by Leslie North
But the money had dried up, hadn’t it? The checks had stopped coming. Toward the end, Tahir had asked Hannah to borrow money. She’d never refused him.
Maybe this situation wouldn’t be so awkward if she had.
Chakir’s words finally registered in her brain. “Wait. What do you mean, despite the circumstances?”
He lifted his chin an inch. “How well did you know my cousin?”
Hannah’s cheeks were ready to burst into flame. “Our relationship was…short-lived. But he visited when he could,” she said lamely. “Less often as time went on.”
“Ah.” Chakir looked down at the floor, then back into her eyes. “Travel would have been difficult, given his financial situation.”
“Oh, I know about his difficult finances.” Hannah’s feelings were split down a ragged seam. Tahir had been bad with money, for someone who should have been wealthy enough to provide for his own child. She’d been so angry at him for dropping the ball. For not visiting enough. And now he was gone, and he could never visit again. Hannah wasn’t sad for herself, but her heart broke for the little boy sleeping down the hall. He wouldn’t remember Tahir after a few years. “We struggled with it plenty of times.”
“I’m afraid my family is responsible for that struggle.” Chakir didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “Tahir was disinherited for…many aspects of his behavior. But we would have offered more support if we had known the details of the situation.”
“Ryan is not a situation. He’s my son.” Hannah’s skin felt raw, exposed, though she was fully dressed. “And for you to come here now…”
“It’s not ideal. I know that. But we were unaware that we had a member of the family in the States until just recently. I came as quickly as I could, once we received notice about the rent. Apparently my cousin’s name was on the lease.”
Hannah tipped her head back. “Yes, he cosigned, but he never lived here. Other things to do.” She leveled her gaze at Chakir. “Still. Even if my son is a prince…” A laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she swallowed it down. Her son, a prince. She’d known Tahir had been a member of the royal family. She hadn’t known it would ever come to this. “I don’t think uprooting him is a good idea.”
“It’s for the best.”
Her lungs throbbed and pounded like there was too much air in the room. Hannah reached up for her hair and pulled it back from her face. She'd let it down at the end of the day to nip a headache in the bud, but now she ran her fingers through it, lifting it off her neck. How was she supposed to feel about this? Pissed that they’d disinherited Tahir? Proud that she’d held it together by herself for this long?
She went with pride. Her ineffective negotiations with Greg had sapped her energy for the evening, but she felt buzzed at the sight of Chakir. He seemed to take up all the available space in the room, and yet somehow she wanted to inch closer to him, take the front of his suit in her fists and…
And she was more than a little annoyed.
“Honestly, Chakir—can I call you Chakir, or should I address you by your title?”
A smile played across his lips, and Hannah’s body answered. She blinked that feeling away.
“You may call me Chakir. May I call you Hannah?”
“Hannah’s fine. No fancy titles here.”
“And yet you’re the mother to a prince.”
Right. That was the discussion they were having when Hannah wasn’t busy being captivated by Chakir’s eyes. “I am. And after five years of his life, you can’t just come here and whisk him away to the Middle East.”
“I’d like to whisk both of you.”
“And I’d like to keep living my life. I have a job here. Ryan and I have a home.”
Chakir arched an eyebrow, and a hot blush flooded her cheeks. “Yes. And in Hamari, you won’t need to work. You will live in the palace with the family. Support. Security. Education. Wealth.”
Hannah’s mind had come to a crashing halt at with the family. How was that supposed to work? She’d never met Tahir’s immediate family, never mind his distant—and even more royal, somehow—relatives. She had a vision of a gilded cage, which was something else, considering that five minutes ago she’d been served an eviction notice.
“No. I don’t think that’s for us. But thank you for coming here and paying the rent off. I can find a new place now.”
“And no doubt you’d make a very comfortable home.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, defensive of the crocheted blanket on the back of the couch and Ryan’s well-loved toys stacked neatly in one corner. “This place might not be a palace, but—”
“I didn’t mean any offense,” Chakir said, and she believed him instantly. It was so hard to hear past the low voice that called to something inside of her—something fiery and animal. “I only meant that your home now is very comfortable. At least, your sitting room is comfortable.” He flashed her another smile, and Hannah felt her resolve weaken. If living with the family meant living with Chakir…
“We’ll be fine here,” she insisted.
Chakir shook his head. “Ryan deserves the security of the palace. He needs it to grow up safely. And so do you.”
“I’m already grown up.”
“I can see that.” The heat in his eyes when he said it was unmistakable. Hannah felt it in her very breath.
“I can handle it. I’ve been making it on my own just fine for years now.”
Chakir nodded. Even his nods were regal. “I’ve come at odd hours, so I think it would be best if I stepped out and let you sleep on it. I’ll be close by.” He took a business card from his pocket and pressed it gently into her hand. “That’s my number. If you have any questions, please call. Don’t worry about waking me.”
Hannah couldn’t block the image of a shirtless Chakir sprawled out on pure white hotel bedding, but she swallowed hard and kept her chin up. It was three steps to the front door, and Chakir was already there by the time she managed to speak.
