The Sheikh's Secret Child - A Single Dad Romance (The Sheikh's New Bride Book 7)

by Holly Rayner

  “She was planning to employ you?”

  “Not exactly. She was planning to stay home with her babies as soon as she earned her degree, and marry her boyfriend. But she still had very close ties back home in Russia, and when her mother told her that a friend of hers was desperate for a nanny, I jumped at the chance.”

  “That is quite a jump,” Zaiman said, surprised. “She was willing to import a nanny?”

  “For this boy, she was. He was twelve years old and an absolute terror. She couldn’t keep him in school and she couldn’t stay home with him. He had already run off a slew of nannies, and nobody local would come near him, no matter how much money she offered.”

  Zaiman whistled. “He must have been a challenge.”

  “Oh, he was, but I managed to build some bridges with him. I had barely started to learn Russian when I moved there, so there was a huge language barrier. I convinced him to teach me the language, and as soon as he became invested in my success, his whole outlook changed.”

  “How so?” Zaiman asked.

  “Well, he was a different child. He didn’t process things the way other people do, and he had to experience things for himself before he could comprehend them. Since he had never been a parent or a teacher, he couldn’t understand why anybody cared that he didn’t like school or enjoyed setting things on fire. Once he was in a position where his own pride was attached to my success, he applied that feeling retrospectively to his teachers and mother.”

  “Highly intelligent, if…what is the word?”

  “Atypical,” Alex offered. “I prefer that—it keeps me from making the mistake of mislabeling based on my limited psychological education.”

  “I appreciate that,” Zaiman said. “So, you were able to get through to him?”

  “Oh, yes. Within a year, his mother had moved the family to a different school district and re-enrolled him. I stayed long enough to make sure that he was on the right track, and then I began looking for work elsewhere. Russia was beautiful but cold. I wanted a change of pace, and ended up meeting an Australian woman online who had English friends who needed a nanny for the summer.”

  “And this family led you to the Duke?”

  “Not directly. Once I had finished my summer with them, they introduced me to their friends who were planning to spend a year teaching in China, and needed childcare. So, I took off to China with them, and the wife happened to be a second-cousin or something of the Duke. Their China trip was cut short due to some politics I wasn’t privy to, and then, we scurried off to England.”

  “They didn’t require your services, then?”

  “No,” Alex said. “The children were school-aged, and returned to regular classes once they were back home. The Duke, however, had very young children, and couldn’t seem to keep a nanny.”

  Alex sighed heavily, seemingly weighed down by the memory.

  “Because of my success with Alexei, I was overconfident in my abilities. How bad could a few preschoolers be?”

  She gave him a look which told him that preschoolers could be very bad indeed.

  “They were too much?” he asked.

  “They would have been fine, if their parents had allowed me to do my job. But they refused to deny their children anything whatsoever, and they found it funny when the kids would throw any food they didn’t like on the floor, leaving me to clean it up. They were lazy and hyper-indulgent, and it made it impossible for me to take proper care of the children.”

  Her face flushed a deep red, and her eyes glittered with fury. Cliché as it was, Zaiman couldn’t help but think that she was beautiful when she was angry.

  “I lasted six months, which was the longest any nanny had stuck around, up to that point. I was convinced that if I could just get through to the parents, I could help the kids.” She shook her head and sighed. “But there was nothing I could do. I hope something eventually does get through to them, but I’m afraid that by then, it will be too late. Those kids are going to grow up rotten, and it’s terrible because they really are sweet underneath the feral behavior.”

  “It is a shame that someone would hire a professional and then not allow them to perform their duties,” Zaiman said sympathetically.

  Bassam approached them as they were taking another turn around the patio.

  “Excuse me, my apologies. Sir, your meeting…”

  “Oh! Yes. Excuse me, Alex, I must go. Please give my love to Amia, and I will see you both for dinner.”

  She sent him on his way with a smile, which floated in his mind’s eye all the way through the big house.

  “Did you get your breakfast?” Zaiman asked Bassam as they walked to the garage.

  “Not yet,” Bassam said with a wide-shouldered shrug. “I will stop at the café while you are busy with your sister.”

  “Make sure you do,” Zaiman told him solemnly as he slid into his seat. “I worry about you.”

  “Appreciated, but unnecessary,” Bassam told him with a twinkle-eyed smile. “I might tire quickly, but I am not at death’s door just yet.”

  “See that you stay away from it,” Zaiman said with a smile. “If you weren’t here, who would pester me into taking care of myself?”

  “That little nanny you hired has potential,” Bassam said with a suggestive wiggle of his heavy brows.

  “Absolutely not,” Zaiman said firmly. “Trust me, Bassam. I learned my lesson.”

  “Ah, but lessons change as situations do,” Bassam said sagely.

  “One plus one is always two, no matter the situation,” Zaiman said stubbornly.

  “On the contrary,” Bassam argued. “One stone plus one stone may be two stones, but one rabbit plus one rabbit may be sixteen rabbits, when all is said and done.”

  Zaiman slid a sideways look at the older man.

