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

by Holly Rayner

  “You know what you need to say,” she told him firmly. “You know what they need to hear.”

  “How do you apologize to millions of people?” he asked. “How do you confess to a sin so great?”

  She squeezed his hands and touched her forehead to his.

  “Listen to me, Zaiman. You are doing the right thing. For your daughter, for your family, for your country, and for yourself. You are strong and regal and wonderful, and I am so very proud of you.”

  Her words filled him with strength, reaffirming his conviction, and not a moment too soon. A stagehand gestured for him, and Alex whispered a wish for luck as she gave his hands a parting squeeze. Heart pounding, palms sweating, Zaiman strode onto the stage.

  The bright lights set his teeth on edge, but he shielded himself in the armor of regal grace as he marched to his seat. The studio audience radiated a mixture of curiosity and animosity, but he ignored them, choosing instead to focus his mind on the woman who was rooting for him from behind the scenes.

  “Welcome, Sheikh Zaiman bin-Tuleb,” the host announced, greeting him with a bow. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

  The host’s eyes glinted like a snake. Zaiman knew it was risky to use a talk show as his platform rather than an official press release, but it was a calculated risk. He needed to appear to be approachable, reasonable, and human. It was easy to forgive a human. It was much more difficult to forgive an unknowable governing entity.

  “Thank you, Nadim,” he said, returning the bow before taking his seat. “I appreciate you having me on your show.”

  “Well, how could I not? You’re all anyone wants to talk about,” Nadim said with a too-white grin. “So tell me, Zaiman…may I call you Zaiman? What do you make of these rumors, that you have a secret daughter?”

  The audience responded with a chorus of “ooh”, and Zaiman did his best to block them out. He smiled at the host, and took a breath.

  “The rumors are true,” he confessed.

  The audience booed, grating on his resolve. Nadim raised his brows in exaggerated surprise.

  “Really? A secret child? Would you mind telling us how that came to be?”

  Zaiman cleared his throat.

  “Many years ago, I was working closely with the Peace Corps to address the problems Al-Jerrain was facing. Many of you remember the crises in the aftermath of the flood, before the infrastructure was rebuilt.”

  “Troubling times,” Nadim agreed. “Please, go on.”

  “The woman I was working with was an intelligent, passionate volunteer named Alyssa. I was young and she was beautiful; I fell madly in love with her.”

  The audience had mixed reactions, but many of the women cooed. Good—adorable was good.

  “She fell pregnant unexpectedly,” Zaiman continued. “And I was ashamed. I hid her away until she gave birth to our daughter, Amia. She was killed in a car accident when Amia was still in the cradle.”

  A gasp from the crowd spurred him on. They were empathizing; he needed that.

  “I needed help. I had an infant daughter and no idea how to care for her. I asked certain members of my family for help, and they did all they could—but this was my secret and my shame, and it was my responsibility to handle it.”

  He sighed heavily before continuing. “I did not handle it well. I locked my darling girl away, out of the public eye, out of the world she wanted so badly to be a part of.”

  Nadim sat back in his seat, smiling smugly. “You could have given her up,” he said, in a transparent attempt to bait the Sheikh. “With her mother already gone, you could have been rid of the whole problem.”

  A flash of rage exploded behind Zaiman’s eyes, but he suppressed it.

  “My daughter is not a problem to be rid of,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “I adore her; I could not give her up.”

  “You couldn’t give her a life, either,” Nadim pointed out. “Not a real life. Wasn’t it selfish to keep her, knowing she could never see the world, knowing she would never be a part of it?”

  Zaiman ground his teeth.

  “Perhaps it was selfish to keep her,” he admitted. “But who among you would give up your only child, simply because she might not be accepted by the world? I accepted her and prayed that it would be enough.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing that he was straying from the speech he had rehearsed. Nadim was getting under his skin, and he was going to have to be more careful.

  Steeling his resolve, he pressed on.

