The Sheikh's Baby Bet Read online

  “Fine. I guess it’s been a while since…”

  “Since we acted like proper people, rather than tired parents?” the Sheikh laughed. “Come on, honey. Let me get you a drink.”

  The Sheikh led her down the steps, holding her hand. As they walked, their guests peered up at them, waving and applauding. Tiffany grinned broadly, tightening her grip on Kazra’s hand. She’d been dreading this event for weeks. But now that they were there, all together, she couldn’t imagine a better way to celebrate one year of motherhood. One year, officially, of being with the Sheikh himself.

  “By the way, you look gorgeous,” Kazra whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek as he did so.

  “Not as gorgeous as I was the other night, after Jackson vomited on me,” Tiffany laughed. “Right?”

  “This is a close second.”

  In the past year, Kazra and Tiffany had become more than co-parents, they had metamorphosed into essential partners: raising their son, supporting each other’s careers, and becoming each other’s confidants. Tiffany could no longer imagine her life without the Sheikh.

  Zarina approached the couple from the side, hand-in-hand with her recent boyfriend. She hugged both Tiffany and Kazra, before whispering into Tiffany’s ear.

  “So. Did you hear from her?”

  “This morning. Yeah. I don’t know what to think to be honest,” Tiffany murmured in reply.

  “You’ve told Kazra, haven’t you?”

  “I’m getting ready to,” Tiffany sighed. “I just don’t know how much I want to travel to Florida. We’re so busy. And with a baby?”

  Zarina gave her a meaningful look. Kazra swept a hand over Tiffany’s back, leaning forward. “Secrets, ladies? What are we talking about?”

  “Um. It’s nothing—” Tiffany sighed, knowing she had to fess up. “It’s just… I heard from my mother today.”

  “Oh?”

  In the previous year, Kazra had grown increasingly interested in Tiffany’s fractured relationship with her mother. She had mentioned several times that she was no longer interested in having a relationship with her, but this didn’t seem to be enough for Kazra. Tiffany knew that he longed for his mother’s presence every single day. And what would Tiffany think if Jackson grew up and decided, out of the blue, not to speak with her anymore?

  “It would feel rotten,” she’d told him when he brought it up. “But I would never abandon you and tear apart our family, just for selfish reasons. The way my mother did.”

  “Maybe not,” Kazra had said. “But don’t you think people deserve forgiveness? You forgave me.”

  “Just barely,” Tiffany had said, her eyes flashing. And that had been that, at least for a while. And then, one night when Jackson hadn’t stopped crying for hours, she’d written to her mother’s old email address, almost hoping she wouldn’t receive a response.

  Mom. My baby boy is almost a year old. Can you believe it? How are you?

  And, as simple as that, her mother was back in her world.

  “So, what did she say?” Kazra asked her now, surrounded by a sea of their greatest friends.

  “She says she wants to meet Jackson,” Tiffany answered, her voice low. “She says we can come to Florida, if we want to. Whenever we please.”

  “Wow.” Kazra looked floored. He brought his arms around Tiffany, holding her tightly against his chest. He recognized the fear in her eyes. The sadness. “It’s going to be all right, Tiff. I’ll be right by your side.”

  Kazra booked their flights to Florida for the following month, after a series of international meetings which kept him in Europe for several weeks. During those weeks, Tiffany had pined for him, but she had busied herself with worry about the upcoming trip. She hadn’t heard from her mother since she’d confirmed their plans to visit. Occasionally, she woke up, sweating through her sheets, worried that it had all been a dream. Surely, her mother didn’t want to see her at all. But it was happening.

  The Sheikh’s private jet landed in Orlando on a Tuesday afternoon. Jackson was asleep in Tiffany’s arms, his small fingers wrapped tightly around one of hers. Stepping from the plane, Kazra cranked open the baby carriage and they walked together through the bright airport, their eyes wide as they took in the scene around them. Fast food, brightly colored advertising, and tall men wearing cowboy hats: it was all commercially American, in the very best way. Tiffany leaned toward her baby, whispering, “This was my home, Jack. This is where I grew up!”

  Kazra and Tiffany rented a car and a baby seat, paying extra for a sleeker sports car—a love Kazra had never really gotten over. Once in the driver’s seat, he gripped the steering wheel with a light in his eyes.

  “Remember you have a baby in the car,” Tiffany said, laughing. “Speed limit, or slower!”

  “If you insist,” Kazra said, rolling his eyes playfully.

  He took them out on the highway, watching as Tiffany adjusted the radio to find some of her favorite 80s tunes. She sang along quietly, clinging to Kazra’s hand. With each passing moment, she tried to quell her nerves.

  Her mother’s house was a squat, single story structure with a bright blue door. Kazra parked the sports car in the front driveway and cut the engine. Glancing toward Tiffany, he waited for her to make the first move.

  “I’m just not sure what to say to her,” Tiffany breathed. “It’s been years.” Reaching across the car, she squeezed his hand tightly. “What would you say to your mother, if you had the chance?”

