The Sheikh's Secret Love Child (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 2) Page 9

  They sat in silence for a few seconds, both streaming through their anxious thoughts. Rosie’s eyes drew up to the television in the corner of the room. The news usually played all day long, which, she often joked, added to the dismal nature of the hospital. But in that moment, something on the screen caused her jaw to open wide.

  Hakan’s face. She would have recognized it anywhere, since it looked remarkably like the face of her own son. She did a double take, flashing her eyes from Amy and then back to the screen, lost in confusion. What was Hakan doing on the break room television? It felt like an invasion.

  She leaped up from her seat and turned up the volume, her eyes swarming with tears. Hakan was being interviewed by the Seattle news.

  “We welcome Sheikh Hakan Al-Raffayk Bin Zayn back to Seattle for the first time in two years,” the female reporter gushed. “Sheikh Hakan, can you explain to us your reasons for returning to the city?”

  Rosie could hardly breathe as Hakan’s syrupy voice burst through the speakers. “Thank you for this kind welcome, Jessica. As I’ve said before, I think Seattle is one of the most marvelous cities in the world, and this is why I’m launching a brand new television station, Zeitgeist, to promote the rich artistry of this city. I want the station to be a reflection of the caring and beautiful people that live here.”

  He nodded, then, his eyes making contact with the camera for a moment. “We’re holding an opening ceremony this evening, near the water, at the Edgewater Hotel, where I stay every time I come here. Can you believe it? they’re letting me cut the ribbon. Trusting me with that massive pair of scissors.”

  The news anchor took the microphone back and laughed into the camera. “Seattle’s television scene just became a great deal more eclectic, I think we can all agree. Stay tuned for an in-depth look at the Sheikh’s life, his work in the media, and his time in the United States. Thank you.”

  The news flashed to commercials, and Rosie stood, awestruck, unsure of what to do. Her body felt frozen.

  Behind her, Amy was calling her name. “Rosie. Rosie. Hey. Snap out of it.” Finally, Amy heaved her pregnant body up from her seat and placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Rosie. Seriously, you’re scaring me,” she murmured. After a pause, she finally said the words: “That’s him, isn’t it?”

  Rosie nodded slowly. Her heart had begun to pound, causing a slight headache to form behind her temple. “I can’t believe it. He said it’s his first time back since—since—”

  “Since he left you to care for your baby all by yourself,” Amy answered, her voice stern.

  Rosie didn’t say anything. Her mind was reeling. She blinked toward Amy, wanting to voice her plans, but Amy spoke once more. “He asked you to leave him alone, Rosie. I don’t think this is the kind of man you should trust. What will happen if you go to him? He’ll just break your heart again.” Amy paused, sensing she was being tortuous again. “Aren’t you supposed to be moving on?”

  Rosie bowed her head. “Last night, I asked Jared whether or not he believed in fate. And he said of course he didn’t. He said it was foolish to think so. I think I used to believe it was foolish, as well, but Hakan was right. We were brought together for a reason. And now, the very fact that I caught him on television—when he’s been on my mind nearly constantly since he left—means that I need to go to him. I need to get answers. If not for me, then for my son.”

  With that, Rosie fled the room, grabbing her bag of clothes as she marched. She didn’t have time to change from her scrubs. Her mind was whirring, wondering what she would say to him; considering how she would get close enough to say all the wretched things she wanted to say. Would she spit in his face, or kiss him? She’d never felt so volatile.

  She rushed to the bus stop and pulled her phone from her pocket, dialing her mother. “Mom. Mom, it’s me. I’m on my way home now, but I wanted to ask if you could watch Zak tonight. Maybe all night, if possible.”

  “Well, that’s fine, honey,” her mother began, speaking slowly. “Don’t suppose you have another date with that engineer?”

  “Um. Kind of,” Rosie whispered, jolting forward as the bus took off into the street. It was better to lie at the moment. “I can explain everything tomorrow. But when I get home, I’ll only be back for a second.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” her mother affirmed. “We’re just playing with blocks. He’s almost saying ‘Grandma’ now. Isn’t that something?”

  “Sure is, Mom. Sure is.”

  Rosie felt her heart swell in her chest. How could this wretched man not know about the glorious ways in which his son was growing, changing, and learning? How could he dismiss it—dismiss them both—as nothing?

  She would go to him. She would demand answers. And she would finally have a resolution for the most terrible, most wonderful thing that had ever happened in her life.

  FOURTEEN

  Rosie arrived home moments later, rushing past her mother and kissing her baby on his rouge cheeks. She was sweating slightly, but didn’t have time to shower. She knew the ceremony wasn’t far away, and she wanted to find the Sheikh beforehand. She wanted to halt the party in its tracks.

  “I don’t understand what the rush is—” her mother began, looking up from the couch.

  Rosie sat with her mother for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry about everything. But there is something important I need to do tonight. And I need to act quickly. Can I get you anything, first? A glass of water? A soda?”

