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

by Holly Rayner

  She giggled and shook her head. “You aren’t old, Papa! Bassam is old.”

  “Oh!” Alex gasped in mock terror. “Oh, don’t say that so loud—he’ll hear you!”

  “Not to worry,” Bassam chuckled in his deep bass as he strode into the room. “These old ears can’t hear a thing.” He winked at Amia, who threw back her head and laughed.

  The four of them settled into a pleasant morning conversation. Zaiman was preoccupied; he had government affairs to attend to that afternoon, a meeting with his mother, negotiations with a governor, Alex’s alabaster skin glowing in the morning light like a—no, no, that wouldn’t do.

  He shook himself and returned his attention to the conversation.

  “After your lessons today,” Alex was promising.

  “Why not now?” Amia pouted, flashing big, sad eyes at Alex.

  “Because you can’t learn to write if you’re dripping all over the page,” Alex said matter-of-factly. “You’ll smear your ink. Tell you what, I’ll meet you wherever you are at two o’clock on the dot, and I’ll bring your suit, and we’ll go swimming right away. How about that?”

  “Okay,” Amia sighed. “But tomorrow, swimming first!”

  “Only if you get up super early and go before breakfast,” Alex bargained.

  Amia frowned thoughtfully. “That’s too early,” she said. “I like sleeping.”

  “Me, too,” Alex told her with a grin. “So, maybe we should just make swimming an afternoon activity. What do you say?”

  Amia shook her head. “There’s a way,” she said stubbornly. “There’s always a way.”

  “Quoting super heroes at me again?” Alex teased.

  Amia shoved her little fists on her hips and struck a heroic pose. “I am Amia-girl! Swimmer of pools and player of dolls!”

  “Better be eater of breakfast,” Alex said pointedly, gesturing at Amia’s full plate with her spoon. “Can’t learn on an empty stomach.”

  “Can’t learn on a full stomach,” Amia said with a frown. “Letters are hard.”

  “You aren’t going to let those dastardly letters best you, are you?! Not Amia-girl, conqueror of all!”

  Amia laughed and ate her breakfast. Zaiman caught himself smiling like an idiot, enthralled with Alex’s easy redirection and vibrant humor. She was perfect for Amia, and he mentally congratulated himself for his good fortune in stumbling across such a magnificent nanny. Not to mention, such a beautiful one.

  After breakfast, when Amia was off with her tutor, Zaiman invited Alex to take a stroll through the gardens with him.

  “There are so many things that I still haven’t seen here,” Alex said, her eyes lighting up. “This palace seems to go on forever. Amia tells me that it’s terribly dull, but I find that hard to believe.”

  “She does require a great deal of stimulation,” Zaiman admitted with a chuckle. “Her tutor tells me it’s a sign of intelligence, and I’m happy to believe him for the moment.”

  “I would say so,” Alex agreed. She paused for a moment, taking in the burst of colorful flowers they were strolling past. “I think she would be less of a handful if she spent more time with her friends. Maybe we could arrange a playdate for this weekend?”

  Zaiman’s heart beat anxiously, and his stomach rolled over. Swallowing hard, he arranged a benign smile on his face.

  “Perhaps some other time,” he said vaguely. “You seemed excited about the aviary; has Amia shown it to you yet?”

  “No, not yet,” Alex said eagerly. “Would you take me?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Zaiman said, offering his elbow.

  He was relieved that she was as easily redirected as his daughter, but the relief passed quickly. He caught her curious glances out of the corner of his eye, but pretended not to notice. There were some secrets best left untold for as long as possible.

  The aviary was an enclosed acre just beyond the flower gardens, and it looked more like a greenhouse from the outside. Green-tinted glass protected the trees and birds inside from the punishing sun and furious storms, and made for a cool, humid environment for any humans who visited.

  “Oh! It’s like a magic forest in here,” Alex exclaimed as he brought her inside.

