was tired. Angry. Done. Not forever, but for tonight he wasn’t emir. He was a man, a newly freed man.
“I spent my entire life being what and who I was supposed to,” he offered, not sure why, but feeling the most shocking certainty that his confidences were safe with this woman.