The Sheikh's Secret Love Child (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 2) Page 6

  Rosie locked her front door behind her and tapped lightly toward the bathroom, as if someone was watching her and would note her panic if she moved too quickly, her elbows too jagged.

  She opened the package swiftly, with the precision of a nurse, and stared down at the stick. Every woman she saw in the hospital had done this before. Each and every one of them had had a positive test result.

  She followed the instructions, peeing on the stick and placing it, closed, on the bathroom table before stepping into the living room and pacing, back and forth, as the prescribed two minutes swept by. Her palms wouldn’t quit sweating, and she wiped them on her dress. She wondered if this was the kind of stress you felt if, say, you were the Sheikh and monarch of a Middle-Eastern country. She supposed not.

  Finally, she crept back into the bathroom. She picked up the pregnancy test and blinked at it—two broad, insane blinks—as she affirmed her fears. Two lines stretched across the stick. Two. And two meant baby.

  Still holding the stick, she walked gingerly to her dining room and sat on a chair, gazing, unseeing, at the view of Seattle through the window. Her phone was before her on the table, but she couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to call. For the moment, she wanted to live with this knowledge in her heart. It was her own to keep.

  When babies were born in the hospital, she carried them away from their mothers to clean them and wrap them in tiny blankets. They didn’t look real. Wrapped in thin, paper-like skin, it was like you could see their insides squirming. They were little sacks of promise.

  Perhaps this was her promise for a better life, Rosie thought, then. She hadn’t had the courage to date after the Sheikh, nor the inclination. Maybe she was meant to just burst into motherhood, regardless of whether or not she had a partner. Maybe she would age without the love that generally came with it.

  Rosie stored the pregnancy test in the bathroom and dressed for bed, visions of the Sheikh in her head. God, that smile, she thought.

  She imagined what he would say if she told him. Perhaps he would fly to Seattle immediately and take her back to his restaurant, where they would talk excitedly about the future of their baby, about their future. She imagined he would kiss her stomach, her fingers, her neck, her breasts. Maybe he would fly her to his country, where she would be greeted like royalty. After all: wouldn’t she be carrying the king’s baby? Wouldn’t that mean something?

  She didn’t know, really. And even as she drifted off to sleep, she sensed that her daydreams were far too fully-formed, that her imagination had already gone wild with possibility. But that’s what a baby was, she reminded herself before finally drifting off to sleep. And if she couldn’t cling to hope, she didn’t have anything.

  EIGHT

  The following day, Rosie and Amy stood outside the hospital, stretching their sore legs, both taking a quick break. Rosie whispered the news in Amy’s ear.

  Amy stood back, her mouth opened wide. Her tongue was literally lolling. “Rosie Lund. Weren’t you using protection?”

  “Can we please not have the mom talk right now?” Rosie pleaded, rolling her eyes. “I need your help, Amy. I’m so frightened. I don’t want to call Hakan.” She hesitated. “But at the same time, I really do.” She was nearly breathless, giving this news to someone for the first time.

  Amy frowned, leaning up against the wall. “He’s really the only possible father? What about that guy I set you up with, Josh’s friend?”

  Rosie shook her head, her face burning. “Hakan was the only one.”

  “And you only did it once?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. Some people struggle getting pregnant for ages. You either got really lucky, or really unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”

  “I’m choosing to look at it luckily, if you don’t mind,” Rosie murmured, frowning.

  An ambulance came closer to the hospital, blaring, rocketing fear through Rosie’s heart.

  Amy’s face grew serious. “If this is really what you want, then I’ll be here for you, honey. You don’t have to do it alone.” She wrapped her arms around her friend, drawing her close. Rosie knew that, for all her nagging, Amy could sense just how afraid she was.

  “Thank you,” Rosie whispered. She brought her phone out from her pocket. “I need you to stand here with me while I call him. Okay?”

  Amy nodded. “If you’re sure he needs to know.”

  “He does.”

  Rosie dialed the familiar number, then, both eager and not to jump off this cliff into this new reality. She felt as if she was about to throw up her baloney sandwich lunch.

  The phone rang several times, and Rosie prepared to hear that deep, charismatic voice once more, the one that triggered such a physical, almost sexual reaction in her.

  But as the call connected, on the other end of the line, she heard something else. A male voice that was gruff, old. Angry. At first, he answered in Arabic.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” Rosie said, deflated. Across from her Amy frowned. She had her hands on her hips, like a watchdog, strumming her fingers in a line. “I was trying to reach Hakan? Is this still his number?”

  “I am the Sheikh’s chief of staff,” the man said, his impatience clearly rising. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

  Rosie cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, sir—what was your name?”

  “Osman Ali,” he said curtly.

  “Osman Ali. Pleased to meet you. Now, if you could just pass the phone to Hakan, I would very much appreciate it. It is absolutely essential that I speak with him.”

