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

12. Tara

CHAPTER 12

TARA

T he ping coming from my phone almost goes unnoticed. At first I think that it’s part of the TV show I’ve been mindlessly staring at for the last hour. Pressing pause on the show, I glance at the message lighting up the phone screen. It’s from Faiz.

My heart leaps into my throat, the last place it belongs. It doesn’t matter what I tell it, though; it seems set on believing that romance is still possible for me and Faiz.

Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night? A small token of gratitude for your services, the text says.

I squint at the words, trying to decipher his intentions. His demeanor is unpredictable, warmth flickering like a flame in a drafty room — now bright, now dim. The professional part of me insists on boundaries, but the woman within whispers of a desire to bridge the gap between us, if only to understand him better.

My fingers hover hesitantly over the keyboard before tapping out a simple response.

Thank you for the invitation. I’d be delighted to accept.

The following evening arrives swathed in the soft blush of twilight. I drive to his palace, my heart ticking in time with each mile closer. The grandeur of the place never ceases to leave an impression, and it feels extra special tonight, though maybe that’s just the lights strung along the driveway and placed strategically in the garden.

Ali greets me at the door, a pint-sized dragon with eyes sparkling brighter than any treasure. His costume is a vibrant green, complete with scales and a tail that swishes as he moves. I laugh, happy to see he’s feeling well enough to be up and running around.

“Knight Tara! You must help slay the evil dragon!” Ali commands, his voice fierce.

“And I suppose you’re the dragon?” I wink at him. “I don’t know… you probably fly too fast for me. I doubt I’ll ever catch you.”

“Try!” he yells before sprinting back into the house.

Closing the door behind myself, I run after him. The laughter of our game fills the rooms we pass through. One moment I’m “Knight Tara,” charging up the grand staircase, and the next, I’m a giggling accomplice to the dragon’s escape, letting him outsmart me at every turn.

Eventually, our game leads us to the living room, where I let Ali catch me. Pretending to be sore over losing, I offer my wrist willingly to the ribbon he holds — a makeshift shackle.

He hops around me, securing me to a chair with more enthusiasm than skill. I play my part, pretending to struggle against my bonds, watching Ali’s delight grow. This is what joy sounds like — a child’s laughter, pure and untainted.

“Looks like I’ve come just in time. Should I rescue the knight or let her face her peril alone?” Faiz’s voice, laced with amusement, cuts through our play.

I turn my head to see him leaning casually against the doorway, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his guarded eyes.

“Rescue me, and I promise to share the dragon’s treasure with you,” I plead dramatically, holding Faiz’s gaze, challenging him to join us in this pocket of lightness.

“Very well, Knight Tara,” he says, striding over. As he gently unties the ribbon, his fingers brush against my skin, sending a ripple of awareness through me.

“Thank you, my lord,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the way my voice catches.

“Your bravery knows no bounds,” Faiz replies, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a rare, genuine smile that transforms his entire face.

Ali claps, delighted with the conclusion of our tale, unaware of the undercurrents swirling between his father and me.

Suddenly feeling very self-aware — did running around mess up my hair? — I stand and smooth my dress. “I’ll let you and your treasure get away this time,” I tell Ali. “But watch out for next time.”

“Try to get me now!” Ali jumps onto the couch, but Faiz is shaking his head.

“That’s enough for now,” Faiz says. “It is time to eat.”

“But—”

“Now, Ali.” Faiz is stern but not unkind, and Ali doesn’t need to be told again. He jumps off the couch and walks across the carpet, his tail dragging.

The dining room is grand, like every other space in this home, but it also feels very lived-in. Faiz pulls out a chair for Ali, his face lighting up in a way I haven’t seen before. It’s as if his son is the sun and he’s just a planet caught in orbit.

“Dragons need their strength,” Ali declares, plopping into his seat with all the grace a six-year-old can muster. I can’t help but laugh at his serious expression, squinting eyes scanning the spread of dishes as though evaluating a battlefield.

“Indeed, they do,” I agree, seating myself across from him.

We’re served a meal that looks like it’s straight out of a royal feast, yet there’s a playful edge to it — bite-sized foods perfect for Ali’s small hands. As we eat, Faiz shares stories about Ali’s latest adventures around the home, and I find myself captivated not by the tales themselves, but by the fondness in his voice.

“Did you build the entire castle yourself?” I ask Ali.

“Uh-huh, with pillows and blankets.” He nods vigorously. “But Dad says it’s not structurally sound.”

Faiz raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “We’re working on understanding the fundamentals of architecture.”

Dinner progresses, filled with laughter and the clinking of cutlery. I savor the rich flavors, but more than that, I relish the easy camaraderie. It strikes a chord within me, stirring a yearning for something I’ve pushed aside in the pursuit of my career.

A family.

The image of a life beyond anything I’ve known blooms in my mind, vivid and terrifying in its appeal.

“Bedtime,” Faiz announces after dessert, and Ali makes a show of protesting, though his drooping eyelids give away his fatigue.

“Will you tuck me in too, Dr. Tara?” Ali asks, his hopeful eyes boring into mine. The request catches me off guard, as does my unexpected desire to do exactly that.

“Of course,” I say, touched by his trust in me.

Together, we ascend the staircase. Faiz’s staff is barely spotted, as per usual, and I find that I like this more than the constant presence of dozens of people at the main palace. I’m keenly aware of Faiz beside me, a silent guardian to both his son and the precious moment we’re sharing.

In Ali’s room, the nightlight is already turned on. He hurries through brushing his teeth and taking a shower in the adjacent bathroom — with Faiz standing at the cracked doorway, constantly reminding him to use soap and shampoo — and then catapults himself into bed.