  “My mother has a way of designing magic out of thin air,” Zaiman said proudly. “She built this place just before I was born, for my father. He had a passion for parrots at the time, but they had a terrible effect on her nerves when she was pregnant.”

  He chuckled to himself, earning a curious glance from Alex.

  “My parents lived here, then, and he used to keep the parrots in the house. This was a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…my mother has a frightening temper as it is, but when she was carrying me, I’m told, it was absolutely vicious. One of the parrots had developed a passion for elephants. He enjoyed feeding them peanuts.”

  “I had no idea birds would do that,” Alex said, delighted.

  “Oh, yes. My father was certain that this bird saw the elephants as his own personal pets.” Zaiman paused to stroke the breast of a friendly love bird.

  “My father kept the birds in a very unfortunate place, a little alcove between their bedroom and the dining room. This one bird would repeat the same phrase over and over again, and finally, my mother snapped.”

  “What did she do?” Alex asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

  “She tried to shoot it,” Zaiman said with an uncomfortable little laugh. “It flew away out a window and was lost. She felt terrible about it.”

  “I would hope so,” Alex said, shocked. “She shot at a parrot? What on earth did it say to deserve that?!”

  Zaiman’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I told you he liked to feed the elephants, right?”

  “Yes?”

  “His favorite phrase was, ‘Eat more, elephant.’ And…unfortunately…he had a tendency to say it whenever he saw my mother.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Alex clapped her hands over her mouth, then threw back her head and laughed. “I can’t imagine what my sister would have done to that poor bird. It wouldn’t have had a chance to fly away. They would have eaten parrot pie for dinner.”

  Zaiman laughed, then realized that this was the first time he had heard about a sister. Granted, he hadn’t asked about her family, but it was still a bit of a shock to his system to become cognizant of the fact that she did not exist in a vacuum.

  “So, this place was an apology,” Alex concluded.

  “An apology and a compromise,” Zaiman confirmed. “Her first wish was to get rid of all of the birds completely, but she couldn’t bear to break my father’s heart that way.”

  “She sounds like the kind of woman I would like to know,” Alex said.

  “In spite of her violence against parrots?” Zaiman asked playfully, raising a brow.

  “Almost because of it,” Alex laughed. “I get along with people a lot better if they have some kind of fatal flaw. Lord knows I have plenty, and my family isn’t exactly perfect.”

  “I would like to hear about your family,” he said as they walked through the tangled trees.

  “Sure! They’re fun. I’m the middle child, and the black sheep in a way, though nobody really treats me that way. I think I shock them more than anything. My dad thinks it’s funny.”

  “Your father doesn’t worry about you traveling all over the globe, working for strangers?” Zaiman asked in disbelief, feeling stupid for just now recognizing that she was somebody’s daughter. He could only imagine what he would feel if Amia started doing what Alex did.

  “He did at first, for a minute. Then, I reminded him that he had paid for twelve years of martial arts and self-defense classes, that I could speak three languages and could easily learn more, and that I was fully capable of making his life an absolute hell if he tried to make me stay.”

  She laughed, and Zaiman joined her.

  “Quite a compelling argument,” he admitted.

  “Dad thought so. Mom took solace
in the idea that my wild adventures would put me in line with some very rich, very eligible men. She was hoping that I would be safely married off within my first year abroad.” Alex shook her head, amused. “She has no idea just how much I value my freedom.”

  “So, you will never marry?” Zaiman asked, attempting to smother his disappointment before it could fully form.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Alex said, turning her glittering, laughing eyes up at him. “I would just need to marry somebody who was completely content with traveling the world frequently, Or at least consistently. If I was happy in my vocation and relationship, I imagine that I could stay put for a year or so before the call of adventure seduced me out again.”

  “That doesn’t sound like too much to ask for,” he said, thinking thoughts which were best left unthought. His attempts at shutting down this quiet fantasy were futile, and he soon gave up.

  “So, you have a sister?”