  The man scoffed. “I’m sorry, miss. That is out of the question. I am Hakan’s chief of staff, and for this reason, I must field all of his calls.”

  “I understand fielding his calls, sir,” Rosie said, not wanting to anger him. “It’s just that, now that you know I already know him—I met him in Seattle—you know that it’s appropriate to pass me through to him. I have something very important that I need to say.”

  Osman scoffed. “Miss, I believe you aren’t understanding me correctly. His Highness cannot be reached at this time.”

  “Is there a better time that I could call and be directed to him?” Rosie asked, feeling panicked. “Like I said, I have something extremely important to tell him.” She felt herself growing desperate. “Imagine the most important thing a woman would ever need to tell a man.” She wiped sweat from her brow, hoping he picked up on her outrageous hints.

  Across from her, Amy was nodding her head urgently. “Do it,” she mouthed.

  Rosie understood. Her news was too important to keep it a secret. And she’d already come so far.

  “I’m sorry,” Osman murmured down the line. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  Rosie was aware that she’d created a shift in the conversation. Finally, she’d made waves. But she was on very shaky ground. She sighed. “It’s just that I have news that could alter the course of Hakan’s life. It’s incredibly important that I speak with him, and I don’t feel comfortable speaking with you about it, first. Do you understand?”

  Osman was very quiet, for what Rosie decided was far too long. Her eyes searched Amy’s face, while Amy brought her hand into a fist. That was the angry and volatile best friend she needed.

  “HELLO?” Rosie nearly screamed.

  “Very well,” Osman said then. He cleared his throat. “I think I understand completely. Please, keep this information to yourself for now. Meet me tomorrow evening, by the Ballard Locks. I look forward to meeting you. You’re Rosie, aren’t you?”

  “Rosie Lund,” she said. “Don’t forget it. Until tomorrow, then. At the Locks.” Her tone was clipped, cold, calculating.

  She wondered how this man knew who she was. Perhaps they kept a record of every woman Hakan slept with, just in case this happened. Maybe this occurred all the time. Based on the shock in Osman’s voice, though, she didn’t think so.

  With that, Osman hung up on her, leaving her alone and empty.

  Rosie’
s eyes swept up to Amy’s, and Amy put a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulders.

  “You’re meeting him?”

  Rosie shook her head. “That was his chief of staff. I’m not really sure. I’m meant to meet with this guy tomorrow at the Ballard Locks. I told him I wanted to speak with Hakan—”

  Amy raised an eyebrow. “But he isn’t having it?”

  “He seems to think it’s completely out of the question.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Perhaps tomorrow you can reason with him.”

  “He seems very set in his ways. And about three hundred years old,” Rosie joked, even as her heart sank. “Maybe you’re right, though. He wouldn’t agree to meet me if this wasn’t a big deal. I’ll know more in twenty-four hours. I just wish it was now.” Rosie sighed and placed her face in her hands, scrubbing at her cheeks. “They don’t tell you how tough it is to be a mom, do they?”

  Amy laughed, bringing her arm around her friend’s waist and leading her indoors. “You don’t even know the half of it,” she whispered. “But you know you’ll have me, every step of the way.”

  Rosie grinned through small, bead-like tears that swarmed down her cheeks. She had just a few hours left of her shift, during which she would help women from all walks of life deliver their greatest hopes into the world. It was the only thing she could do to take her mind from the pain of being alone.

  NINE

  The following afternoon, Rosie found herself counting down the hours until she would meet Osman at the Ballard Locks. She’d been up most of the night, puking into the toilet and gazing at her pale, stressed reflection. What was she getting herself into? She had called Amy at three in the morning and sobbed down the phone. Amy had been strong, a pillar, telling her that whatever Osman said, she could deal with it. She was Rosie Lund, and she was one of the strongest women in the world.

  But this didn’t feel particularly true. Not one bit.

  Rosie changed into street clothes after she clocked out, her legs loose in her jeans. She knew she’d lost some weight from the vomiting, from the stress. She would need to take a bus she didn’t frequent, and she was feeling nervous—worried she wouldn’t make it in time to meet Osman. Would he leave the moment he realized she was late?

  She boarded the bus and took a seat next to an older woman whose stooped shoulders brought her nose close to the back of the seat in front of her. The woman was dressed in an old sweatshirt and maroon pants that were far too big for her, like she’d lost a great deal of weight all at once. Something inside Rosie made her want to drape her arm around the other woman, to tell her it was all right. But the bus chugged on, taking both of their sad souls further north. The woman finally got off the bus, making the driver wait much longer than normal, each of her footfalls seeming to take longer than the one previous.

  Finally, the bus arrived at the stop nearest the locks, and Rosie took a deep breath and hopped off of the bus. Overhead, the sky had turned a terrible gray, and the wind had picked up—just another sign that October was coming, that the winds of change were upon them. Rosie wrapped her coat closer to her thin body, thinking only of her baby. If she were cold, could her baby feel it, too?