  Her mother shook her head, flashing her eyes toward her daughter with a sense of compassion. Her throat clicked before she spoke. “You’ve always had a fire about you, Rosie. It’s something I’ve never especially understood, but I hope you keep it going, forever. You don’t deserve to be so passive, like me.”

  Rosie paused, unsure of what to say. After years of turmoil between them, her mother’s words acted like fire, propelling her toward the Edgewater.

  She kissed her mother on the cheek and thanked her wholly. “I love you,” she whispered. She did, more than her mother could possibly know.

  Rosie rushed to her bedroom and thrust open her closet, ticking her tongue against her cheek and teeth. If Hakan was staying at the Edgewater, she knew he would be residing in the presidential suite. She would have to create a disguise to get in there.

  She thought back to when she’d been staying with him, that beautiful night. They’d ordered countless plates of room service. She remembered them piled high on the bed: the pastries, with their gleaming frosting; the pears, the dripping-wet strawberries, the raspberries.

  She remembered that the man who had delivered the food had been dressed in a butler uniform, and that beside him had stood a tiny woman, dressed in what looked like a French maid’s uniform. A black-and-white skirt, tights, and tidy black shoes. Her hair had been swept back from her face, into a ponytail. And her eyes had barely registered the naked girl in the bed, acknowledging her for only an instant.

  A few years previously, back when she hadn’t known the name Hakan or the definition of a sheikh, Rosie and her friends had dressed up for Halloween. Amy had been newly married, then, and she and her husband, Josh, had held a Halloween party in their Capitol Hill apartment. Rosie remembered the night fondly: how they’d pounded tequila shots; how they’d all passed out to the Monster Mash at four in the morning. She’d also donned a maid’s outfit for the occasion; she’d wanted to catch the eye of one of Josh’s friends, at that time, but he hadn’t even shown up to the party. And so, she remembered, she’d looked semi-slutty for no real reason.

  Rosie parsed through her closet, her fingers rushing. Sure enough, behind the prom dress she’d kept from age eighteen, hung the maid’s outfit. She looked at it, heart pounding. Was she really about to don that to get to the Sheikh? She certainly couldn’t think of a better way, at least not in time.

  She flung her scrubs to the floor and flung on the maid outfit, wiggling her legs into a pair of black tights and her feet into a pair of smart black
flats. She peered into the mirror at her tired, pale face—flustered after her long shift at the hospital. She swiped foundation on, adding mascara and eyeliner. Did she want to look good for the Sheikh—as if she was reminding him of all he’d left behind? Or did she want to look mean, angry? She wasn’t sure.

  She swept a touch of lipstick over her lips, just in case. And she batted her eyelashes at her reflection, seeing herself in his eyes. He’d told her she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and she’d believed him, for some reason. And yet, since she’d given birth to Zak, she didn’t think she’d been looked at twice. Not sexually, at least. Certainly, Jared had looked at her more like a piece of meat. He was looking for love, but only because he saw it as the “logical next step.” This, suddenly, made her despise him.

  She wrapped her hair into a low ponytail and covered her outfit in a long coat, before sweeping from the room, picking her young son up and stabbing a lipstick kiss on his forehead.

  “Look what you’ve done!” her mother cried, teasingly. She grabbed a washcloth and began wiping Zak’s face, as Rosie stared in his dark, Hakan-like eyes. She was armed with a photograph of her boy; one her mother had taken of the two of them during the previous summer in the park. They’d eaten watermelon beneath the sun, and he’d held onto her pinky, even as he practiced his walking—terrified to let her go.

  Rosie nodded to her mother and gave the baby back, tapping from the apartment without another word. She was resolved in her mission. And she knew, somehow, that everything was about to change. Was it fate? Maybe. Or was it, like Jared said, just her, making the moves to change her own life?

  Whichever it was, she was on her way.

  FIFTEEN

  Rosie leapt from the bus, wrapping her coat closer around her maid’s uniform as the wind whipped around her. The fall sky brimmed with dark rain clouds. There was a sense that something momentous was about to happen, and her heart throttled in her chest.

  When the Edgewater Hotel came into view, she stopped running, knowing she needed to play it cool if she was going to pretend she worked there. A mad dash didn’t look quite right.

  “Just clocking in,” she murmured to herself. “Just a new staff member, clocking in. Nobody wants to deal with the new girl, anyway.”

  She hadn’t been much for getting into trouble as a kid, always the one to follow directions. Those Clarice-instated morals had, perhaps, done the trick. Nor had she ever confronted an ex-boyfriend, if you could call Hakan that—this was new territory in more ways than one.

  Rosie swept around to the side of the hotel, where she saw the staff entrance, and she nodded her head at two smoking butlers, who didn’t look at her twice. She heard them mumbling about the recent basketball game; they were wishing themselves anywhere else in the world.

  Once indoors, she removed her coat and flung it on the rack with the others, her eyes wide. She was close to the kitchen, where she heard the clattering of pots and pans and the sizzle of vegetables, and she reasoned she would have to get through the kitchen to find the service elevator that would take her directly to the presidential suite. Her finger went to her mouth, unconsciously, and she chewed on her nail.

