The Sheikh's Priceless Baby Read online

  I didn’t know what that even meant. But it seemed obvious to me that this Khalid was waiting for that sort of confirmation—and that suspicion was confirmed when he started absolutely beaming at my statement.

  “Aziz, you haven’t introduced us yet,” he reminded Aziz—who startled back into motion and turned to me, a grin of both affection and relief on his face.

  “This is Faye,” he said warmly. “If you were around more, you would have met her already. She’s here often, doing stories on the family and the region.”

  Khalid snorted. “If I was around more? Like you’re one to talk.”

  Aziz grinned at his cousin and then turned back to me. “Khalid and I are close in age, and we were inseparable as kids. But then our lives took us in different directions. Khalid has clinics in five cities, now, and spends much of his time elsewhere, treating patients.”

  I held out my hand. “Always glad to meet an Al-Sharim that I haven’t met yet,” I said, smiling. “And I want to hear more about those clinics. I’m always shopping for my next story.”

  Khalid laughed. “You and my wife will get along well. She’s an author and is always looking at the world through that lens. ‘Would this make a good book? Can I tell that story?’ By the way, how far along are you?”

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “The baby,” he said. “How far along?”

  “Not far,” I said, too surprised to think of a lie. “I think probably only about a month. Definitely not showing yet, though, and that begs the question of how the heck you knew.”

  He gave me a knowing look. “I have a wife who taught me the hard way to watch for pregnancies that weren’t yet detected.” Then he glanced at Aziz. “Shall we go see your father? I know he’s been waiting for you.”

  The moment we turned around, though, both men suddenly froze, their eyes fixed on the woman in front of us—whose eyes were fixed right on Aziz. Her eyes turned slowly toward me, wide and horrified, and then back to the man at my side.

  A man who now reached down and grasped my hand, squeezing it so hard that I thought the bones might actually break.

  “Mother,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and unnatural. “How long have you been standing there? Why didn’t you tell me you’d arrived? How’s Dad? Is he—”

  She put up one very imperious hand, bringing his babbling to a halt. “Long enough, Aziz Al-Sharim, to hear you and Khalid talking about babies.” Her gaze came back to me, nailing me to the spot with its intensity, and then dropped down to my belly, her face making absolutely no secret about what she thought of me and my predicament.

  I took a step back, completely unprepared for this sort of reception—or the judgement I saw in her look.

  I mean, yeah, I’d thought that meeting his family was going to be difficult. Especially when they already knew me as a sometimes-overbearing reporter who hung around their family at every possible opportunity.

  But I most certainly hadn’t meant to meet this woman as her son’s girlfriend, while simultaneously dropping the news on her that I was pregnant. With her son’s baby.

  When I’d only met her son a month ago.

  Aziz’s mother unpinned her eyes from me and turned them back to Aziz—who, it seemed, was going to take the brunt of the blame.

  “You told me you weren’t interested in having a baby,” she said calmly. “That you weren’t interested in settling down. Or moving home. Or finding a wife. And now I find that you said that because you have evidently already found someone who you never even mentioned. What else have you been lying to me about, son?”

  Oh, God. Was it too late to run back to the airport, jump on the plane, and head for Los Angeles, my tail between my legs? Because suddenly, dealing with my parents’ financial problems was looking as easy as pie.

  Anything would be, compared to the anger boiling out of Mrs. Al-Sharim right now.

  Chapter 23

  Faye

  Mrs. Al-Sharim—I couldn’t remember her first name to save my life, though I was positive that I should know it—didn’t wait for any response, from Aziz or anyone else. Instead, she whirled around on her heel, her robes spinning gracefully around her body in something that looked like it could have been part of a dance, and began hustling for the hallway from whence she’d came.

  Aziz, Khalid, and I shared one very horrified look amongst the three of us, each of us communicating the same thing—that this wasn’t going at all the way it should have been—and then shuffled after her, none of us saying anything.

  Whatever it was that had just happened, we had to solve it, and pronto. I didn’t know Aziz as well as I wanted to yet, but I did know one thing for certain: his family was incredibly important to him, important enough that he would do just about anything for them, and there was no way he was going to let his mother walk away from him in anger.

  Not if he could stop it.

  I also knew, now that I thought of it, that in their culture, they took parental permission and approval incredibly seriously. Parents had to sign off on a wedding. Approve of the potential spouse.

  Give their blessing.

  My heart sank at the thought, and I almost groaned aloud. If we’d been thinking, we would have figured out a way to get his parents to like me before they knew I was pregnant. Get their approval while it still meant something.

  Instead, we were running through the halls of a hospital after a woman who had already decided that she most certainly didn’t approve of me—or how Aziz had gone about acquiring me.

  I wished now that we’d bothered to come up with a story when we were on those long flights. I wished we’d even thought to talk about the pregnancy—or how we were going to tell his family about it. I wished a whole lot of things.

