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

18. Tara

CHAPTER 18

TARA

T he sun dips lower, casting a golden glow over the water where Faiz and Ali are in the pool. I watch as Faiz supports Ali’s small back with a steadiness that’s both strong and gentle. The way he guides his son through the motions of the backstroke, encouraging him, is unexpectedly tender — a side of him I don’t often see.

“Kick harder, buddy,” Faiz instructs, sounding like a proud teacher.

Ali’s legs churn the water, splashing droplets that catch the light and sparkle like fleeting diamonds. The interaction makes me smile, but a pang of longing darkens the moment. Even though every fiber of my being disagrees with the secrecy surrounding Ali’s life within these palace walls, witnessing this bond forces me to acknowledge the good within Faiz’s flawed choices.

And we’re not all perfect, are we? Goodness knows I make my own mistakes, and if I were to become a parent one day, I wouldn’t do it to please anyone else. I would make all of my choices based on my own values, based on my family’s well-being.

Faiz more than cares for Ali. He worships the boy. It’s clear as day.

As the party dwindles and the sky blushes with the colors of dusk, staff members begin to gather discarded towels and empty glasses. I roll up my sleeves and start helping, collecting half-empty plates and crumpled napkins. Ali emerges from the pool, dripping and giggling, and Faiz wraps him in an oversized towel, rubbing his hair dry.

“Dr. Tara, you’re not leaving, are you?” Ali’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I pause. The pool party is over, and this isn’t my home. So of course I need to go. The only other option would be overextending my invitation — and while the thought is tempting, I also would never be that rude.

“I was thinking I might,” I begin, but my words falter as Faiz’s gaze meets mine — a silent request lingering there.

“Stay,” he says simply, and it’s not a command but an offer, wrapped in a vulnerability that resonates deep within me.

My heart races, the chemistry between us crackling like static in the cooling evening air. I am caught in this moment, tethered by the intensity of his stare and the silent plea from his son.

“Okay,” I find myself saying, the word escaping like a secret I’ve been keeping from myself. “I’ll stay.”

The decision feels reckless, an impulsive leap into waters uncharted and potentially treacherous. Yet as we move together, finishing the cleanup, the possibility of what could unfold tugs at the edges of my caution. The laughter and chatter around us fade to a backdrop, and all I’m aware of is the proximity of Faiz — the man who has slowly etched himself into the periphery of my thoughts, blurring the lines I’ve so carefully drawn.

“Tonight is Cook Nina’s night off.” Ali slips his hand into mine as we walk into the mansion.

“Oh, it is?”

“Uh-huh. That means my father and I cook.” He looks up at me. “Would you like to cook, too? Or you can relax, and we’ll cook you dinner.”

I glance back at Faiz, following close behind us, not sure what to say. As it turns out, he nods in confirmation. “Please feel free to take it easy. You’re our guest tonight.”

“I do like cooking…” I squeeze Ali’s hand.

And so it’s settled. While the staff scatters, everyone heading to their homes — except for the guards who are on duty, who post up in the security room and the guard house — Ali, Faiz, and I head to the kitchen. It’s such a “normal person” thing, making dinner. Never in a hundred years would I have even expected it’s something that Faiz does.

But it turns out he knows his way around a kitchen pretty well. In hardly any time at all, the ingredients are out and the pans are heated up, the result of Faiz’s quick skills. Ali stands on a stool beside his father, his little hands eagerly tearing lettuce for the salad.

“Like this, Dr. Tara?” he asks, holding up a particularly well-shredded piece of green. “Is this how you like your lettuce?”

“Perfect, Ali,” I respond, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. There’s something about watching them together — their easiness, their connection — that sends an unfamiliar ache through my chest.

I chop tomatoes, the rhythmic slicing a metronome to my thoughts. Here in the palace kitchen, it’s easy to slip into a daydream, one where the good times never end but instead just keep going on and on.

But I shake off the fantasy like water from my fingers after a rinse. It’s foolish to get lost in what-ifs. What will be will be.