  “Oh! I got sidetracked. Yes, my sister is three years older than me. She’s married to a guy called Charlie, who she dated in middle school and then hated until college, where she fell in love with him again. They got married and had four kids, who I love dearly.”

  “Four! Already?”

  “They keep busy,” Alex said with a wicked little grin. “The kids are all really young still. Miah, the oldest son, is four. Bezzie, their daughter, is two and a half, and their twin boys, July and August, are turning one in about a month.”

  “July and August? They named them after months?”

  “They named them after their birth months,” Alex told him with a twinkle in her eye.

  “But they’re twins?”

  “Exactly, which was why she felt this particular quirk deserved to be immortalized in their names. July was born at eleven fifty-eight at night on July thirty-first. August was born five minutes past midnight on August first.”

  Zaiman chuckled. “That is worthy of immortalization,” he agreed.

  “That’s what I thought. My brother Kyle was less enthused, but then, he wanted to name them Mario and Luigi.”

  Zaiman gave her a horrified look, and she nodded ruefully.

  “He beta-tests video games for a living,” she said. “He’s not exactly the most mature kid in the world. But, I guess, when you’re twenty-two, you don’t really have to be.”

  “Yes,” Zaiman said with a little cough. “Twenty-two-year-olds are notoriously irresponsible.”

  His mind drifted into uncomfortable territory, and he ripped it back to something more pleasant.

  “That scarlet macaw seems to like you,” he said gesturing to the bird.

  “Well, look at that,” she said as the bird approached her. “Looks like I get to make another new friend today.”

  Watching Alex talk to the bird soothed Zaiman’s agitated soul. She seemed to be the inadvertent burr and unknowing salve on his spirit, both at once, splitting old wounds open only to make them feel better.

  She had no idea. He was in danger of growing accustomed to it.

  Chapter 8

  Zaiman

  The days carried on in much the same way. Alex and Amia grew ever closer, whispering like best friends, playing like puppies, and quickly establishing a functional power structure. Alex was a genius at getting Amia to do what was best for her while making her believe it was her decision, and Zaiman grew more impressed with her skills every day.

  With his government essentially working on autopilot for the most part, Zaiman made a point of keeping his mornings free to walk the grounds with Alex. He enjoyed her conversation, and the way her face would light up with pleasure when she saw something beautiful or unfamiliar. He began spending more and more time with her, even walking the halls in the evenings, hoping that she would reemerge after putting Amia to bed.

  One night, about a week after she had started work, she granted his wish. Amia had been particularly demanding that day, running wild during her lessons and refusing to behave during meals or at bedtime. Exhausted, Alex finally got her down to sleep at nine o’clock. Zaiman had been pacing the balcony across from Amia’s quarters, and stopped when Alex trudged across the hall and through the arch to lean her forehead on the cool concrete rail of the balcony.

  “Are you all right?” Zaiman asked.

  “I will be,” Alex sighed. “I adore her, I do, but days like this always leave me aching for grown-up company, you know?”

  “I understand,” Zaiman said with a smile. “During election years, I find myself aching for the company of anyone who isn’t a pompous, stuffy old politician.”

  Alex grinned at him. “Then you do understand,” she said. “I’m glad.”

  Zaiman strolled slowly across the balcony until he was standing beside her, his hand nearly touching hers on the rail. They looked up at the moon, each deliberately ignoring the other’s proximity.

  “Do you like movies?” he asked suddenly.

  “I do,” she told him. “Though, I admit I am growing a bit tired of the Pony Princess.”

  Zaiman laughed at that, and she met his gaze with her glistening, moon-struck eyes. His pulse quickened, and he allowed the feeling to course through him uninhibited for a single, stolen moment.

  “Well, fortunately, I am fresh out of pony movies,” he told her with a smile. “Though I did recently acquire the newest musical release. I haven’t found the time to watch it yet—mostly because I despise watching films alone. Would you care to join me?”