“Will you read me a story, Dr. Tara?”

Faiz speaks up before I can answer. “Dr. Tara didn’t come over to?—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, meaning it completely. “I would love to read a story.”

His library, an impressive collection for a six-year-old, fills an entire bookshelf by his bed. I browse through the titles until one catches my eye, a story of brave knights and cunning dragons similar to our play earlier. Perfect.

Settling into the plush armchair near his bed, I begin to read. My voice weaves tales of valor and friendship, filling the room with magic. The real world fades away as Ali clings to every word. His eyes grow heavy, his soft breaths turning into a steady rhythm.

A glance at Faiz finds him leaning against the doorframe, watching us. This time there’s no shadow in his gaze, only pure, undiluted warmth, which makes my heart flutter in a way I haven’t felt before. He nods at me, a silent thank-you that sends tingles through me.

“Good night, Ali,” I whisper, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His hand finds mine, tiny fingers squeezing briefly before letting go.

“Will you have fun dreams tonight?” Faiz’s voice is soft, laced with an affection that fills the room.

“Always,” Ali mumbles, already halfway to sleep.

“Good. Good night, wild dragon.”

“Good night, Ali,” I echo, and together we watch over him until his breathing deepens into the steady rhythm of slumber.

Stepping back into the hallway, a silence settles between Faiz and me — a comfortable one, rich with connection and satisfaction.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks.

I hesitate, even though “yes” plays on the tip of my tongue. Ever since I found out about Ali, it feels like Faiz has been opening up to me gradually, only to shut me back out again. It’s no good on my heart, which is a romantic and will probably never give up believing that the impossible is possible.

The reasons to say no, though they feel big, are so short compared to the reasons to say yes. “That would be nice,” I answer.

Faiz leads the way, his back a straight line of composure, but I sense a shift in him — a loosening of something tightly wound. We end up in a room I’ve never visited, another den of some sort, with cozy couches and gaming systems stacked next to the TV.

“Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to a sofa.

I settle in while Faiz pours two glasses of a rich, amber liquid. I don’t ask what it is. Any liquor will do right now, as long as it takes the edge off the excited nervousness I always feel around him.

He takes a seat in an armchair next to me. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Thank you for having me. Ali is… wonderful.” I look into my glass. “My family is far away, so it was nice to have an evening like this.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks it’s the last thing I expect to hear.

“Ali’s mother and I… we weren’t in love. It was a brief affair,” he admits, his eyes not meeting mine. “When she left, it was amicable. There were no hard feelings.”

I stare at him. Why is he telling me this?

The ice in my glass clinks softly as I take a tentative sip, the warmth of the drink spreading through me. I wait, sensing there is more weight to his words, a burden he’s about to share.

“Then, one night, I received news that she had passed away unexpectedly,” he continues, the stillness in his voice now revealing cracks of vulnerability. “It was then I learned of Ali — my son. She never told me she was pregnant.”

His revelation lands like a stone in still water, rippling through the space between us. I suck in a sharp breath, feeling his shock that day as if it were happening here and now, to me.

“Moving him into the palace,” Faiz says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, “keeping his existence secret… it was the only choice to avoid scandal. He was one then, not even walking. It was the best thing for him. For everyone.” His profile is etched with shadows as he speaks, the lines of his face telling a story of silent struggles.

I can feel my heart contracting, aching for the sacrifices he’s made — for the loneliness that echoes with each word. To pull away from everyone, to keep your own child hidden… the thought is unfathomable. Yet here he sits, a man who has shouldered this secret, alone.

“Faiz,” I whisper, “that must’ve been incredibly difficult for you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze finally finding mine. There’s a glint of gratitude, maybe even relief, at being truly seen.

“Difficult… yes,” he says, almost to himself, as if he’s just beginning to acknowledge the weight he carries. “But necessary.”

I twist my lips, soaking in everything I just learned. Did Ali’s mother keep his existence a secret from Faiz because she didn’t want the royal spotlight on Ali? Having known Faiz intimately, surely she knew something of the sacrifice being royal requires.

But… then again… is this the life she would have wanted for Ali? For him to miss out on school, miss out on friends, miss out on proper vacations and the simple things like having a beach day with his father?

I curl my fingers around the cold glass, feeling even more conflicted about it all. I understand where Faiz is coming from, and sometimes I wish I didn’t. Though I can’t agree completely with him. Instead I’m somewhere in the middle, leaning toward disagreeing with how Ali is being raised while at the same time being sympathetic to Faiz’s situation.

I am sure of one thing, though. “You’re a good father,” I whisper to Faiz.

His gaze snaps back to me, surprise momentarily flashing in his eyes before it’s overwhelmed by the shadows of doubt and regret. “You think so?” he murmurs softly.

“I do,” I affirm, holding his gaze. “I know your choices aren’t popular. They’re not even easy ones to stomach sometimes…” I pause, groping for the right words. “But every choice you’ve made for Ali has been made with love. And that… is the hallmark of a good parent.”

He remains silent for a moment, but then a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s faint but genuine, a rare sight that ignites warmth in my chest.

“Thank you, Tara,” he says quietly.

Feelings unfamiliar and dangerous bloom within me, their petals opening tentatively, reaching for the light of connection his vulnerability offers.

But even though I’m tempted, I’m not that stupid. Faiz doesn’t feel about me like I do him.

So, I sip my drink. Make some small talk. Soon I’ll go back to my demure apartment, back to my simple life. Back to where I belong.