The Sheikh’s Secret Heir (Sheikhs and Sweethearts #3)

8. Faiz

CHAPTER 8

FAIZ

I down the rest of the liquor in my glass, but it doesn’t do much to calm me. I’m still on edge, vibrating with nervousness from the strangeness of this situation Tara and I are now in. We’ve settled the details of her new position within my home. Pay, expectations, discretion.

I’ll have a new NDA, a more thorough and specific one, drafted for her to sign within the day. After that, there’s nothing to do but call her when we need her assistance.

While Ali’s other doctor is a good one, I’ve always had my concerns about his ability to keep his mouth closed. With Tara, she’s already at least partly proven herself through her job with my family. If I’m going to expose our lives to someone, I suppose she’s the best bet.

“Any questions?” I lift an eyebrow.

“No.” She sets her glass on a coaster. “I do want to say… you can trust me.”

My chest tightens. They’re the words I was hoping to hear, and even though I understand they’re just a promise and not an actual proof of her commitment, I appreciate them nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

Her gaze softens, long lashes raking across the tops of her cheeks. Heat pools in my core, and suddenly I can’t get comfortable in my seat.

Clearing my throat, I put my glass down. “Let me show you around,” I offer, gesturing towards the door. “Since you will be here regularly, you’ll need to get the lay of the land.”

Tara nods, her demeanor shifting back to business. She’s always straightforward like that, never one for unnecessary flourishes. It’s one of the things I respect about her.

We walk through the hallways of my palace, my home that has become as much a haven as it has a prison. The scent of flowers sneaks in from the gardens, mingling with the faintest hint of spices coming from the kitchen, where my chef is cooking. I watch Tara take it in, her blond hair catching stray beams of light filtering through the windows.

“Everything feels so… alive,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “It’s funny, really. I’ve been here for two years and I’m still a little awestruck. This is such a beautiful city.”

“I understand what you mean,” I say. “I’ve lived here my whole life and traveled to almost every country, and yet there’s no place like here. This land never grows tiresome. Where are you from?”

I’m doing my best to sound only mildly interested when in truth I’m vibrating with the need to have more information on her.

“New Jersey. Heard of it?”

“The Jersey Shore?” I ask.

She laughs, the sound echoing in the hallway. “That’s part of it. There’s so much more to it, though. It’s…” She shrugs. “It’s okay. I guess. I never saw much of it growing up. I’ve actually never seen much of anywhere.”

My head cocks in interest. “Why is that?”

“My parents taught me that education is the most important thing. We didn’t take a lot of trips. My summers were spent tutoring, playing on chess and tennis teams… anything to make my college application look good, really.”

“Surely that’s not all you did.”

She almost looks sad. “It was. I didn’t make much time for friends growing up or while in college. By the time I started my residency, I didn’t have that muscle. I’d never used it.”

I stay quiet, giving her space to continue. Her honesty surprises me, as does the pang of sympathy I feel. For a woman who seems so put-together, it strikes me that this is how she’s spent her life: self-contained.

“Did it ever bother you?” My question is more nosy than I’d like, but curiosity has always been my downfall.

She shrugs, fingers ghosting over the intricate carvings on a side table as we pass. “At times, perhaps. But mostly no. I’m… comfortable with solitude.”

I understand what she means. Solitude is something familiar to me, too. Yet with her in my palace, that solitude feels less heavy.

“I suppose…” I pause. “What we don’t know doesn’t hurt us.”

Her laughter surprises me; it echoes off the high ceilings, filling the silence of the palace. It’s beautiful and contagious, and for the first time in a long time, I find myself laughing too.

We pass portraits of ancestors, their eyes following us with silent approval or perhaps disdain — I can’t quite tell anymore. But Tara doesn’t seem unnerved by history’s gaze upon her, doesn’t shrink back from the weight of legacy that presses down on these walls. I show her the kitchens, the library, Ali’s playroom, the movie theater…

And then we arrive at the threshold of my bedroom, the door ajar. A careless mistake, since I always close it. My heart does this strange lurching thing as I imagine Tara there, tangled in sheets that have only ever known the solitary press of my own body. Heat climbs up my neck, unbidden and unwelcome.

“And this room?” she prompts.

“Mine.” My face burns, even though it shouldn’t. It’s only a bedroom, nothing more… and yet my thoughts spin it into something tremendously meaningful and erotic.

“Oh,” she says, like she’s not sure how else to react.

“Sorry,” I mumble, reaching out to close the door with more force than necessary. I hope Tara doesn’t notice the flush I can feel burning across my cheeks, or worse, understand its cause.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, a little too quickly. “Just… ensuring privacy.”

Privacy, indeed. Sometimes I feel it’s all I have. Privacy and secrets and this unnamable thing that stirs within me whenever Tara is near — a dangerous tendril of something that could be, but must never be.

“Shall we continue?” I ask, eager to move away from the door, from the thoughts it incites, from the fear that grips me at the idea of ever letting someone get too close.

“Of course,” she replies, her tone still kind, still professional.

