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

by Holly Rayner

  “Right,” Kyle said, as if that problem had only just occurred to him. “So, we need to find you your own man. My boy Jason down at the gas station is single. Owns his own trailer and everything.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Alex said, rolling her eyes. “But I’ll pass.”

  “Snob,” Kyle sniffed.

  “Scrub,” she shot back.

  “Kids,” their mother groaned. “I really thought the bickering would stop when they grew up, I really did.”

  “You’re making a big assumption there, sweetheart,” Alex’s dad said with a twinkle in his eye. “You assume that just because they’re old enough to vote, it means they’re all grown up.”

  “He makes a good point,” Kyle said with a smirk. “I mean, look at us—Kate is still easy—”

  “Hey! I’m married!”

  “—Alex is still moody,” he continued. “And I still spend half my life playing video games.”

  “That’s different,” their mother sighed. “It’s your job.”

  “It’s Kate’s job to be easy; that doesn’t mean—”

  This was the last straw for Kate. To her kids’ endless amusement and Alex’s mortification, Kate launched a bowl of mashed potatoes right at Kyle’s head. It landed squarely on top of his carrot-orange curls, making a glorious splat as the potatoes dripped over his face.

  “Call me easy one more time,” Kate growled.

  “Truce,” Kyle said as he wiped potatoes from his eyes. “Truce. Ow. I think you gave me a concussion.”

  “Well, you deserve it.”

  Once the mess had been cleaned up and Kate and Kyle had made amends, Kate and Charlie disappeared to put the kids to bed. Suddenly, Alex was in the spotlight, and she knew what was coming.

  “Alex, something’s wrong,” her mother declared. “You’re upset. What happened?”

  “I had a promising job; I lost the promising job,” Alex said quickly, hoping to nip the conversation in the bud.

  “You lost a job? You mean you left the job, right? Difference of opinion or whatever?” Kyle asked, his eyes wide.

  “No,” she sighed. “I didn’t leave it, I lost it, and it’s kind of killing my mojo, and I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Sweetheart, everybody loses a job once in a while,” their dad said kindly. “It doesn’t mean you’re bad at your job; it just means that you weren’t a good fit, is all. Sometimes personalities just clash, and your career is ninety-five percent personalities and five percent snot-rags.”

  Alex cracked a genuine smile at that, and squeezed her dad’s hand gratefully.

  “Hm,” her mother said, squinting suspiciously at her in exactly the way that Kate did. “I don’t buy it.”

  “Then put it back on the shelf so someone else can buy it,” Alex sighed. “I’m done talking about it, I’m done thinking about it, and tomorrow, I’m done feeling bad about it.”

  “Oh?” her mother said, raising a brow. “Have you finally decided to be an adult?”

  “Yes,” Alex exploded, her misery flash-boiling to fury. “Tomorrow, I’m going to get a nice fancy place with a nice long lease and I’m going to get a nice steady job with a 401k and insurance and all those nifty little adult things, and I’ll grow roots like a potato and meet a nice boring boy and have a bunch of babies, okay?”

  Panic rose in her voice with every syllable, and she finally had to bite her tongue to make it stop.

  “Well, all right. If that’s the way you feel, I’ll just stop asking,” her mother sniffed.

  “Thank you,” Alex said sincerely. “Anybody want coffee?”

  Though much of her outburst was hyperbolic, Alex truly intended on forcing herself to move on the next day. She had appointments set with three different apartment buildings, and was determined to keep each of them.

  The next morning, she rose early and dressed professionally, changing out of tired old sweats for the first time since she’d come back home. She walked and took the bus to her appointments, desperately needing a break from Kate’s well-intentioned hovering.

  The first apartment was extremely cheap and flexible, and less than a mile from Kate’s house. That could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the day, she decided. It was very bare-bones, and viewing the apartment left her more depressed than before.

  The second was a little bit nicer, but the building rules were as long as her arm, and the management insisted on quarterly inspections. Though she didn’t intend on trashing the place or living like a wild college kid, she was uncomfortable with that level of scrutiny.