  “Just drive the car,” he said with a chuckle. “Leave the philosophizing to the philosophers.”

  Chapter 5

  Alex

  Alone in the palace with hours to kill, Alex soon found herself restlessly pacing one long hallway after another. She considered calling for a taxi, but that seemed ridiculous, considering how many cars were parked in the garage she had stumbled upon in her wandering. She wanted to ask Zaiman if she could use one, but she didn’t want to interrupt an important meeting with an unimportant question.

  Finally, feeling as if she would go out of her mind if she didn’t do something productive, she called Bassam.

  “Hello, Alex. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, yes, everything’s fine,” she assured him. “I just had a few errands I needed to run, and was wondering if I could use one of the cars. I didn’t want to interrupt Zaiman.”

  “Wise decision,” he told her. “The Sheikh is currently in a meeting with his sister, discussing the problem of homelessness in the city. They disagree fiercely on the matter, and are likely bordering on a shouting match at this very moment.”

  “Wow! You must know them pretty well to make a prediction like that,” Alex said, impressed.

  “Since they were children,” Bassam told her. “But I am the person to talk to, so it is not a loss for you. Are you near the garage?”

  “I’m in it, actually,” she confessed. “I’m pretty anxious to get my things done before Amia is finished with her lessons.”

  “Ah, yes, I understand. Do you see the hooks on the wall?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is a key hanging from one, on a bright pink keychain. Do you see it?”

  “Bright pink camouflage,” Alex chuckled. “Where would that be useful, do you think?”

  “In a cotton candy factory, of course,” Bassam replied, amused. “The button on the top will lead you to the appropriate vehicle. You may use this car whenever you please; it is not in common use in the household.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said gratefully. “And I hope you and Zaiman have a good day, in spite of whatever argument he may have.”

  “He would never admit it, but heated debates wit
h his sister make a good day for him,” Bassam chuckled. “I believe he enjoys it.”

  “Takes all kinds,” Alex laughed. “Thanks again.”

  They said their goodbyes and Alex hit the button. A friendly beep answered her from the other side of the garage, and she discovered her ride: a ten-year-old hatchback, painted in a subtler version of the pink camo. The seat covers and floor mats were done in brightly-colored animal prints, making the whole car look as though Amia might have designed it. Alex loved it immediately.

  “I can see why it isn’t used much,” she murmured with a chuckle. “Sweet little ride, though.”

  She carefully followed the narrow, winding roads back to the highway. She was immediately comfortable with the roads, which was strange for her; she had been nineteen before she had earned her driver’s license back home, and driving in new countries had always been a little nerve-wracking for her. But something about the color palette of her surroundings or the way the roads were arranged soothed her, and she enjoyed her cruise immensely.

  She found the shops quickly, and parked the car at one end of the bustling street. Nearly everyone was on foot, perusing the outdoor stands or weaving in and out of doorways, creating a low hum of activity which invigorated her.

  An ATM near the door of the first shop informed her in three different languages that most of the shops could not accept cards, and asked her to please withdraw whatever she needed. She obliged, filling her wallet with half a week’s pay from her previous employer, and stepped through the door.

  There were so many pretty things to look at, she didn’t know where to start. Rugs and pottery, paintings and sculptures…the whole shop vibrated with culture and life.

  “Excuse me,” she asked the man behind the counter. “Do you have luggage?”

  “No, sorry. Next door.”

  “Thank you.”

  She hovered around for a few minutes, absorbing the feel of the place. There was treasure here; she could feel it. She ran her fingers over the hanging rugs, enjoying their texture while she examined the paintings on the wall.

  “There you are,” she said, spotting her treasure.

  An impressionist image of a winking giraffe hung humbly between two overbearing paintings of a sprawling palace and a line of camels in the desert. She rescued it from its hidden place and brought it to the register.

  “Do you know who painted this?” she asked.

  “My nephew,” the man said proudly. “Ahmed Tehlil. He is a fine artist.”

  “He is indeed,” Alex agreed as she paid for her purchase. “Is his artwork displayed anywhere else?”

  The man scoffed. “No. It is difficult, breaking into the art world. Nobody knows your name, you are nothing.”

  “Well, I will be sure to spread his name around,” Alex said sincerely. “He deserves the recognition.”

  “You are very kind. Here, a gift for you. You like giraffes?”

  “I do,” Alex replied with a grin. “I’m beginning to think they like me too.”

  “This one certainly does,” the man said, handing her a tiny, carved wooden giraffe with heart-shaped spots. “Give her a good home, yes?”

  “I will,” Alex promised. “Thank you.”

  Such a friendly place, Alex thought. Friendly and open and warm. Not as hot as Australia, not as cold as Russia, not as crowded as China, and not as overwhelming as England. She chuckled to herself, realizing that she was beginning to sound like a very high-maintenance Goldilocks.

  The store next door did have a huge selection of luggage. Some of it was obviously imported, and was the same stuff she would have purchased back home, but some of it was special.

  A prominent display of locally-crafted luggage caught her attention. A full set in bold reds and blues woven together in concentric triangle patterns called to Alex instantly.