  In that moment, a harsh-looking woman with high, penciled-in eyebrows turned the corner and stopped abruptly, her heels clattering on the ground. “You,” she said, her voice angry. “I believe I told you to clean the third floor about a half hour ago.” She righted her dark blue suit, sticking her nose in the air. “And yet I find you here, dilly-dallying, and chewing on your nails. I’d hate to give you another demerit.”

  Rosie bowed her head, her heart beating quickly. Clearly, her outfit had worked.

  She squeaked out a tiny apology and fled past the woman, her apparent “boss.” She swept into the kitchen, where she nearly ran headlong into a chef, who held a massive turkey, just roasted, in his arms. He yelled out and she ducked down, running beneath his arms as she continued through the aisles.

  “Get out of here!” the chef called, his mustache quivering above his mouth. “We don’t need service for another hour!”

  But Rosie continued, seeing an elevator just a few feet away. The prep cooks looked at her curiously, their knives gleaming in their hands. She prayed they wouldn’t ask her any more questions; she thought she might vomit if she needed to speak.

  She reached the service elevator and called it, wringing her hands together. She tried to meditate as she heard the car zoom down to greet her. “Do it for your son,” she murmured. “Your son deserves answers. You both do.”

  Finally, the elevator opened. She took a quick step inside and turned, catching eye contact with the youngest prep boy, who looked at her with warm eyes. Somehow, they gave her a millisecond of hope.

  The doors slid shut and Rosie hit the button that said ‘P’, hoping for the best. Moments later, the elevator was speeding up to the top of the hotel. In her mind, Rosie wanted to slow the movement, to give herself more time to think. But she knew she’d already jumped from the cliff, and she was on her way to the water. She’d gone too far to slow down now.

  Finally, at the top, the elevator opened, revealing a small hallway that led directly to a large, maple door. It was the only door in sight, and Rosie knew it had to be his.

  She inhaled, exhaled, and walked toward it, her legs quivering. Her nurse’s watch, which she’d stowed in her pocket, told her that the opening ceremony for the new television station was taking place downstairs in just under an hour. She’d made it just in time.

  Rosie knocked on the door with clattering knuckles. “Room service,” she said brightly.

  On the other side, she heard it: that syrupy, strong voice. Her knees nearly gave out, sending her to the floor.

  “Hello? I’m sorry. I didn’t order room service.”

  Rosie knocked again. She furrowed her eyebrows, reminding herself just how much she hated this man. He’d given her hush money to avoid having anything to do with his son’s life. He was the scum of the earth.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t order anything,” he said again.

  But again, she knocked, this time with greater urgency.

  She heard rustling behind the door, alerting her that he was coming. She closed her eyes as she heard his hand on the handle, silently wishing that she could reach inside her chest and still her beating heart.

  Finally, he appeared before her—looking exactly the same as he had two years before, with those dark, honest eyes; with the five o’ clock shadow that made him simultaneously handsome and almost edgy. He wore an impeccable suit that, she knew, had been chosen for the ceremony.

  She stood without speaking, trying to rally the hatred deep within her. She wanted her first words to be icy, full of cold wit. Come on, she thought to herself. Say something. You’ve come all this way. But her tongue wouldn’t move.

  But Hakan found the words first. His jaw dropped and his eyes shone with utter pleasure and surprise as he opened the door wider. “My, my, Rosie! The gorgeous Rosie Lund!”

  He took a step back, assessing her. His expensive shoes tapped on the marble floor. “I say, you look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. How do you do it?” He gave her that devilish grin. “Please, please. Come in. Don’t stand out in the hallway.”

  Rosie felt perplexed. She followed him with soft footfalls and found herself inside the very room in which she and the man before her had conceived their child. She cleared her throat, ready to speak.

  But Hakan beat her to it again, clearly shocked to see her. “Rosie, do sit down. Make yourself at home. God, it’s been, what, two years since I last saw you? I remember, you were my last great adventure in America before I had to take the crown. All those years ago.” He shook his head. “So much has probably happened in your life since then. And in mine, of course, as well.”

  He clucked his tongue, gesturing. “Can I get you a drink or something? I have this ceremony later. I hate to go to these things sober. All that handshaking and small ta
lk.” He winked at her, pouring them both a glass of wine. Rosie didn’t have the words to stop him.

  “What kind of wine this?” Rosie asked quietly, at a loss for something else to say.

  “It’s actually the very wine I showed you when we ate dinner together—from rural Washington. I’m sure you don’t remember…”

  Rosie raised her palm, then, nodding. “No. I remember. I remember so much from that night.”

  She took a sip, trying to summon up the courage she needed to go on a serious tirade against him. How was he pretending that he didn’t know about their son? Did he want to make small talk and then kick her out of his room? What was the point of all of this?

  Hakan continued. “I’m surprised,” he gestured, after they’d clinked glasses. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d give up your job at the hospital to work here. You seemed so passionate about that position. All those lives you bring into the world, each and every day.”