  The third and final apartment was perfect from the moment she laid eyes on it. Curved archways between sunny, breezy rooms reminded her of home—Al-Jerrain, she corrected herself forcefully—and the balcony overlooked a beautiful garden.

  She stood on the balcony for a long time, recalling every moment that she had spent with Zaiman on his various balconies, discussing everything from the vital to the mundane.

  “We have other views if this one doesn’t suit you,” the apartment manager said finally, sounding impatient.

  “Oh! No, this will do fine,” Alex said, tearing herself away. “I’ll take an application.”

  Chapter 18

  Alex

  A long bus ride and a quarter-mile walk brought her back to Kate’s place. Close enough to commiserate, and far enough away to avoid Kate’s daily meddling, Alex decided it was the perfect distance.

  “Perfect view, perfect structure, perfect distance… If it’s so perfect, why do I feel like crying?” she asked herself out loud.

  Glancing up as she made it to the end of Kate’s driveway, Alex decided that she had finally gone completely insane. Her rhetorical question was answered by the image of Zaiman and Amia, sitting together on Kate’s porch swing. Alex blinked hard, willing the hallucination away.

  “Alex!” Amia shrieked, launching herself out of the swing.

  Alex couldn’t speak. She ran toward Amia, scooping her up in her arms. Her heart caught in her throat, pressing the tears she wished she could shed down into her chest, making it feel as though her whole self was compressed on the brink of explosion. Amia gripped her just as tight, trembling as if she was afraid to let go.

  Blinking, Alex found herself gazing into Zaiman’s dark, sorrowful eyes.

  “Can we talk?” he asked tentatively.

  “What is going on out here?” Kate’s exasperated voice piped up behind Zaiman, who turned, surprised.

  Kate’s jaw dropped when she saw him, and she glanced from him to Alex to Amia and back again. Alex watched the pieces fall together in Kate’s expression.

  “Alex, are you going to introduce us?” Kate asked hesitantly.

  “Sorry,” Alex choked out around the lump in her throat. She let Amia slide to the ground, and held her hand.

  “Kate, this is Zaiman…sorry, Sheikh Zaiman bin-Tuleb, and his daughter Amia. Zaiman, Amia, this is my sister, Kate.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Kate said, still studying the group as she shook Zaiman’s hand.

  Alex couldn’t stop staring at Zaiman. She couldn’t believe he was really here, that he had really come across the world to see her. The watery Utah sun brought deep blue highlights out of Zaiman’s midnight curls, a contrast from the golden red highlights she was so used to.

  He was uncomfortable and guarded, but he was here, in the flesh, golden and glowing on Kate’s front porch. Amia wriggled restlessly beside her, and she realized that the silence had stretched on for too long.

  “I see,” Kate breathed.

  “See what?” Alex asked, tearing her gaze away from Zaiman.

  Kate twisted her lips into a knowing smile. “You two need to talk. Amia can hang out with me and the kids for a while.”

  “Ah…” Zaiman hesitated, shooting a question to Alex with his eyes.

  “She’s good people,” Alex promised. “I trust her with Amia.”

  “I should hope so,” Kate said with a chuckle. “I have fou
r of my own,” she elaborated to Zaiman. “She’ll be safe with me.”

  “You have kids?” Amia asked shyly.

  “I do! They’re all younger than you, but Miah and Bezzie will give you a run for your money, and the babies like to play.”

  “You have babies?” Amia squealed, her eyes lighting up. She turned big, pleading eyes to her father.

  “Go ahead,” he said indulgently.

  “You two go…work this out,” Kate told them, shooing them off her porch. “Amia’s welcome here for as long as it takes.”

  As she closed the door, Zaiman turned to Alex. He moved as if to touch her, but then stopped.

  “I…I have much to say,” he said, almost defensively. “Is there somewhere…?”

  “Oh! Yes. There’s a diner around the corner—I’ll…come on.”