  As she neared the locks, her eyes swept her surroundings for anyone who looked like he might be waiting for her. Closer to the gleaming water, she saw an old, stooped man lurking by a small shack. She drew back slightly, recognizing the man at once. He had been at the French restaurant—the guy who had looked at her suspiciously. God, she hadn’t thought she would see those beady eyes again. They frightened her now, just as they had that night.

  She raised her hand into the air as she neared him, giving him a somber wave. He waited for her with his hands behind his back. As she grew closer, she began to see how aged he looked compared to the previous month. His eyes were drooping, and his skin looked sallow. She realized, all at once, that he had probably traveled from Hakan’s home country, Zaymari, in the hours since they’d spoken on the phone. He hadn’t slept.

  She came close to him, and he brought his hand out to shake hers, but she refused it, waving her own in the air. “Where is Hakan?” she asked harshly. Her eyes swept left, then right. “I assumed he was coming with you.”

  Osman bowed his head. “He is not here.”

  “Well, I request to meet with him personally,” Rosie said, her voice quivering. “I cannot deliver this information to anyone but him. It is exactly half of his information. It is exactly something he should care about.” She said this impatiently, feeling like a child in front of this old, Middle-Eastern man.

  “My lady, the Sheikh is far too busy with responsibilities at home. We ask that you respect that. You were a very brief part of his life, and it’s not fair to make him pay for it. Not like this.”

  “Pay for it?” Rosie asked harshly. “Pay for a beautiful night we spent together?” She felt her anger rising higher. “You were there, Osman. I remember you on the rooftop. You were speaking with Hakan, and you looked at me—you looked at me like you thought I was up to something.” She took a step closer, placing her hands over her stomach. “I don’t suppose you thought I was trying to get pregnant by the Sheikh, do you?”

  Osman took a step back, almost as if he were recoiling. “That isn’t what I thought. I was concerned that the Sheikh was wasting his last moments in the States, when he should have been meeting with some important people in Seattle. He missed several appointments in order to take you to dinner that night. He knew there was a chance that you would need to part ways forever, the following day, yet he just wanted to spend those hours with you.”

  Osman shrugged his shoulders sadly, his beady eyes looking up at her. He was shorter than she was, and she felt like a bully, pointing her finger at him.

  “I’m sorry,” Rosie said then. “Why is it that you came all the way here, if I cannot tell this news to Hakan himself?”

  “I’ve spoken with His Highness about this, shall we say, dilemma,” Osman began, his voice slimy. “He has come up with a solution that, I think, you will find very generous. You see, as the Sheikh, he cannot raise a child born out of wedlock in Zaymari. And he cannot take you, an outsider, as his wife. You understand that, don’t you?”

  His tone was patronizing, like he was trying to add insult to injury.

  Rosie nodded, unsure of what else to do. She felt blood rise in her mouth; she’d been unconsciously biting her tongue.

  “And so, he’s instructed me to make you the following offer. Please consider it readily, Miss Lund,” he continued, his voice stern. “We are prepared to offer you a payment of one million dollars per year, once the baby is born.”

  Rosie frowned, thinking that, surely, she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?” she whispered.

  “One million dollars for every year after the baby is born. In return, you aren’t to mention to the world that the Sheikh is your baby’s father. You are not to tell anyone, beyond the friends you’ve already told, and you are to explain to them that discretion is of the highest importance. Do you understand?”

  “You want to give me hush money,” Rosie said hotly. “You want me to stay far away and pretend like none of this ever happened,” she scoffed. “For a million dollars.”

  “Per year,” he corrected. The wind had picked up around them, blowing harshly at his beard. “I think you’ll find that reasonable. In addition, you are never to call the number on your little card again. It would be better for you and your child if you could destroy it. Do you understand?”

  “I speak English. I think I understand the definition of all the words you’re spewing at me,” Rosie said through clenched teeth. In her mind, the beautiful image of Hakan had already changed, altering him from a handsome, joyous man—someone she could have loved—to something of a con artist. She felt used, like a pile of trash left behind.

  “And what if I don’t accept your hush money?” she said then, piping up. “I can work. I can provide. And I can tell the world that this is Hakan’s ba
by, if I want to.” Her mind was revving. “There wouldn’t be a thing you or Hakan could do about it.”

  Osman gave her a seedy grin. “I see. Well, just so that you’re aware, if you do that, your beloved Hakan will be dragged through the dirt. With this baby, the child growing inside of you, a national scandal will break out. The Zaymarian people are resound in their hatred of Americans, and they would never accept a half-American baby as their prince.”

  Rosie frowned, thinking that all of this didn’t sound so bad. So what if Hakan’s name was dragged through a bit of mud? He deserved it for leaving her pregnant, with only an old man to speak to.

  But Osman continued. “There’s a very good reason for Hakan not to have met you in person. If he had, he could have put his life in danger. There neighboring countries that would turn against him if they knew he’d been intimate with an American woman.