“Dr. Tara, you’re good at chopping,” Ali chirps, and I laugh, the sound mingling with the crackle of oil as Faiz flips the chicken breasts in the pan.

“Thank you, Ali. And you’re an excellent assistant chef,” I say, winking at him.

“Assistant? I’m going to be the head chef!” he declares with his usual show of pride, and Faiz and I share a knowing look, the kind that makes me feel like we’ve known each other for a whole lifetime.

Dinner is a casual affair, plates passed and stories exchanged over bites of tender chicken and crisp salad. The domesticity of it is both strange and comforting, a window into a life I’ve sidelined.

It’s not that I’ve never wanted my own family. It’s just that I’ve always been too busy with other things. School, work. More work.

Every time I’ve thought about dating, about reaching out and meeting people, I’ve ended up frozen and confused, unsure of how to go forward. I’m confident when it comes to my work, but in most social situations I feel completely out of my element. I almost feel too awkward at this point, unable to learn something I should have picked up years ago.

It’s easier here, though, with Faiz and Ali. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s nothing more than the fact I’ve gotten to know them enough. Or maybe it’s my longing for this kind of connection that makes it all the more easy. Either way, I’m not gonna analyze it too much. Rather, I’ll just enjoy it.

Dinner done and the dishwasher loaded, we settle onto the plush sofa in the movie theater — really, a glorified living room with a huge screen covering one wall. Ali nestles between us, his head finding a resting place against my arm. I glance at Faiz, who nods as if to say it’s okay, and my heart skips, caught between the pleasure of the moment and the fear of ephemeral joys.

Not long into the film, Ali’s breathing deepens, his small body surrendering to sleep. I realize too late that my hand has found its way to his hair, stroking softly, mirroring the tenderness I’ve seen in Faiz.

“Let me take him to bed,” Faiz whispers, his voice barely above the soundtrack of the movie.

“Of course,” I reply, shifting gently to allow Faiz to scoop his son up. He rises, a father’s care etched into every movement as he carries Ali, who clings to him even in slumber. The sight of them, so effortlessly a unit, stirs a longing within me, a yearning for connections that run this deep.

I tuck my feet beneath me, the space on the couch now feeling vast and empty. I’ve paused the movie, making the room deathly quiet. There’s nothing but myself and my thoughts. I close my eyes, the image of Faiz’s retreating back imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, and I wonder what the consequences are for wanting something this badly.

“Tara?”

“Hmm?” I jerk and sit up, eyes opening, not having heard Faiz come back into the room.

“Would you like to go for a walk in the gardens?”

My heart races in response. “That sounds nice,” I answer.

I stand and follow him through the palace, every step feeling like it’s important enough to be recorded in all the world’s history books.

The moon paints silver streaks across the perfect gardens, casting a delicate glow on the path before us. I walk beside Faiz, our steps in sync. I could stay in this moment forever, our hands swinging side by side, almost touching but not quite. Truly, there’s nothing else that I need.

“Did you ever climb trees as a kid?” I ask, pointing to an ancient oak that stands sentinel over the garden.

“More times than I can count,” he admits with a soft chuckle, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “It was one of the few rebellions I could get away with.”

His answer stirs memories, and I find myself opening up about my own childhood — how I’d sneak books under the covers and read by flashlight, craving worlds beyond my small town. We share these stories, pieces of ourselves hidden from the world, and I feel the distance between us shortening with every word.

“Your parents… they had a lot of expectations?” I already know the answer, of course. Faiz was born royalty, born to one day lead a country. “Expectations” is a light way of describing what’s on his shoulders.

I want to hear more from him, though. Want to hear him talk. Want this night to never end.

“Always,” Faiz replies, his tone edged with a respectful bitterness. “To lead, to excel, to never step out of line.” He pauses, gazing at the stars as if they hold counsel. “It’s why this,” he gestures vaguely around us, encompassing the palace, the gardens, “all of it — it’s for Ali. So he knows love without conditions. I can’t give him the world… but at least I can give him a happy home here, in this little slice of existence.”

