The Sheikh's Baby Bet Read online

  Chapter Twelve

  Tiffany awoke to the scent of garlic and tomatoes, and the sound of pasta bubbling in water. Righting herself on the bed, she rubbed her eyes, trying to remember how she had gotten there. But before she could process it, the Sheikh’s head popped into the doorway. He waved at her with an oven mitt gloved hand, giving her a goofy, yet still terribly handsome smile.

  “I was just about to wake you,” he said.

  Overcome with happiness, Tiffany returned his warm smile. Wordlessly, she followed him back toward the kitchen, where he’d set up a table with two chairs. A candle flickered in the center of the table, and he had already arranged the plates and cutlery. A slab of garlic bread was cooling on the stovetop. He gestured at the table a little sheepishly, his eyebrows high.

  “Not bad for a sheikh?”

  Tiffany was floored, and she felt herself begin to giggle. “I didn’t know you had it in you,” she said, her eyes wide.

  “I told you about my mother, didn’t I?” the Sheikh said, helping her into a chair.

  Tiffany nodded. She definitely remembered the conversation and how innocent he had seemed. How kind. Much more like the man before her, now.

  “She taught me things like this,” he continued. “Life skills. Cleaning. Cooking. She told me that when I have children someday, that my wife would want me to do my part. She said that it’s sometimes the difference between a happy marriage and a very sad one.”

  Tiffany shook her head, incredulous. “I would have never expected this of you.”

  The Sheikh passed a plate towards her, sitting across from her and diving into his pasta. He watched as she took her first, tentative bite. The flavor was undeniably rich, making her eyes close. It was a perfect balance of tomato and garlic, rolled into each bite.

  “That isn’t the only surprise,” he told her, watching her physical reaction. “The other is that I put the dishes away. And! I vacuumed.” He gestured at the apartment, noting her appreciative glance. “And there’s more to do.”

  “There’s always more to do,” Tiffany whispered. She dropped her fork, growing apprehensive. What did the Sheikh expect from her in return?

  “The last few months have been difficult,” he told her, his voice growing pure, deep. “When my father died so suddenly, I was shaken to the core. I had pushed him away, and I suffered for it. I was partying hard, but you probably knew that already. My father was so hurt, and the last words we shared were angry.”

  “I saw you in the middle of it,” Tiffany whispered. “At the car show.”

  “Not my proudest moment,” Kazra said. “When I got the call that my father had been taken to hospital, I was driving that very car. I remember the wind whipping through my hair. I remember the color of the sky. But as my father’s advisor informed me of his illness, I knew that none of it mattered anymore. I needed to start preparing to be Sheikh. I had so much to atone for.”

  Tiffany sensed the pain in his eyes. Reaching across the table, she gripped his hand and held his eyes for a long time. “I’m so sorry you lost him,” she whispered.

  “Thank you,” Kazra said. “It’s always discussed in vague terms, you know? People always say the country lost their ruler, their rock. But they never speak about the man that was lost. I lost my father. I’m an orphan now.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Tiffany murmured. She traced her finger over his knuckles, still holding his gaze.

  “The minute I ascended to the throne, I felt different,” he continued, moving his hand to grip Tiffany’s. “I looked out across the crowd and saw thousands and thousands of people. People that were relying on me to lead them,” he sighed. His voice was heavier than it had been before. “I knew I needed to step up, become the Sheikh my father could be proud of. The kind of Sheikh he was. But more importantly, I needed to be a man that my mother could be proud of.”

  “He was friends with my father,” Tiffany said, remembering the stories her dad had told her about the previous Sheikh and his days in the palace. “He’d tell me about his honesty, and compassion, but he also told me funny stories about the jokes he would play on people. How human he really was. I loved hearing it. Your father never lost his spark or his humor. He didn’t let his position get in the way of his humanity.”

  “Never,” Kazra agreed. Glancing down at Tiffany’s stomach, he gripped her hand tighter. “And he would have been overjoyed that his friend, Mike Ashworth, was going to be a part of his family.”

  “Even if it means that he has to step down from his position as Ambassador?” she asked.

  “In the end, family is stronger than politics,” Kazra told her.

  Tiffany inhaled his words. She realized, with a small gasp, that the Sheikh was her family, now, and that the man before her would be a part of her life, for good. If she allowed it.

  “I want to apologize for everything,” Kazra said then. He threw his napkin onto the table and sighed heavily, his eyes closing. “I wish I didn’t have to confess all of my sins, but I know I caused you a great deal of hurt. And for that, I am sorry.”

  Tiffany’s eyes glittered. “Did you really mean to hurt me?”

  Kazra shifted his weight in his chair. His fingers fidgeted, making it seem he was searching for the right words. But in the end, there was nothing he could say except the truth.

  “I think I might have,” he sighed. “Life was a game to me. I wanted to beat my friends at whatever game they chose and show them who was boss. I wanted to show my father that I could be as outrageous as I wanted to be and never lose the love of the country. And unfortunately, Tiffany, you fell into that line of fire. I can never take it back. I can only ask you to please, please forgive me. For the sake of our child, yes. But also for the sake of our friendship.”