  “I loved her, and for me, that was the end of it. But my love was not enough. She needed to see the world, to build relationships, to experience what it is to live in our magnificent country.”

  He took a breath and leaned forward, clasping his hands.

  “I should have made this announcement long ago,” he said. “For her sake, and for yours. All of you. I did not give you enough credit; I did not believe that my people would accept and embrace an innocent little girl.” He bowed his head for a moment, then looked out at the audience again. “I am here today to beg your forgiveness. Not for having and keeping my daughter, but for lying to you all for so long.”

  The audience booed. Nadim grinned. The last of Zaiman’s control snapped, and he rose to his feet.

  “Go ahead!” he said, his voice booming. “Boo, hiss, dissent all you like. I cannot afford to care what you think of me any longer. My daughter deserves a father who is stronger than public opinion.”

  The crowd hesitated as low, growling mumbles rippled through it. Zaiman held tight to his conviction.

  “I love my daughter. I am so proud of her. She is an inspiration all on her own, and she deserves better than to be hidden away.”

  He paused, his throat tight with emotion.

  “A brave woman once told me that I cannot trap a person in a life they don’t deserve simply because of my own shame. She was right. I will never again trap my daughter within the confines of my shame. She will never again suffer the consequences of my pride.”

  A sniffle from the audience brought his attention sharply back to his people. Dozens of pairs of watery eyes gazed back at him, and as he took his seat once more, applause rippled through the crowd. It gathered force, many people getting to their feet. The animosity he had felt before dissolved, replaced by the understanding he had so hoped for.

  “Well,” Nadim said, raising his voice to be heard over the applause. “I must admit, I am impressed. It takes a powerful wordsmith to turn a tide like that.” He snapped his fingers, illustrating. “Thank you for coming today, Sheikh Zaiman.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Zaiman returned to Alex’s waiting arms.

  “You did so well,” Alex murmured, squeezing him. “That was perfect.”

  “It was,” Zaiman replied, pulling back just enough to see her beautiful face. “And so are you.”

  Giggling, she tilted her head up for a kiss. The Sheikh obliged enthusiastically, lingering longer than he should have, enjoying the sensation of holding freedom in his arms.

  “Amia’s waiting,” Alex reminded him.

  “That she is,” he said with a smile. “The secret is out. Are you ready for an adventure?”

  “Darling, I was born ready.”

  They left the studio hand in hand, confident and carefree. Bassam was waiting with the car, and they hurried back to the palace, arriving just moments after Amia’s lessons had ended for the day. They met Rashad on his way out.

  “Interesting government lesson today,” Rashad commented as they passed.

  “What did he mean by that?” Alex asked.

  Amia bounced out the front door, hurtling like a cannonball into her father’s arms.

  “Papa! I love you!”

  “I love you too, darling,” Zaiman laughed as he lifted her up into his embrace. “What’s all this? Have you been crying?”

  “You told everybody,” Amia sobbed into his collar. She pushed back and grabbed his face, beaming from ear to ear. “You told every
body and now everybody knows and I can go everywhere and do everything and talk to everybody and see everything!”

  She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight.

  “Ah,” Zaiman chuckled, his heart melting. “That must have been an interesting government lesson.”

  “My favorite lesson,” she said happily. “My favorite favorite. And you’re my favorite papa.”

  “Was there a competition?” he teased.

  She giggled, then wriggled out of his arms. “Can we go?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

  “Go where?” Zaiman asked.

  “Go anywhere!” Amia cried, spinning around in dizzying circles. Zaiman caught her just as she fell over.

  “We sure can!” he said. “How about dinner at the big palace?”

  “Yay!”

  “The big palace?” Alex asked.

  Zaiman winked at her and grinned. “The big palace.”

  Chapter 21

  Zaiman

  Alex seemed nervous as Bassam drove them over to the Palace bin-Tuleb. Zaiman squeezed her hand and smiled at her, and she sent him a weak smile back.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “They’re very relaxed during family dinners. You won’t be expected to behave like royalty.”