  Unfortunately, none of them was even remotely possible now. Because we were already here in the moment, and I definitely didn’t have a plan for how to deal with it. We hadn’t even discussed it other than a quick conversation in my house, with me sobbing the entire time. Once we were on the plane, it had been all about us.

  Not the pregnant version of us. But the ‘hey, we’ve only known each other for about a month, total’ version. You know, things like what’s your favorite color, do you like Italian food, that sort of thing.

  ‘What are we going to tell your parents about the baby’ never once came up. So I didn’t even know where to start.

  God, I couldn’t even remember what his mother’s name was. I was completely freaking screwed.

  We hustled down the hallway, the three of us no doubt wearing equally horrified expressions, and I didn’t think it would have been exaggerating things to say that our minds were all walking identical paths at that point.

  Paths that started with us cussing at ourselves for not having had a plan and for being caught flat-footed, talking about me being pregnant in a fairly public place—and failing to pay enough attention to who might be walking up behind us at the time. Yes, it seemed like Khalid would be on our side here—since he’d evidently been through something of the sort, given his earlier comment—but I didn’t know how much good that was going to do us.

  He was part of Aziz’s generation, rather than the older Al-Sharims. So how much weight could his opinion actually hold? How much could he sway Aziz’s parents’ opinion?

  At that moment, I realized that I also couldn’t remember Aziz’s father’s name, and a distant voice in the back of my head told me that I really should have been writing those sorts of things down when Aziz was listing them on the plane ride here. I should have had my recorder out, front and center, taking down all the important details.

  Because I should have known that I would need to impress his parents, that voice continued.

  I screamed at that voice that now was not the time to lecture me about remembering family members’ names. It was the time to come up with a plan.

  The voice immediately went quiet. Which was the opposite of helpful.

  Meanwhile, our threesome scooted th
rough the door and into the ICU, and Khalid flashed a hospital badge at the woman who stepped out of nowhere and tried to stop us.

  “Dr. Khalid Al-Sharim,” he snapped. “I’m here as a visiting resident, treating a specialized case.”

  The woman took one look at his badge, and another at his face, which must have become resolved rather than horrified for this occasion, and snapped her mouth shut, stepping quickly back out of the way. Probably because she realized that we’d run her over if she didn’t move.

  We still didn’t get to Mr. Al-Sharim’s room in time to stop Mrs. Al-Sharim from starting to unload on him.

  “Our son goes gallivanting across the globe, refuses to come home and get married like any nice boy would, and look at what happens,” she was saying, her chest heaving. “He won’t even talk to the women in Kayyem, but he’ll talk to some reporter, evidently! An American, no less, and one that he’s never even told us about!”

  I glanced from her to her husband and noted the pale face, the slight sheen of sweat on his upper lip, and the way his eyes, though dazed, were starting to heat up.

  For God’s sake, the man had just had a double bypass. Did she actually think now was the time to take up with him about Aziz’s sex life?

  I mean, was any time the right time for parents to discuss their son’s sex life?

  Maybe she heard me thinking that, because she turned to us, eyes blazing, and started in on Aziz.

  “You refuse to even hear about moving home and starting a family, Aziz, but what are you going to do now that you’ve gotten this girl pregnant? She is American, is she not?”

  She glanced at me—the first time she’d really given me any sign that I could talk—and I nodded quickly. There was no harm in admitting that I was American, right?

  I mean, she evidently already knew it, and it was going to come out as soon as I said anything. If I got the chance.

  Besides which, the family at large already knew me. At some point, we’d run into someone I’d actually interviewed for a story.

  Though I didn’t think that was likely to make her like me any more than she did. She’d already decided that I was No Good and this relationship was going to be Trouble.

  “Where will you live? What will you do there? How will you care for this girl? And what about the baby? I thought you weren’t ready to be a father, Aziz, and yet here you are.”

  The questions shot at Aziz like bullets, and I felt each of them hit me on the way. Because they were good questions. We just hadn’t gotten around to asking them of ourselves yet—or figuring out answers.

  But now that they were out there in the open… God, I realized, she was right. And I’d been thinking those same exact things back home, before Aziz showed up with his magical Everything Will Be All Right speeches and then his family disaster that meant I was spontaneously flying to Kayyem with him.

  She was right. At the end of the day, she was right. What exactly were we going to do? We lived in separate countries and had very different jobs that meant that even if we managed to live in the same country—unlikely—we would be traveling to different continents most of the time.

  I knew I wanted to keep the baby. But I didn’t know how Aziz actually fit into it. And somewhere between opening the door and finding him on my front stoop and jumping on a plane and hearing all about his childhood, I’d forgotten about that.

  I hadn’t even asked him whether he wanted any of this. Or whether he thought it would work.

  My God, we barely even knew each other. We’d only had two dates, and one of them wasn’t even really a date, but more like me blackmailing him for an interview!

  We had absolutely no business thinking that we could co-parent a baby.

  “She’s right,” I said, cutting Aziz off before he could answer her.