  Friendship. Tiffany’s heart hammered, hearing this word. She crossed her legs under the table, aware of how attracted she was to this man. She wished she could deny it.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Tiffany,” Kazra told her, his eyes alight, “and I want to be in your life. I want to be in our child’s life. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this right.”

  Silence hung heavily in the air around them. Tiffany remembered the long months, during which she’d been sure she’d never be able to forgive the Sheikh. But alone with him in her kitchen, with the food he’d prepared lying forgotten on the table in front of him, she felt something much, much different.

  “It’s okay, Kazra,” she whispered, sending the past out the window with her simple words. “That was a million years ago, now. So much has changed.”

  Relief flowed over the Sheikh’s face. He squeezed her hand once more, telling her, “That’s the single greatest news I’ve ever heard.”

  The pair spoke amicably after that. The final mountain between them had been breached. They had nothing to do now but to get to know each other better. They’d be bringing a child into the world. And, as they continued to speak, Tiffany couldn’t help but think that she wanted the Sheikh to be there for all of the major events in her life; every tiny victory and every failure, no matter what.

  Hours passed, without either of them noticing. Glancing at the clock, Tiffany realized it was very late. She gave him a curious smile, wondering what his end game was. Someone like Kazra always had an end game.

  But no. He stood up from his chair, giving her a firm, honest smile. Although they’d been holding hands off and on the entire night, he’d done nothing more. He was attempting to earn back her trust.

  He was succeeding.

  After picking up the plates and cleaning the kitchen, the Sheikh bid her goodnight. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, inhaling her scent. And then, he pulled back, making Tiffany want to cry out for more. After taking a step back, he placed his hand on her stomach.

  “You look wonderful…” he said, his voice low. “Please. Let me know what else I can do for you.”

  “There’s only so much time,” she whispered back. “Be
fore I head back to the States.”

  “Then we’ll make the most of it,” Kazra told her. “For his sake. And for ours.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A week after her evening with the Sheikh, Tiffany took the train out to the airport to meet her father. Now six months pregnant, she’d been allowed to take pregnancy leave from work. The girls had thrown her a cupcake party on her final day, pouring big glasses of punch and asking endless questions about who the father was.

  “He’s not really involved,” Tiffany had said, sounding sheepish. “I mean, not totally.”

  “Not totally?” Mallory had latched onto the change in tone. “Before you were saying that he was absolutely out of your life. And now…”

  “Nothing’s changed!” Tiffany had shrieked, wishing that they would just drop the subject and leave her alone.

  “Sometimes, the children come first,” Mallory had laughed, yanking at one of Tiffany’s curls. “Sometimes, it’s the perfect backdrop for a life together. Can you imagine?”

  Actually, Tiffany was beginning to think she could imagine.

  Over the previous week, the Sheikh had visited both apartments—her father’s and her own—several times. He’d prepared meals for them, set up a projector against the white wall of the living room and shown her some of his favorite old movies.

  She had been surprised to learn how much his lifestyle had changed. How he’d replaced nights out with evenings in, reading his father’s favorite manuscripts, studying statecraft with his advisors, and watching old movies. He would tell her the backstories of the actors, the dramas between them. Tiffany would giggle and joke with him, feeling giddy and almost drunk in his presence. Often, she’d fall asleep on the Sheikh’s shoulder, inhaling his scent. On more than one occasion, she wished that he would kiss her. But he never did.

  Her father’s flight from London was delayed by about a half hour, leaving Tiffany to sit in a tiny airport café and sip at her decaf coffee and nibble at a scone. Around her, people gave her warm smiles. She’d noticed this as she’d gotten more and more pregnant: that the world was more open and aware of her. People loved you when you were pregnant, and there was a feeling that they knew that she carried the hope of a future generation inside her belly.

  “There you are, sweet pea,” her father called out to her as he crossed the arrivals area, wheeling his suitcase and waving. His looked exhausted, but happy to see her.

  Tiffany got up from her chair and moved toward him to hug him close, knowing he’d just had the hardest week of his life. Resigning as U.S. Ambassador was no simple process.

  “How are you?” she asked him, holding onto his shoulders with tight fingers.

  His eyes skirted toward the windows. It was clear he didn’t want to tell her something. After a long sigh, he said, “I had to tell them the truth, baby girl.”

  It was what Tiffany had feared. That her father, forced to give a reason for his resignation, would have to inform the world of the truth. Tiffany pressed her lips together, feeling suddenly, achingly, exhausted.

  “But they’re going to keep it quiet,” her father said, his voice soothing and calm.

  “Scandals like that don’t remain secret for long,” Tiffany said, giving him a sad smile.

  They stood awkwardly, with Tiffany drawing her hands to her hips. She glanced around the lobby, watching as other families greeted one another with glittering eyes and wide-reaching hugs. The airport was a remarkable place to watch and listen. It gave you hope for humanity.

  But now, it was time to leave.

  “They’re letting me continue my work until the child is born,” her father said, lifting his suitcase into the taxi’s trunk. He watched as Tiffany eased into the backseat, her hand latched across her stomach. “At which time, they’re replacing me.”