  “I would tell her that I missed her,” Kazra murmured. He lifted her hand and kissed it. His lips were soft against her skin. “I would tell her I want to be better for her.”

  Behind them, Jackson gurgled to himself. Kazra gestured toward their son. “But I think, in this case, you should let Jackson do most of the talking. No offence, my dear, but he’s the one with the most charm.”

  Tiffany laughed; she knew this was true.

  As she ducked from the car and began to undo Jackson’s car seat, she heard the screen door slam behind her. That familiar voice, high-pitched and lilting, met her ears.

  “Look who’s here!” her mother cried.

  Positioning Jackson’s car seat against on her side, Tiffany turned around, taking in the sight of her mother for the first time in years. Her breath caught in her throat, making her realize, for perhaps the first time, that she’d actually missed her mother. All those holidays without her; all those birthdays; the birth of her first child—and still, her mother had been here. A million miles away.

  Without waiting another moment, her mother, Phoebe, burst down the stairs towards her. Her arms were open wide. Tears streamed unchecked down her face. Before she knew it, Tiffany was wrapped with her long arms, held tightly against her breast. She smelled precisely like Tiffany remembered her: that specific lotion she always wore, the oatmeal she always ate for breakfast, along with a hint of cinnamon. She shuddered, grateful that she’d eliminated the distance between them. She hadn’t known quite how important this would be.

  “And who is this?” her mother cried, leaning down to Jackson. Jackson bubbled his lips in response and bobbed up and down in Tiffany’s arms. “Oh, Tiff. He’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Mom, this is Jackson, and he wants to meet his grandma,” Tiffany said, passing the baby into her mother’s arms.

  Her mother took to Jackson naturally, clutching him high and kissing his cheek noisily. Jackson gurgled in response, flailing his arms. Phoebe tickled him and hugged him close to her. “He’s a complete dream. Jackson, you said?”

  “That’s right,” Tiffany whispered. “First in line to the throne of Al Barait.”

  “A sheikh,” Phoebe echoed, glancing toward Kazra. “Like his father.”

  Kazra approached. He lifted his hand toward Phoebe, not breaking eye contact. “Phoebe, it is my absolute pleasure to meet you.”

  “It’s not every day royalty comes to Florida,” Phoebe agreed, shaking his hand and giving him her most genuine smile. After a long, awkwar
d pause, she tilted her head toward the door. “Why don’t you come in? I have a little snack prepared for you guys. I hope you like rosé?”

  Tiffany and Kazra followed her mother up the crooked sidewalk and through the creaking screen door. As they walked, Kazra squeezed Tiffany’s hand, a reminder that he was beside her. It was all going to be fine.

  Walking into her mother’s house was like entering a dream world. So many relics from Tiffany’s past lined the walls, including photographs of her when she was a young girl. On the far wall was a photograph of Phoebe and her husband on their wedding day—a day that had been one of Tiffany’s least favorite. But now, she tried to look at the photo with fresh eyes. In it, her mother gazed up at her new husband with loving, bright eyes. She still had hope for her future. And just because that future hadn’t included her ex-husband, that didn’t mean it wasn’t valid.

  Everyone was doing the best they could, Tiffany thought.

  Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Tiffany and her mother caught up: sitting on the deck and pouring glass after glass of wine, while Kazra entertained Jackson. As they spoke, Tiffany realized all she’d missed since she had cut her mother out of her life. Her husband, Tiffany’s stepfather, had been diagnosed with a rare disorder the year before, and had had to have surgery.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tiffany asked, feeling breathless.

  Her mother glanced at the ground. Her hand shook slightly, still clinging to the glass. “I wasn’t sure you wanted anything to do with me.”

  Tiffany reached across and gripped her mother’s free hand. All the resentment seemed to fall from her shoulders. She remembered that first night when she’d met the Sheikh, and he’d told her his last memories of his mother. God, she didn’t want to have regrets like he did.

  “Mom. I want you back in my life for good, okay? And things like that… I want to know about them as soon as possible. I want to help you both through them. Especially now…” She gestured toward Jackson and Kazra, playing in the grass.

  Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears. Dropping her glass on the table, she reached forward and gripped Tiffany’s other hand. She held her gaze for a long time, before whispering, “Thank you. Thank you for coming. I thought, for so long, that we were done for good.”

  As they shared this intimate moment, Kazra approached them from the side, carrying Jackson. With a smile stretched over his face, he passed the baby to his grandmother once more and slid his hand down Tiffany’s back as he took a seat beside her.

  “I’ve ordered dinner for us,” Kazra said, interrupting her reverie. “To be delivered in just a few minutes. Figured we wouldn’t want to fight to make anything. And I’m starving!”

  Tiffany and her mother laughed. They lifted themselves from the deck and scrubbed their hands for dinner, listening to some of the CDs they’d enjoyed together, before Phoebe had left. They hummed the familiar songs, passing out plates and forks and knives. Kazra watched on, unable to stop smiling.

  “What is it?” Phoebe asked him, laughing at his glowing expression. “You must be laughing at my singing voice. Aren’t you?”