  He turned to me, his eyes wide with shock. “What?” he gasped.

  I swallowed heavily, trying to work out what I wanted to say. Trying to figure out whether it was the right thing—and deeply, deeply regretting that I hadn’t had time to think this through before I had to say it.

  “She’s right,” I repeated. I glanced at Mrs. Al-Sharim, and then at her husband, still pale and sweating in the bed. “I love Kayyem,” I told them earnestly. “I don’t know if you know who I am, but I’m a journalist. A reporter. I’ve covered your family probably more than any other reporter out there, and I’ve spent a lot of time in your city.

  “I adore your city. I’ve always wanted to live here one day.” I clapped a hand to my chest, right over my heart. “And please believe me when I say I respect your family probably more than anyone else ever could. I’m so honored to be having a baby that will be part of your family.”

  I could see that none of this changed their minds, though. Their faces remained blank. Stoic.

  Unforgiving.

  I was, I realized, the woman who had gotten pregnant by their favorite son. And not only that, but a woman that Aziz had never bothered to tell them about.

  God, I must look like a freeloader. A gold digger. Someone who had intentionally gone after their son and gotten pregnant.

  Which was laughable, because that was the opposite of who I was, in real life. I could have kicked myself for being irresponsible enough to get pregnant—and with a guy I hardly knew!

  But here I was. And I had to make the best of it.

  A ‘best’ that might not include Aziz at all. Because the last thing I wanted was to be the woman who came between him and his parents. They wanted him to move home, find a wife, start a family with a girl from Kayyem.

  Maybe the best thing for everyone was if I let him do just that. Regardless of how much I thought I might love him.

  And on top of that, a second thought: when had I ever needed a man to be happy or fulfilled or even successful? I’d been walking my own path for years. I’d practically created my own version of journalism, just because I didn’t believe in the version everyone else was using and trying to force on me.

  I’d created my own job, and I’d done a darn good job of it. I could create a baby all by myself as well. Or… well, not create one, necessarily, but certainly give birth to them and then introduce them to the world and raise them up to be the best human being they could be.

  Sure, I wanted to do it with Aziz, instead of doing it by myself. Thinking about having a baby with him, and going through all those things with someone I cared that much about, made me warm in places I hadn’t even known existed. I didn’t want to give up the possibility. But his family was standing right here, furious with him at having brought a stranger into his life.

  Maybe it would be better for him if this stranger saw her way right back out again. And if it was better for him… how could I do anything else? That was what love was, right? Doing the best you could by the other person, even if it wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for yourself?

  I turned to him, feeling the tears prickling behind my eyes, the tickle in my nose that meant that I might burst into tears the moment I started talking. The swelling of my throat that meant I might not be able to talk at all.

  I swallowed, trying to get my throat to work the way it was supposed to, and, when I thought my voice was probably going to come out as more than a wavering squeak, I starting talking.

  “Aziz,” I said carefully. “Maybe your parents are right. We hardly know each other. We didn’t know each other at all before that party. I mean, I knew your name and who you were, but I’d never met you. I never in a million years would have expected to meet you and fall in love with you.

  “Neither of us deserves to be in this situation, but it’s our job to make the best of it. You’ve been so kind to me, and I appreciate it, I really do. But…” I gulped again, trying to figure out whether I actually wanted to say the next part.

  It was the right thing to say. I knew that much.

  But God, it was going to break my heart.

  “I don’t expect anything from you,” I said, my voice coming out in a croak. “I c
an do this on my own. I know you didn’t expect to be here—and that it might not be where you want to end up. It might be better if you just go back to the life you had planned. I don’t need anything from you. I can handle this without you.”

  Chapter 24

  Aziz

  I stared at Faye, my mouth hanging open, too shocked to come up with anything to say.

  Honestly, I was too shocked to even be able to process what she’d just said. It was like she’d suddenly started speaking in a language that I’d never heard before. Like she’d suddenly become an alien, speaking to me in something that didn’t even come from a human voice box.

  That was how insane her words sounded. My mind was actually rebelling rather than accepting them as language.

  When I realized that my mouth was hanging open, I snapped it shut—though that didn’t help with the thinking of an answer bit. Because my brain had gone absolutely blank at her words. As blank as a whiteboard that had just been wiped clean.

  Blanker, and more violent.

  It felt like a bomb had just gone off in my head—or in the room itself—leaving nothing but floating papers and haze behind.

  But back to the point: what on earth was she talking about, saying she didn’t need me? And also, what was she talking about saying that she didn’t expect anything?

  How could she not expect something? How could she not need me?

  What about everything we’d said on the flight over here? What about all the things we’d talked about at her house? What about the fact that it would be my baby as well—and that I’d had an equal hand in creating it?

  And finally, and possibly most importantly, what about the fact that I’d finally found a woman who had grabbed my attention right from the moment I saw her, and who wasn’t intimidated by who I was? A woman so interesting, so vibrant, that I hadn’t been able to look away from her once I’d gotten a taste?