“Thank you for this, Chakir,” she said pointedly. “But I won’t need it. And I don’t need to sleep on this. Ryan and I will be staying right here.”
3
Chakir leaned his head against the back of the white leather sofa that dominated the living area of the Presidential Suite. A panoramic view of Chicago at midnight spread out before him, traffic rushing through the twinkling lights, but Chakir saw none of it.
His mind was back in Hannah Fisher’s house.
It had been small, and the condition had shocked him at first. White paint peeled off the siding of the rental, and the hulking landlord’s weight made the wood beneath his feet bow downward.
If it weren’t for the inside, he would have insisted they come to his suite that very moment.
Hannah’s living room had been…cozy. The furniture had none of the sleek lines of the pieces that decorated his suite, and the sectional sofa’s cover was shiny in spots from use, but the bright blanket she’d thrown over the back had called to him. He wanted to sink down in it right now and have a conversation with her.
A different conversation. Chakir had not expected Hannah Fisher to be quite so intriguing. The woman with the dark hair spilling down her back and green eyes that shone crystal even in the low light of her living room had cast hooks into his heart.
Was it really his heart, or something…lower? Chakir shifted on the sofa and tried to ignore the pulse at his core. Maybe he was longing for the simple comforts of Hannah’s home. Or maybe he was longing for something else entirely.
It was hard to sort out, tired as he was. His cousin Tahir had passed away four months ago, but Chakir and his brother Kishon had only just found out about Hannah and Ryan. He was glad, in a way, that the terrible landlord had thought to send a notice to the address in Hamari that Tahir had used on the lease.
What had his cousin been thinking, signing that lease? Had he never seen the house in person? Had he somehow thought it would be better to le
ave his son exposed to people like that landlord? To leave Ryan and his mother to fend for themselves?
Chakir laughed out loud in the late-night quiet of his suite. Hannah was no shrinking violet. The fire in her eyes when she’d told him that she and her son would be staying in the states had been unmistakable. She was proud. Not the kind of woman to fall to pieces at his act of kindness.
Paying the outstanding rent hadn’t really been kindness, though. It was duty. Ryan, the mysterious little boy who had slept through the whole ordeal, was a member of the royal family. The sooner Chakir could get Hannah to see that, the better off they all would be, but he didn’t know if he would ever persuade her.
It was time to tell Kishon what had happened.
It only took a moment for Chakir’s laptop to connect to his older brother via Skype, who answered the call on his phone.
“Perfect timing,” said Kishon, who stood in a gray T-shirt drenched in sweat.
“Finished with your workout?”
Kishon, the king of Hamari, started every day in the gym. By contrast, Chakir’s day was ending. It should have been over by now, complete with a plan to get Hannah and Ryan back to Hamari.
Kishon flexed for the camera. “Yes, and stronger than ever.” He reached for a towel and wiped his face. “Did you find the boy, then? Will you be flying back in the morning? It will be best if we can finalize plans for the crowning ceremony sooner rather than later.” Kishon had suggested the crowning ceremony within a few hours of the news about Ryan arriving. It would be perfect, he’d told Chakir, as a centerpiece for the larger celebration at one of the upcoming tribal holidays.
Chakir’s heart beat harder. “I’d hoped to have better news.”
Kishon cocked his head to the side. “Better news?”
“Miss Fisher—Hannah—” Her name tasted sweet in his mouth. How? “She has no interest in coming to Hamari.” He gave Kishon a recap of their conversation.
“Hmm,” Kishon said. “And you didn’t mind that at all.”
“What do you mean? Of course I mind.”
“I can see it in your face, Chakir.” A sly smile spread across his brother’s face. “You respect her. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were attracted to her.”
“No.” Chakir scoffed. “She’s the least appropriate woman on the planet for me.”
Kishon raised an eyebrow. “What fun is an appropriate woman?”
“You would know, wouldn’t you? Since you’ve never dated a single woman fit to be queen.” Kishon flicked his eyes skyward. “Did you want to get into that now, brother?”
“No.” The crown prince wiped at his face with his towel again. “I won’t needle you any more about Miss Fisher…today. But you know, Chakir, someday you’re going to have to break a few rules. Be a little inappropriate. It’s the only way change ever happens.”
Hannah’s glass of red wine was half empty, but she’d hardly tasted it.
That was not how she’d expected the day to go.
She’d expected to come home, put together dinner, play with Ryan and put him to bed, and then hopefully fall into bed herself. Saturdays were always just as busy as the average weekday. Ryan was a boundless ball of energy.
She put her wine on the coffee table by her ratty old sectional and went to check on him in his little room at the front of the house. The streetlight outside filtered through the curtains.
The little boy was sleeping in his bed, which was a simple wooden frame painted with red cars on the sides. He still slept the same way he had as a baby—on his back, with his arms thrown up around his head. A sliver of yellow light came through the crack in his curtains and lit up his round cheeks. They were getting less round by the day, Hannah realized. He’d turned five in April. Next year he’d start kindergarten.