  “Oh, royalty I can handle,” she said, her voice high and nervous. “It’s meeting the parents that I’m freaking out about.”

  Zaiman chuckled and kissed the back of her hand. He turned, and caught Amia peering at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Are you excited to see your grandparents, Amia?” he asked her.

  She didn’t answer right away, her face growing red.

  “Amia, are you all right?”

  “Are you in love with Alex?” Amia demanded in a burst.

  Zaiman froze. He looked from Amia to Alex, who had a curious look on her face. He hadn’t expected the question, and hadn’t quite put his feelings into words, even to himself.

  He considered how she had blown into his life like a summer storm, revitalizing the desert of his life and turning his whole world upside down. How everything she touched just seemed to blossom, including himself. How she had stayed by him when everything fell apart, and how she had forgiven his less-than-stellar response to the media circus.

  Every movie night, every conversation, every stolen kiss and tender touch swirled through his head in a heartbeat. It was so clear, and it had taken Amia to point it out to him.

  He turned back to his daughter and smiled.

  “Yes, I am,” he confessed. “How do you feel about that?”

  She frowned, wrinkling her little nose.

  Alex squeezed his hand still tighter, and his heart beat a little faster in his chest; so much depended on the next few words his daughter would say.

  Like sunlight bursting through storm clouds, she grinned.

  “I love her, too!” she crowed. “You thought I was mad!”

  “I did,” Zaiman laughed in relief. “You got me good!”

  “I got him,” Amia giggled to herself. “Alex, you love us too, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Alex said without hesitation. “So very much.”

  “Good,” Amia said with a satisfied nod.

  “We’re here,” Zaiman murmured to Alex as they pulled up in front of his family’s house. She gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth, and Zaiman swelled with pride, pleased that he could please her.

  Though he had grown up in this house and on these grounds, they still had a powerful effect on him. The sprawling gardens in front of the property tantalized visitors with sporadic glimpses of the palace itself, which glistened white in the sun.

  Bassam opened the door, and Amia burst out ahead of him and Alex, virtually vibrating with excitement. Squealing happily, she raced up the steps to greet her cousins, who had exploded from the house as soon as they’d pulled up.

  “Your sister’s kids?” Alex asked, more enthralled with the tangle of chattering children than with the towering palace before her.

  “Yes,” he told her. “Kids, come here!”

  They trotted over to him and stood oldest to youngest, grinning up at him. Amia was caught between the two middle children, who held onto her hands as if they would never let go.

  “Alex, these are my nieces, Abaranne and Abebe; and my nephews, Adem, Adil, and Ahmed.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you all!” Alex shook each of their hands and met their eyes in that same humanizing fashion which had won Amia’s heart.

  “Can we play?” Abebe asked, swinging Amia’s arm.

  “Go on,” Zaiman said with an indulgent smile.

  Laughing and chattering away, the kids raced back up the stairs and into the palace.

  “I’m seeing a pattern here,” Alex said with a sly smile.

  “Oh?”

  “Your family likes naming patterns, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” Zaiman admitted with a grin. “I do hope you like ‘A’ names.”

  Alex jolted as if she had been shocked, and her cheeks flushed a deep red. Zaiman chuckled and brushed her hand with his.

  “I tease,” he told her affectionately. “We can name them whatever you like.”

  Her blush deepened and she began to stutter, making him laugh.

  “I’m being mean,” he confessed with a touch of chagrin. “I apologize.”

  “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed, necessarily,” she muttered as her face darkened a shade further. “I just wasn’t expecting to broach the subject when I’m two steps away from meeting—”

  “Mama!” Zaiman interrupted as his mother walked through the door. “Please meet Alex O’Hare. Alex, this is my mother, Sheikha Sabira bin-Tuleb.”