  “Handmade,” the shopkeeper said, appearing at her side. “You like them?”

  “I do, very much,” Alex gushed. “How much for the whole set?”

  The woman hesitated for a breath, then repeated herself. “Handmade. One of a kind.”

  “Yes, they seem to be very special,” Alex said fondly. “I would like to buy them.”

  The woman named a figure which seemed more than reasonable, but said it while taking a step backwards as if she were expecting Alex to explode.

  “Perfect, I’ll take them,” Alex said happily.

  Relief washed over the woman’s face, and she quickly took the luggage and nested it carefully, placing paper sheets in between each piece.

  “You like Al-Jerrain?” the woman asked, seeming more comfortable now.

  “I do,” Alex said honestly. “So far, I love everything about it. How do you like it?”

  The woman seemed surprised by the question, but only shrugged. “It is home,” she said simply. “I know only Al-Jerrain, and life is good.”

  “That is certainly an argument in the country’s favor.”

  The woman gave her a sharp look. “You are wanting to stay?”

  “Oh, yes. At least for a while. Maybe a year, maybe five…a lot depends on how things go with my work.”

  “What work do you do? Much work to be done in Al-Jerrain.”

  “I’m a na—” Alex fumbled, remembering almost too late that nobody was supposed to know who she was or what she was doing. “A natural history student,” she corrected.

  “Oh! Then you have seen the museum?”

  “There’s a museum?” Alex asked, delighted. “No, I haven’t seen it yet; I haven’t been here long. Where is it?”

  “Center of town,” the woman told her, sounding just as excited as she was. “Near the capital building. Dinosaurs!”

  “Oh! How thrilling! I will be sure to see it as soon as I can. Thank you so much for the luggage!”

  “Most welcome,” the woman said, beaming. “Do not use it soon!”

  “Not if I can help it,” Alex answered.

  Smiling, she stepped back outside into the sun, carrying her new luggage and decorations. She could have stayed in those shops for hours—there was nothing like casual shopping to give her the read on a new environment, and it was one of her favorite parts of arriving somewhere she had never been before—but she would have to hurry if she was going to get back before Amia’s lessons were over.

  “Can’t mess that up on your first day,” she told herself firmly. “Wait a week, then show up late.”

  She made a face at herself in her rearview mirror, mocking her own bad humor. She was practically floating on her good mood when she pulled back into the palace garage, and was even happier when she saw Bassam and Zaiman pulling in behind her.

  “Hello!” she sang out happily as she pulled her purchases out of the car. “How was your meeting?”

  She looked up at Zaiman and froze. He had grown pale, his eyes narrowed to furious slits.

  “Is…something wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Who told you to use that car?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “I did,” Bassam said firmly, his voice booming. “It’s about time the thing got some use. It breaks its little heart to sit there all the time, catching dust.”

  Zaiman turned away from Alex and had a low, angry conversation with Bassam for several moments before storming into the house. Alex turned a worried face to Bassam.

  “He’ll get over it,” Bassam told her kindly. “Until he does, he is angrier with me than he is with you. Did you have a good time? What did you buy? Come, let’s head inside.”

  His kind eyes and gentle words did something to restore Alex’s good mood, though she still worried that she had somehow made an egregious mistake.

  After showing Bassam her purchases and letting him exclaim over them until she beamed with pleasure, she took the things to her room. She had just enough time to shower and rinse the dust off of her skin before Amia would need her, so she left her things on her bed and her clothes on the floor, hurrying to her bathroom.

  “Alex? Miss Ale
x!” Amia’s little voice rang through Alex’s rooms just as she turned off the water.

  “I’ll be out in one minute,” she called. “Did you see what I bought?”

  “It’s pretty! Better than those ugly bags.”

  “I didn’t know you thought my bags were ugly,” Alex said, sounding a little hurt, though she didn’t really mean it.

  She stepped into her dressing room from the bathroom and put on her bathing suit and flowing cover-up, sighing happily at the sensation of thin cotton on her newly-cooled skin.

  “I’m sorry,” Amia said as Alex walked into her room. “I didn’t mean they were ugly. I meant that they aren’t as pretty.” Amia wrung her hands, looking anxious.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Alex told her with a kind smile. “They aren’t very pretty at all. The new ones are much better. How were your lessons today?”

  “The lessons were fine,” Amia said in a wilted tone. “Boring, but fine.”

  “Then why do you sound so sad?” Alex asked.

  Amia sighed and looked away, out the window, fighting real tears. Worried, Alex pushed her things aside so she could sit beside her little new friend.

  “I think Papa is angry at me,” Amia said quietly. “He didn’t say hello when he came home, and he had his mad face on and he just went right to the study and locked the door.” A tear slipped down her face, and she scrubbed it away. “I don’t know what I did wrong!”

  Neither do I, Alex thought.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Amia. Something made your papa mad before he came into the house.”

  “What was it?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it had something to do with a car.”

  “The pink car?”

  “How did you know?”

  Amia looked guilty for a moment. “I was really little. Really, really little.”

  “I understand. We all do things when we’re young that we grow to regret.”