  “I’d love to,” she told him. “That sounds like the perfect way to decompress from a day like this.”

  She took his arm and he led her to his media room, which was set up like a miniature theater with far more comfortable seating. They sat close together on the couch and he cued up the film, lowering the lights. In the dim moments before the movie began to play, he was overwhelmed with the desire to touch her fragrant hair and stroke her soft skin.

  It took everything he had to restrain himself, and soon, to his relief, the movie began to play. The bright colors and talented dancers captured his attention, and he was pleased to discover that it was more comedy than drama. What pleased him more were her reactions to the film; she appeared to be utterly enraptured by it.

  “What did you think?” he asked when it was over.

  “Oh, I loved it,” she said, clasping her hands happily. “It was wonderful. I could watch movies like that over and over again, you know? Straight comedies lose their humor after a few watches, and dramas make me impatient after I know how they work out, but this…they put on a show—they really did—and I could watch it for days.”

  “Careful,” he said with a grin. “You’re starting to sound like Amia with her Pony Princess.”

  “Goodness forbid!” she gasped, clutching a dramatic hand to her throat.

  “I have more,” he said eagerly. “Some I haven’t watched at all, others I’ve only watched once. Would you like to see another? Not now, of course—it’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired—but tomorrow?”

  And the next day, and the next, he thought as his emotions took hold of his mind.

  “I would love that,” Alex said with a smile.

  Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but it only made her look more beautiful—almost seductive, with her dark eyelids dropping low over her stunning eyes. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, and quickly rose before he decided to find out.

  “Then it’s a date,” he said with a semi-formal little bow. “I have early meetings tomorrow, so I will be turning in.”

  “Sleep well,” she said. “I think I’ll stay up a few minutes longer, just to enjoy the quiet.”

  “Very well,” he told her. “Can you find your way back to your room?”

  “I think so,” she said with a grin. “The palace doesn’t seem quite so overwhelming anymore.”

  “One does get used to it, eventually,” he agreed. “Good night, Alex.”

  “Good night, Zaiman.”

  His name on her lips sent shivers
over his skin, and he departed quickly. It would do no good to indulge these feelings, no good at all. But in the twilight between sleep and wake, his mind had other ideas. He floated off to sleep imagining Alex in his arms, dancing with him under the stars.

  Chapter 9

  Zaiman

  Movie nights became standard practice. Three nights a week, sometimes more, Zaiman and Alex would meet on the balcony before walking down to the media room together, arm in arm. He was comfortable with her in a way that he had never been comfortable with a woman; even Amia’s mother had been more fire than blanket in terms of warmth, and had things gone differently, he may have found himself burned by her.

  He had no such reservations about Alex. She exuded a maternal sort of comfort which soothed everyone in her sphere. She had even befriended the cranky Dabir, and had been granted free access to the kitchen, of which she made spectacular use.

  One afternoon, when Zaiman was returning from a frustrating lunch meeting with his elder brother, he opened the door to hear singing from the direction of the kitchen. Hoping to lighten his dark mood, he followed the sound and perched in the doorway.

  “This is the way we roll the dough, roll the dough, roll the dough, this is the way we roll the dough, to make our crispy pies!” Alex and Amia were singing together, each covered in flour up to their elbows as they flattened dough across the stone countertop.

  “Oh! You have something on your face, just…there,” Alex teased, dotting Amia’s cheek with flour.

  “You dare flour me?! You will rue the day!” Amia, naturally dramatic and bolstered by an expansive catalog of adventure movies, wielded a wooden spoon like a sword.

  “En guarde!” Alex replied, blocking the spoon with a whisk.

  Amia squealed, lunging at Alex with her make-believe sword. Watching them battle around the kitchen warmed Zaiman’s heart and loosened the tight bands of stress which had crossed his shoulders only moments before.

  “What’s cooking?” he asked as two of his favorite people collapsed in giggles against the counter.