  The color drained from Alex’s face, to Zaiman’s amusement; he could always follow her inner emotional state by watching the color of her cheeks, making him feel like a powerful psychic. Sabira clasped both of Alex’s hands in hers, meeting her eyes with a level sort of scrutiny.

  “You have changed more things than you may know. None of us are yet aware of the full effects of your influence.” She said it with a neutral tone, giving no hint as to how she felt about the situation.

  Zaiman chewed his lip, watching Alex. He knew a test when he saw one, and was mildly frustrated that his mother had not even let Alex in the house before making her prove herself.

  “Yes,” she acknowledged. “Though I am sure that Zaiman would have taken these steps on his own in good time.”

  “You have a lot of faith in him,” Sabira observed.

  “Only as much as he has earned,” Alex told her. “Which, after this morning, is quite a bit.”

  “Yes,” Sabira agreed, finally cracking a smile. “He has proved himself to be worthy of his title.”

  Zaiman, uncomfortable at being discussed as though he wasn’t there, cleared his throat. His mother shot him a cool glance.

  “The sun is hot and the palace is cool. Would you come in?” She released Alex’s hands and gestured for the two of them to follow her inside.

  Bassam must have gone ahead, Zaiman realized, as his booming bass rolled through the marbled foyer. His mother gestured toward the drawing room overlooking the back garden.

  “Join the men,” she told him in a tone which left no room for argument. “We will join you shortly.”

  Zaiman cast a worried glance at Alex, who smiled confidently back at him. She was smart enough to know the true intent behind the previous conversation, but he worried that she might believe that her test was over.

  If Zaiman knew his mother as well as he thought he did, he knew that her feelings about Alex were far from settled. But there was nothing he could do but pray that she could handle herself, and join the men for drinks.

  Chapter 22

  Alex

  “Alex O’Hare, this is my daughter, Ziva Abadi bin-Tuleb,” the Sheikha said as they arrived in a bright conservatory filled with lush green plants.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Alex said sincerely, ta
king the hand of the woman who stood by the table. Her sharp eyes and strong, tired, body reminded her of Kate in a way.

  “And I, to meet you,” Ziva replied, studying Alex. “You seem to have caused some trouble.”

  “Yes,” Alex began, wondering how best to proceed. “And I am sorry for that. But I believe that it was the right thing for both Zaiman and Amia, in the end.”

  “I may come to agree with you, in time,” Ziva said, her lips pressing together. “For the moment, public relations are in disarray.”

  “To be expected in the wake of any political scandal or great change,” Sabira said dismissively, pouring a drink. “Wine, Ms. O’Hare?”

  “Yes, please. Would you like to call me Alex?” She phrased the question clumsily, not knowing if an outright invitation for casual address would be offensive to the Sheikha.

  “I would,” Sabira said. “And you may call me Sabira.”

  “Mother!” Ziva exclaimed in shock. “She’s a nanny, and you hardly know her!”

  “She is my son’s inspiration and anchor, and my granddaughter’s caretaker. She is clearly invested in their lives beyond her duties as a nanny, and is as welcome in my home as Bassam is.”

  “Mother, really? You would trust Bassam with your life.”

  Ziva crossed her arms and glared at her mother from across the room. Alex hovered uncomfortably, caught between wanting to say something and wanting to disappear. Sabira pressed the wine into her hand and gave her a gentle smile before turning back to her daughter.

  “And I trust Alex with my legacy,” Sabira said. “Though I didn’t choose her. Then again, I didn’t choose Bassam, either. One thing you must learn, my dear Ziva, is that sometimes the people who are most important in your life are the ones who you never expected to be there.”

  “That worked out very well for Zaahir,” Ziva said bitterly.

  “Poor Zaahir,” Sabira said, taking a seat and gesturing for Alex to do the same. “Did you hear about my eldest son’s romantic troubles?” she asked Alex.

  “I did, I’m afraid,” Alex said, cringing. “I am so sorry he went through that.”