  “Do you know who’ll be replacing you?” Tiffany asked.

  “I helped hire him,” Mike said proudly, almost beaming. “He graduated from Brown. Just like you.”

  “He’ll be on his way to Al Barait, then?”

  “Just a few weeks before your due date, so I can train him,” her father said. He tapped the back of the taxi driver’s seat and gave him the address of his apartment, his words cascading like water.

  “I guess that’s one thing I never really got around to,” Tiffany sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “The language.”

  “Already having regrets about your time here?” her father said, laughing sadly. “I know. That’s how it always is, just before leaving a place. You think about all the lives you could have lived here.”

  “All the things I still have left to do…” Tiffany trailed off, thinking again of the Sheikh. But no. Her mind had been made up. She’d be following her father back to the States. She wouldn’t lose him again. No matter what.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually,” Mike continued. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I don’t think you should have to choose between me and this life. I want you to do whatever you can to ensure that this baby is raised right. No matter what you choose, I’ll support you. Okay?”

  Tiffany blinked several times, feeling tears springing to her eyes. She nodded slowly, leaning her cheek heavily against her father’s shoulder.

  She felt tugged in two directions. On the one hand, whatever was happening between her and Kazra felt exciting and electric, something she should pursue for the good of her son (and for the good of her own happiness). On the other, she couldn’t bear to watch her father be ejected from his adopted country, to live alone somewhere in the States. Not when it was all her fault.

  “Don’t worry about it now, honey,” her father said, using a singsong voice and making her grin. “We’ve got ages until that boy decides to come into the world. We’ve got time.”

  He was right. Tiffany swallowed thickly, reminding herself that she could push her decisions back until after the baby was born. As she’d been getting all of her pregnancy check-ups with an Al Barait obstetrician, she didn’t feel comfortable delivering in America. Besides, she was still receiving pregnancy leave from her job—and hadn’t yet informed them of her potential move to America.

  “And besides. No matter how far I am from that baby, I’m going to spoil him rotten. So don’t worry about that for a minute,” her father joked.

  That night, the pair enjoyed delivery pizza, sitting on Mike’s couch and catching up on the little things that had changed in the country they’d left behind.

  “They have a bunch of new milkshake flavors at that fast food restaurant you always liked,” he told her, taking a large bite of pizza. “If you can believe it.”

  “Man, the things I’m missing out on back at home!” Tiffany said, her tone sarcastic. “What would I do if I didn’t have your dispatches? I would be so lost.”

  “I know. I’m here for you,” her father teased. “And you should see how much a movie ticket costs these days!”

  “Did you have to sell your hand to get into the theatre?” Tiffany asked, laughing outright now.

  “Just a kneecap,” her father laughed.

  Tiffany slept at her father’s apartment that night, turning her attention to her cellphone after her father went to bed. Recently, the Sheikh had begun sending her funny little video messages, when they weren’t together at night. The videos alternated between being for her and being for their baby.

  On this particular night, the video was for the baby.

  “All right, Tiff. Hold the phone up to your belly, if you please.”

  Tiffany did as she was told. She felt a grin stretch across her face. The Sheikh continued to speak, directing his attention toward their growing boy.

  “Hello there, young man. This is your father speaking. Oh, I’m sorry. So formal of me. I’ll try to loosen up.” He coughed, causing Tiffany to giggle. “I want to sing you to sleep, dear boy, and tell you that your mother and I will always watch out for you and take care of you, as long as we both shall liv
e. That is, unless you take up with a punk band. I don’t understand punk. In that case, I will support you in everything you do—except for punk. And in that case, I mean I’ll only make it to 95% of your concerts.”

  He then began to sing in his native language—something that sounded like a lullaby. One that grew quieter and sweeter as it went along. Tiffany allowed her eyes to close; she allowed every muscle in her back, legs, and arms to relax. She gave herself over to the beauty of the man’s voice, reminding herself, as she drifted off to sleep, that he was the father of her child. She’d gotten luckier than she’d ever dreamed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tiffany was now eight-and-a-half months pregnant. Her body alien to her, her stomach protruding, parting crowds and forcing people up from their seats on the train. She waddled along, her chin held high, but her eyes squinted and filled with pain. “If I never have to get up again, that would be too soon,” she often told Zarina, who’d taken up residence on her couch often enough, delivering food and helping get Tiffany comfortable.

  In the previous weeks, the Sheikh, her father, and Zarina had alternated nights with Tiffany, almost never aligning their schedules. Her father was aware that the Sheikh was spending time with Tiffany, yet hadn’t mentioned it. He only repeated what he had told her before. “I want you to do whatever you think is right for this baby. Whatever that is, I will support you.”

  The Sheikh appeared on her doorstep on a Friday evening, carrying a bouquet of red roses. That familiar grin cut across his face, making Tiffany laugh aloud as she accepted the beautiful blooms.

  “Are you trying to get on my good side again?” she asked him, slipping the flowers into a vase and positioning it on the windowsill.

  The Sheikh leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, a gesture he’d taken up in the previous few weeks Always, his lips were just a millimeter or two closer to her lips. Her lips itched to kiss him back.