  Kazra shook his head. “Not at all,” he sighed. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I never want any of you out of my life.” With a flourish, he reached into his pocket and drew out a small, velvet box. Tiffany’s eyes grew wide, suddenly understanding.

  “Tiffany,” Kazra began. He dropped to one knee, gazing up at her. “I was going to wait to do this. Some other time. Maybe at the beach, out to dinner alone. But seeing you and your mother reconnecting like this makes me want to make it official as soon as possible.”

  He swallowed sharply. For the first time since Tiffany had known him, he looked oddly nervous. He opened the box, revealing a vintage diamond ring. It glittered in the light and her breath caught in her throat.

  “Tiffany. Will you make me the happiest man alive?” he breathed. “Will you walk alongside me, guiding me as I lead my country? And will you be my wife, as we raise our son together?”

  Tiffany felt waves of joy wash over her. After a long sigh, she closed her eyes and nodded. There was no other answer but the honest one. “Of course I will,” she whispered.

  Kazra slid the ring onto her finger slowly, almost reverently. It fit perfectly, becoming a part of her. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling both her and their baby boy, in the center. Jackson cooed up at them, bringing his chubby hand to his father’s cheek. Over his head, Kazra and Tiffany shared a kiss, lost in their love for one another.

  As they kissed, they noticed a flash of light off to the side. Blinking into it, Tiffany saw that her mother had taken a photograph with her ancient camera. Behind the lens, her face was filled with tears of joy. Gesturing, Tiffany brought her mother toward them, joining her in a wide embrace.

  Minutes later, a flurry of excitement began. With the ring on her finger and her baby on her knee, Tiffany ate the food that Kazra had ordered for them, laughing with her mother and the love of her life as they began to plan their upcoming nuptials.

  Altogether too soon, it was night on the best and most beautiful night of Tiffany’s life. Jackson cooed asleep on her chest. Phoebe and her fiancé sat, speaking in soft tones as Kazra told her the story of his own mother. Somewhere, far away in Al Barait, her father was asleep and awaiting their return, yearning for the time when he could bounce the young prince on his own knee and hear about Kazra and Tiffany’s first trip to the homeland, together.

  From a distance, Tiffany could have never imagined this life. She’d lived with hatred: for the Sheikh, for her mother and her mistakes, and for living. She hadn’t known that life was the type of thing that happened to you, not the other way around. And now, she couldn’t help but feel that she had been blessed in every measure. Blessed beyond her means.

  The End

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  Bought And Paid For: The Tycoon’s Sheikha Bride

  Holly Rayner & Lara Hunter

  Copyright 2017 by Holly Rayner and Lara Hunter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  “My, don’t you look lovely.”

  Jasmina dabbed the corner of her eye, where a black splotch stained her pristine handkerchief. When she looked in the mirror, an ancient pair of eyes locked onto her own.

  “Thanks, Asha,” she said, her voice dull.

  “I know that doesn’t really matter today, but it is the truth. Your father was always a believer in telling the truth.”

  “Yes,” Jasmina sighed. “He most certainly was.”

  She stood still, her eyes combing over the black dress and veil she had chosen for her father’s funeral. Just two weeks before that moment, she had almost allowed herself to believe that she could be considered normal. The last conversation she had had with her father forced its way back to the front of her mind, torturing her once again.

  “I don’t understand why you can’t just go to university here in El Jayiah,” the Sheikh said, nearly stamping his foot in frustration.

  Jasmina stood her ground, refusing to give in. She had made up her mind, and she knew what she had to do.

  “Papa, I want to see the world. If I am to take over from you one day, don’t you think I should see how others live their lives, how we can find unity through our diverse human existence?”
<
br />   “Don’t use flowery words with me, Jasmina. You are the future Sheikha of El Jayiah. Don’t you think it’s important that you get an education here, among your own people? You know, the ones you will be ruling over?”

  Jasmina sighed. She knew in that moment that her father would never accept her decision, and that she in turn would never accept his desire to control her actions. She took a step back, a symbolic gesture as much as a physical one.

  “I am going to school in America, Papa. I’m sorry you don’t agree with it. I know you have the power to cut off my funds if you want, but I don’t believe you will. I want to see what life is like somewhere else before I devote my life to our people. I want to come in with a more global perspective. Can you not, as leader of this nation, at least try and see the logic in that?”

  Her father’s eyes were heavy as he stared at her in silence. In that moment he looked so much older, his hair grayer, his wrinkles more pronounced. When had her father aged so quickly?

  “You are exactly like your mother,” he said finally, though his frown stayed firmly in place. “She would have given you her blessing.”

  Jasmina stepped forward then, wrapping her youthful hands around her father’s, her eyes beseeching as she gazed up into his beloved face.

  “Then why won’t you?”

  The Sheikh’s eyes were tinged with red, as though he had held back a lifetime of tears for the good of his nation. He was a kind and benevolent ruler, and Jasmina had long admired him in so many ways. His shoulders sagged, and while Jasmina knew she had won, it didn’t feel like much of a victory in that moment.

  “I’ve never told you the story about how your mother died,” he said, and Jasmina stood back, aghast.