  They strolled down the sidewalk, and she saw a familiar look in his eye. He was taking it all in, from the line of barn-shaped houses to the candy-striped store fronts. Broad, leafy trees seemed to capture his interest, but not as much as the evergreens did; and he kept glancing up at the sky, as if the color was wrong.

  Alex had lived that moment over and over again. Being ground-level in a new neighborhood in a strange corner of the world, where everything is different but somehow familiar.

  “It’s a small planet,” he said suddenly, echoing her thoughts.

  “It is,” she agreed. “But so full of adventure.”

  He slid her a sideways glance and half-smiled.

  Alex led him to the diner and brought him inside, watching as his senses were overwhelmed by unfamiliar sights, sounds, and aromas. She offered him a reassuring smile, and did all the talking until they were seated.

  “It’s, ah…it’s a charming place,” he said, looking around. He flicked the plastic dessert menu against his thumb, and looked up at the cut-out pictures of food hanging from the ceiling.

  “A strange place,” he continued. “But a charming one.”

  They talked about the menu and she suggested a few items which were similar to what he was used to—or as similar as small-town America could get to Al-Jerrain cuisine.

  They ordered their food and received their drinks, and then Alex looked across the table expectantly.

  “Nice place, Utah,” Zaiman said, not meeting her eyes. “The air takes some getting used to.”

  “It’s a lot thinner up here,” Alex agreed absently. “Zaiman—”

  “And the trees,” he interrupted. “Tall and full in the city, but absent from the wilderness. Reminds me of home.”

  Alex smiled at that. “I thought the same thing when I arrived,” she said.

  “In Al-Jerrain?”

  “No…in Utah.”

  He furrowed his brow in confusion, and she sipped her coffee. Understanding lit his expression for an instant before he looked away again.

  The awkwardness of their interaction ground like sandpaper against Alex’s consciousness. It had never been this hard before, and she resented that it was difficult to talk to him now. She wasn’t sure whether he was being weird or if she was, but either way, the whole thing was uncomfortable and she desperately wished that the ice would break.

  Their food finally arrived, offering a temporary reprieve from the stilted conversation. Zaiman sampled his plate, nodding in approval as he chewed.

  “Interesting choice of seasoning,” he commented. “I may have to ask Dabir to add some variety to the spice cupboard. The sauce is a bit oily for my taste, but—”

  “Did you come all this way to talk about trees and food?” Alex asked, desperation clear in her voice.

  Zaiman inhaled deeply and set his fork down.

  “No,” he admitted, staring at his food. “But those things are a lot easier to speak of than what I came here to say.”

  Alex waited in silence. Subtle behavior adjustment—it was what she was good at. Arguing about the value of “easy” would only give him another reason to avoid saying what needed to be said.

  They ate in silence for several minutes, with him glancing up at her every once in a while, only to find her patiently waiting.

  “I must apologize,” Zaiman said finally. “For everything. I am so sorry, Alex.”

  “I am, too,” she began, but he held up a hand.

  “No,” he said firmly. “You have nothing to apologize for. I never should have put you in that position.”

  “Maybe,” Alex admitted. “But it was a position you were clear on, and I—”

  “Did what I should have done a long time ago, but was too afraid to do,” he interjected. “Alex, please hear me. You are the best thing that ever happened to my home, to my family.”

  Tears caught in Alex’s throat once more, and she washed them away with a scalding gulp of coffee.

  “Then why did you send me away?” she asked, the pain of the last weeks rippling raw and hoarse through her voice.

  He winced, and looked down at his hands in shame.

  “I wasn’t angry,” he told her. “I had a sudden moment of clarity. You didn’t cause the mess; I did. By pursuing a relationship in secret, by keeping my child hidden, by lying to my family, I arranged this tower to fall. Every decision was mine, including the final decision.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Zaiman smiled in that self-deprecating sort of way which threatened to charm the pants off of her, in a very literal sense.

  “You were not the first nanny I interviewed,” he confessed. “I had my choice of nannies—traditional, severe, religious, immobile…I could have chosen any of them, and my secret would have remained a secret.”