His words resonate deep within me, and I nod, feeling the weight of expectations I’ve carried too. “I understand what you mean about never being able to step out of line. The pressure to not disappoint — it can be suffocating. My parents always wanted me to be a doctor.”

“And you? Did you want it?”

I pause, not even sure how to answer. “Yes… Maybe?” I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s been hard to separate my actual wants from theirs. At this point, though, I am a doctor, and I know that I love it. Would I have chosen a different path for myself, though, if no one had been pushing me down this road?” I lift my face to the sky. “Maybe.”

We stop at a fountain, the trickling water mirroring the ebb and flow of our conversation. In the quiet, Faiz turns to face me, his eyes searching mine.

“Tara, there’s something I need to tell you.” His voice is low, almost hesitant. “From the first day we met, two years ago, I was drawn to you. Your strength, your grace — I found myself wanting to know you beyond the professional facade.”

I’m caught off guard, my heart racing at his confession. It’s one thing to sense an attraction; another to have it laid bare beneath the moonlight.

“Faiz, I—” The words catch in my throat, a tangle of emotions knotting together.

“I’ve kept people at a distance because of Ali.” He steps closer, his presence enveloping. “But with you, it’s different. I trust you, Tara.”

“Your secret,” I promise, the words barely above a cracked whisper, “is safe with me.”

His gaze holds mine, and I see the flicker of fear shadowed by hope. My heart flutters against my chest, a caged bird yearning for the freedom his words imply.

“Faiz,” I whisper, our breaths mingling in the space that no longer separates us.

He closes the gap, his fingers brushing my cheek with a tenderness I’ve never felt coming from him. The world narrows down to the two of us, to the moment his lips find mine. It’s a soft touch at first, a question asked with a gentle pressure. I answer without hesitation, deepening the kiss, affirming the truth we’ve both danced around for far too long.

Our kiss is a revelation, a shedding of reservations, a dive into waters both deep and unknown. I taste the honesty of his confession, the sweetness of hidden desires finally brought to light. There’s a hunger there, too, a yearning that mirrors my own — a connection unexplored yet undeniably present.

Eventually, reluctantly, we part, breathless. Faiz’s eyes search mine, seeking reassurance, perhaps even permission. I nod, the motion more felt than seen, and his hand finds mine, an anchor in the uncertainty.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rhythm of my pulse thrumming in my ears.

I let him lead me through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, past twelve-foot tapestries and gleaming marble, deeper into his world — and into the vulnerability of our burgeoning intimacy. We reach the door to his bedroom, a threshold that feels monumental, charged with the potential of what lies beyond.

Suddenly, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have… Let’s go back to the gardens?—”

“No.” I press my finger to his lips, my gaze locked onto his. “I don’t want to be anywhere but in here… with you.”

His throat rolls with a slow swallow. He’s nervous — a look I’m not used to seeing on him. There’s more there, too, though. I feel it in the air between us, an invisible tether bringing us together. What’s been growing between us can only be denied for so long, and now that we’ve jumped off the cliff, I have no intention of taking things slow. I want to dive headfirst into whatever comes next for the two of us.

“Yes,” I breathe out. It’s a leap of faith, a trust in the connection that has simmered beneath the surface for two years, a trust in the man who stands before me, raw and open.

His hands roam over me, igniting a fire that has been banked for too long. With each layer of clothing that falls away, it feels like shedding old fears, discarding them like garments on the floor. When we come together, it’s with a passion that’s all-consuming, a merging of souls as much as bodies.

We fall into bed, a tangle of limbs and whispered endearments. The outside world ceases to exist as we explore each other, learning the landscape of skin and sighs. Every touch is an affirmation, every kiss a seal on the vow we’ve silently made — to hold this secret, this moment, this unexpected connection, as closely as we hold each other now.