We return to the bottom floor, where my house cleaner is busy dusting the shelves in the foyer. She casts us a curious look but then returns to her work. Out of all my staff, Gina is the one who seems to care the least about what I do. She does her work and goes home.

“Thank you for the tour, Faiz.” Tara turns to me. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Please make yourself comfortable when you are here.” The words, though they come from my own mouth, surprise me. I hadn’t planned on treating Tara like a guest, and yet I can’t seem to help it.

We reach the grand entrance, and I pause, torn. I’d like to spend more time with her, ask more about her life, about what brought her to this moment in time and what her dreams for the future are.

But the risks… they claw at my resolve. A personal relationship could unravel everything, and the scandal would not only be mine but Ali’s and my family’s as well.

“Have a good rest of your day, Tara.” My voice comes out more formal than I intend. I extend my hand, a barrier of propriety between us.

“Same to you.” She accepts the gesture, her handshake firm yet gentle.

As the door closes behind her, an emptiness settles within me, and I’m not sure how to fill it. I retreat to the study, where Amina waits, her intuitive gaze reading the unrest on my face.

“And how did it go with Dr. Hague?” she asks.

“Fine. She’s settling in well,” I manage to say, keeping my tone even. “But I worry about the risk. The more involved she becomes with us, the greater the chance of exposure.”

“Faiz,” Amina begins, her voice the embodiment of patience and wisdom, “Tara has shown nothing but dedication and discretion since her arrival. Trust isn’t given lightly, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Perhaps,” I concede, my defenses waning.

“Besides,” she adds with a slight twinkle in her eye, “she seems like someone who understands the importance of privacy. Maybe even more than you think.”

My heart stutters. Does Amina see through the facade? Can she sense the unspoken emotions that I dare not acknowledge?

“Thank you, Amina,” I say, forcing a grateful nod. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

With a soft, knowing smile, she leaves me alone with my thoughts — thoughts tangled in fears of rejection and the yearning for a connection that could cost me everything.

It’s too silent in the study, my ruminations too oppressive, so I close the door behind me and take one of the elevators upstairs.

I slip into Ali’s room, where he lies propped up by pillows, a kingdom of plush toys gathered around him like loyal subjects awaiting their king’s command.

“Abba,” he greets me, his voice brimming with the day’s stored excitement. “Can we watch a movie together? Just you and me?”

“Of course, Habibi,” I reply, the stress of my worries momentarily lifting as I crawl into bed beside him.

His small hand finds mine, and I’m struck by how much comfort this simple gesture brings. Before Ali, I never even thought about becoming a father beyond the normal expectations of providing an heir to the throne. The moment I first saw him, though, everything changed. All of my previous priorities slipped away like grains of sand, leaving nothing behind, as if they were never there.

“Guess what?” I whisper, leaning close as if to share a grand secret. “When you’re all better, I will have Amina take you to the beach.”

“Really?” The beach is an adventure, a rare treat that lies beyond these protective walls.

“Really.”

“Will you come too, Abba?” Ali’s question tugs at me, pulling at the corners of my heart. I want nothing more than to say yes, to be just another father and son playing in the sand, oblivious to the world’s prying eyes.

“Ah, my little prince,” I murmur, tracing the curve of his cheek with a tender stroke. “I wish I could, but…” My voice trails off, tangled in a net of half-truths and unsaid words.

“Is it because of your meetings?” Hope fades from his voice, replaced by resigned understanding far too heavy for his six years.

“Something like that,” I admit, the lie bitter on my tongue.

If only he knew what’s really at play — how the world would react if they knew he was my son. Not only do I need to prevent a political crisis; I also need to protect Ali. People are not kind to those born out of wedlock. Especially not in our exclusive world.

“Okay,” he says, a forced smile attempting to mask his disappointment. “We can still have fun though, right? Here?”

“Always.” I pull him close, cherishing the warmth of his body against mine.

We settle into the rhythm of the movie, and I do my best to distract myself with the simple story. Yet, even as Ali’s laughter dances in the air, my mind drifts to the beaches we cannot walk together, the school gates we cannot pass, and the few outings reduced to a handful of memories.

“Ali,” I begin, the words breaking free before I can restrain them. “There are so many things I want to show you, experiences I yearn to give you.” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But I must keep you safe, and sometimes that means making hard choices.”

“Like superheroes?” he asks, his innocence making me want to both laugh and cry.

“Exactly like superheroes,” I agree, grateful for the simplicity of his understanding.

We don’t speak for the rest of the movie, and I can feel his energy ebbing. Even though he is getting better, he’s not fully well quite yet. Even before the credits roll, his eyelids flutter closed, surrendering to sleep’s gentle embrace.

Gazing down at my son, I vow to guard his dreams a while longer. For now, let him believe in caped crusaders and daring adventures. One day, I’ll explain why his father wears no cape, why our battles are fought in silence, and why our greatest strength lies not in superpowers, but in the love that binds us, hidden though it may be.

Our story — one of a prince and his hidden heir — unfolds in hushed tones and shadowed corners, a tale of duty and sacrifice written in the sands of a beach we cannot visit together.