Hannah had shut the door on Chakir thinking that nothing good ever came from bringing a rich Middle Eastern man into her life, but now, looking at her son in the light of the moon, she knew that was wrong. One amazing thing had come from it.
Ryan took a deep breath and let it out in a soft sigh, rustling in his sleep. Hannah pulled the blankets up around his chest with a deep pang under her own heart. Chakir’s proposal was insane, wasn’t it? Ryan had never been particularly close with his father, who was rarely in the United States. She couldn’t just cart the boy off to a country neither of them knew to live with strangers.
The last few weeks had made her think, though. Ryan went to the daycare provided by the school Hannah worked at. This downsized her paycheck, but at least it meant he was in the building with her. Hannah didn’t know exactly what book they’d been reading or which activity they’d been doing, but Ryan had started to talk about dads. His dad? Her dad? The questions from the five-year-old sent a bolt straight through the soft center of her heart. My dad? He’d asked the question a few days ago at the McDonald’s drive-through when the man at the window had leaned out to hand Hannah her Diet Coke. Her stomach had dropped when Ryan piped up from the back seat.
Spending time with relatives like Chakir was the closest he’d come to knowing his father. Hannah wasn’t naive enough to think Chakir could ever—or would ever want to—replace Tahir as Ryan’s father, but the boy deserved some male role model, didn’t he?
Hannah ran a gentle hand down her son’s round cheek and stifled her own sigh. She spent most of her days getting things done by brute force. She didn’t have time to wallow in her emotions. But now, in the privacy of Ryan’s room, she let the wall around her heart crack open. Worry spilled out like water through a cracked pipe, filling her from the pit of her gut to the high mark of her throat. Was she enough for him? Would she ever be enough?
A creak on the porch outside Ryan’s window froze her where she stood.
The wind. It had to be the wind, shifting the house from side to side.
But the wind didn’t cast shadows like that. Moving, human-shaped shadows.
She scooped Ryan up from the bed. He sucked in a breath with a tiny snuffle and folded his body to hers without waking. His weight nearly took her breath away—he was getting so big.
Silent, as light on her feet as she could be, she moved back through the house to the front door. Her heart throbbed, forcing blood through veins that felt too small, the beat loud in her ears. Who was on her porch?
Hannah wrenched back the small curtain over the round window centered in the door and peered out.
Greg.
Greg stood on the porch, a phone in his hand. She couldn’t see his face, but from the angle of the phone, she’d have bet any amount of money his nose was pressed to Ryan’s window.
A flash went off.
Pictures?
Greg had never been kind, but this was creepy. Goosebumps pricked on the back of her neck, and she hugged Ryan closer in. Hannah let the curtain fall back over the window and, holding her breath, stepped away from the door.
The porch creaked again, then the steps. When she looked again, Greg was gone.
A moment later, it hit: Greg had been there when Chakir announced that Ryan was a prince.
Her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ground together.
They couldn’t stay here.
4
For all the comforts of the Presidential Suite, Chakir had hardly slept.
He threw himself out of bed before his alarm went off, mind still churning. His brain couldn’t settle. One moment, he was consumed with thoughts of Hannah—the way the neckline of the T-shirt she’d worn skimmed her collarbone, the way he wanted to trace the line of that collarbone with the pad of his thumb, the way a simple shirt had made such a lasting impression.
The next moment he felt bathed in a frustration several degrees too hot for his skin. It was wrong for a boy with Ryan’s status to be living in a neighborhood like that, with men like Hannah’s former landlord living across the street. No doubt she’d find a similar arrangement elsewhere in the city when she moved.
He pictured himself making a passionate argument fo
r Ryan’s safety, but in every scenario, he found himself derailed by his own desire.
Chakir stood in the shower and let the water pour over his shoulders. He had to hold himself together. Kishon had sent him here to do a job, and he had no interest in disappointing his brother.
He soaped up his body under the steam. Chakir did have other interests, and in this moment they came down to imagining what Hannah would look like in this same massive shower with him. Her green eyes would rake up and down the length of his body, finally settling on…
With a frustrated groan, he admitted it: he was turned on. He’d thought of her all night, and it wasn’t going away. Chakir turned toward the water and took his hard length in his hand. Maybe this would let him set aside the way he felt about her and focus. Maybe this one release would be enough…
He knew as soon as it was over—when he still had one hand braced against the intricate tiling in the shower—that it wouldn’t be enough. At least now his head was a bit clearer.
Chakir dressed quickly: dress slacks, a white button-down shirt that set off his skin, gleaming leather shoes. He had to go back to Hannah’s house and convince her to come back with him to Hamari—for Ryan’s safety first and foremost, and for the crowning ceremony as a secondary goal. The date of the tribal holiday Kishon had chosen was coming up. The event was going to bring together tribal leaders from around the country, and it was going to be a showcase for the new generation of leadership.
Himself included.
Chakir could not attend the ceremonies and celebrations if he couldn’t get this done. And he would get this done. He got things done—that was his purpose in life.