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

13. Faiz

CHAPTER 13

FAIZ

T he last thing in the world that I want is for Tara to leave, but eventually the time comes. Even though my entire body buzzes to have her close, I don’t want to give her the impression that I’m available in a way that I most certainly am not.

And so I walk her to her car, the night air cool and fresh. It’s quiet out here, away from the chatter and clinking of glasses that filled our evening. Underneath the soft glow of the driveway lights, her blond hair catches a golden hue, making her seem ethereal in this mundane setting.

“Thanks for the dinner invite,” she says. “The lamb was exquisite.”

“Only the best for our esteemed doctor.” I stop walking, regretting that we’ve reached her car so soon. The small talk is a thin veil; it’s the proximity I crave, the chance to linger in her presence just a little longer.

Yet something inside me tightens. I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, the drop to what could be either salvation or ruin. I’ve played many roles, worn many masks, but with her, the facade cracks, revealing the man behind the prince, vulnerable and dangerously close to falling.

“Drive safely,” I find myself saying. “The roads can be treacherous at night.”

She smiles, her gaze lingering for a moment too long before she slips into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. My heart hammers against my ribs.

A simple touch, a straightforward confession, and I could cross that line. But no, I remind myself. There are reasons to maintain the distance, reasons that protect all of us.

She drives away, the taillights of her car painting red streaks in the darkness, and I watch her disappear through the wrought-iron palace gates. They close with a finality that hits me right in my chest.

Tara Hague, the woman who unknowingly holds pieces of me no one else has seen. I let out a slow breath, fighting the pull, the desire to chase after her.

I can do it, though — I can keep my feelings in check. Because I am well-versed in the art of control.

The cool night air brushes against my skin as I turn back towards the front doors, my head and chest feeling heavy in a way they haven’t since Tara walked into my home this evening.

“Sir.” Ahmed’s voice breaks through the silence, and I look up at my head of security.

His presence is unobtrusive, yet always felt, much like the shadow cast by the towering columns lining the corridor.

“Ahmed,” I acknowledge without breaking stride.

“Miss Hague,” he begins, and I feel my muscles tense at the mention of her name. “She seems… suitable.”

There’s a hint of something unspoken in his tone — approval, perhaps, or a nudge toward a future I dare not contemplate. My staff and I are close, everyone working in my home because I trust them completely. These are the people who have become my friends when I had to push everyone else away following the discovery of Ali’s existence. They know me better than anyone else at this point.

“Being involved with Tara…” The words trail off as I search for the right way to articulate the paradox of desire and duty. “It would mean asking too much of her. She already carries the burden of my secret as my doctor.”

Ahmed’s gaze holds steady, understanding the gravity of what remains unsaid. “With all due respect, sir, sometimes the weight we carry can be shared.”

“Can it?” The question escapes me before I can rein it in, laced with a vulnerability I seldom allow myself to express. “Carrying it as my girlfriend, or even wife, is another matter entirely.”

We stand in acknowledgment of the truth that lies between us. A truth that binds me as surely as the bloodline I was born into.

“Good night, Ahmed,” I say finally, drawing the conversation to a close with a respectful nod.

“Good night, sir.”

As I make my way to the solitude of my chambers, each step feels heavier than the last. In the dim light, I sink onto the edge of the bed, a king-sized expanse that suddenly seems too vast.

Eyes closed, I let the silence fill the room. And there, in the stillness, her image invades my thoughts once more — Tara, with her bright eyes and quiet strength.

The longing to reach out, to bridge the space between our separate worlds, gnaws at me with quiet ferocity. But I know the cost of such a leap, the price of vulnerability when one’s life is built upon foundations of expectation and responsibility.

A cough scratches at my throat, an unwelcome reminder of the fragility that lurks beneath the surface. I clear it, hoping to dispel more than just the physical irritation it brings. Yet, the sound echoes in the spacious room, and for a quick moment I ache dreadfully to have someone close — no, not just any someone.

Her. And not as my doctor. Not as a bearer of my biggest secret. I ache to have her as an equal, as a partner.

Lying back, I stare up at the ceiling. Tara’s face hovers in the darkness behind my eyelids — the curve of her smile, the warmth in her hazel eyes. It’s a dangerous indulgence, this dance with what can never be.

Sleep tugs at the edges of my consciousness, but I don’t fight it, already knowing that my dreams can provide more happiness than reality ever could.