  “But you chose me,” Alex continued his thought, slowly coming to understand. “An American woman who had just left a job with stodgy royals, already fed to the teeth with meaningless tradition and harmful social rules.”

  “Yes,” Zaiman said with a note of relief. “You see, I realized that night that my personal conviction had always been at odds with my professional role. When you explained why you did what you did, it brought everything into focus for me. You, like me, were living at odds with your personal conviction; the difference between us was that your conviction quickly won over the rules of your circumstance, and mine had not yet managed to do so.”

  “Not yet?” she asked, tentatively hopeful.

  “Yes,” Zaiman sighed. “The recent media circus has pushed me to a decision. A decision I should have been strong enough to come to on my own, but…” He trailed off, making a helpless gesture with his hand. “I was not.”

  Moved, Alex stretched a hand out toward him, still somehow afraid to touch him.

  “Nobody’s perfect,” she said, cringing at how trite that sounded. “I mean, you are strong. In other ways. The way you move heaven and earth to make sure she has everything she could want or need—”

  “Except the most important things,” Zaiman interrupted. He smiled at her, but his eyes were filled with sorrow. “There is no need to make me feel better about this, Alex. I know my failings, and I have accepted them. Now, I can address them.”

  “How?”

  “A press conference,” he said, in a tone which made it clear that he would rather walk through fire. “I will speak to the press and explain to them that Amia is my daughter, and that I have kept her secret from my country and my family. And then—most importantly—I will tell them why.”

  “Your family must know about her, now,” Alex said as a twinge of guilt struck her chest.

  “Yes,” Zaiman laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “It was my brother, in fact, who alerted the press.”

  “Zaahir? He seemed to like Amia so much—how could he be so vindictive?” Angry at the man she had met so briefly, Alex crumpled a napkin in her fist.

  “That was my reaction as well,” Zaiman told her with a wry twist of his lips. “But there was no malice in it. Zaahir made the devastating mistake of believing that the reporter he fell in love with was also in love with him. They had been together for a year, so i
t was not stupidity on his part. She is simply very good at her job, and probably evil.”

  A shocked blast of laughter emphasized Alex’s disbelief.

  “You’re going to have to elaborate,” she said.

  “You see, my brother trusted his lover, as one would hope. When he met you and Amia and he solved the mystery, he was hurt.” Shame and pain darkened Zaiman’s face, making his eyes glitter. “He turned to her for comfort and advice, and she betrayed him. She sold the story for a lot of money, then disappeared. Zaahir is crushed.”

  He hung his head and sighed heavily, and Alex couldn’t contain herself anymore. She reached across the table and took his hand, startled by the familiar heat which rushed over her at his touch.

  He looked up at her with a tremulous smile and brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

  “The ripples of my poor decisions reach far and wide,” he said softly. “Many have been hurt by this. I fear that more will be before it is finished.”

  He straightened, taking on a reflection of the proud, almost haughty sheikh she had met just a few short months ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since that first day.

  “That is why I sent you away,” he told her. “I knew the fallout was going to be disastrous, and I needed to get you out of harm’s way. My family has fought bitterly this last month, as it came to light that my Mother, Ziva, and Zabid had known about Amia all along. My father raged, fired Bassam, Dabir, and Rashad—they were on the family payroll—then locked himself in his study for a week.”

  “Bassam is gone?” Alex asked, doubly distressed.

  “No,” Zaiman told her with a slight smile. “I paid their salaries myself. I never even told them that they had been fired. But when my father finally emerged, he was prepared to mend fences.”

  “Oh, good,” Alex breathed. “So, where is all of that now—are you still fighting?”

  “No, no,” Zaiman said. “My family has come together again. My parents miss Amia desperately—even my father, who was under the impression that she was Bassam’s child. He always considered her a niece, as he sees Bassam as a brother. He was delighted, after the initial fury, to discover that she was, in fact, his granddaughter.”