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

21. Faiz

CHAPTER 21

FAIZ

“ I s Tara sad?” Ali’s voice, small and concerned, pierces through my introspection.

I’ve been standing on the back deck for I don’t know how long, waiting for my pulse to calm down and my breathing to steady. It might have been a few minutes or an hour since Tara left. Time seems to have twisted in on itself.

I turn to Ali, kneeling to be eye level with his innocent face. “Why do you ask, buddy?”

“She wasn’t normal Tara, Baba. When she left, she said goodbye to me, but she looked so sad.” He frowns, and in his gaze, I see the reflection of my own turmoil.

I draw in a breath, tasting the copper tang of regret. “She might be a little sad, yes.”

“Will she come back soon? Can we make her happy again?” His earnest plea tugs at something deep within me, something raw and tender.

“I don’t know, Ali,” I admit. “She probably won’t be by anytime soon.”

I should cancel our contract. Pay her a severance bonus. Make it as clean of a break as possible. Hire a new doctor, or ask Ali’s old one if he can come by more often.

The thought of Tara never stepping through my front doors again crushes my heart, especially with the taste of her lips still lingering on my tongue. She already spoke her piece, though, and there’s no taking it back. If I were to keep her in my life, she would always question my choices, wouldn’t she? Always push the envelope.

“Please, Baba.” Ali’s tiny hands grasp mine, his doe-like eyes wide and pleading. “I want to see Tara.”

The request breaks something in me, cracks the wall of strength I’ve clung to for years. Guilt swells, a tide threatening to drown me, as I recall the sharpness in my voice this morning, the way I pushed Tara away. Ali doesn’t understand the nuances of the situation, only that someone he cares about is hurt — and it’s because of me.

“Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Retreating to the quiet of my study, I pick up my phone, hesitating only a moment before composing the message to my parents. Each tap on the screen feels scary, leaving me wondering if I’m doing the right thing while also knowing there’s no other choice. Ali and I both want Tara in our lives, and it’s up to me to make it work.

One way or another.

Would you please invite Dr. Hague to the weekly family dinner tonight? I ask my parents in the group text, knowing full well the confusion this may stir up.

My family remains blissfully unaware of the intricate web of secrets I’ve woven — of Tara’s true role in my life, of Ali’s existence. But tonight, I need to start making amends, even if it means inviting scrutiny.

Of course, Faiz. Is everything well with your health? comes the swift reply from my mother.

Everything’s fine , I lie smoothly, hating the ease with which deception flows from me.

Consider it done. We always enjoy Tara’s company , my father responds.

I set down the phone, both relief and anxiety churning in my gut. Tonight, I must face Tara — as a man who has allowed fear to dictate his actions for far too long. And perhaps, hopefully, I can begin to mend the rift between us.

My parents and brother wonder why I’m on time for once, of course. They are also too polite to ask, although Hamza makes a joke about it. I resist poking back at him, though, and keep my expression cool and collected. Yes, I’m here for Tara — but that’s none of his business.

“Tara should be here any minute.” My mother sips her wine. We have yet to sit down for dinner, as our guest is not here yet.

I nod and feign indifference, though not because I don’t want anyone to know I have feelings for Tara. At this point, it’s merely my go-to habit. I keep myself at arm’s length with everyone, keep my emotions and thoughts hidden away.

I want that to change. With Tara. For Tara.

She’s waking something up within me, a piece of myself that I didn’t think existed.

There’s a knock on the door, and then there she is — Tara. Walking in like a vision in a flowing dress, her hair piled on top of her head.

Relief floods through me so powerfully it’s a physical ache. But tonight, there’s something off; her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and her usual confidence seems tempered by an invisible weight. There are hellos all around, with Tara only glancing at me. She must be surprised to see me here — but of course she is.

We haven’t spoken since she left my home earlier. I felt it best to wait until seeing her in person to speak, and since I wasn’t even sure whether or not she would agree to see me, here we are. The two of us brought together by the family dinners I usually do my hardest to avoid.

The five of us make our way to the dining room table, and Tara slides into her seat, her gaze skittering away from mine, dodging the silent conversation I’m desperate to have.

“What a wonderful evening already.” My mother smiles big. “Faiz and Tara, it is so lovely to have you both here.”

“Thank you for having me,” Tara replies, her tone practiced but cool.

I try to focus on the meal, on the hum of conversation, but Hamza’s piercing gaze keeps drawing me back. He watches me with an intensity that speaks of suspicion, the sharpness emanating from him more like a hawk than anything else. Does he sense the shift in the air? Can he see the guilt etched in the lines of my face? I don’t care what Hamza thinks, not right now. But his scrutiny is a reminder of the precariousness of my position.

Dinner drags on, each course marking down the time until I can speak to Tara alone. She’s cordial, answering questions about her work, yet the tension in her shoulders tells a different story. The tension between us feels ridiculously painful, and I despise the necessity of maintaining this facade in front of my family.

Finally, the meal is over, and the moment I’ve been waiting for arrives. While Hamza and my parents drift to the patio, I nod at Tara, asking her to hang back with me. She bites her lip but doesn’t hesitate, and immediately my heart jumps with glee. That is a good sign, yes?

We slip away, my family not even noticing. It feels wild and forbidden, exciting and scary. What if she turns me down? What will I do then? Go back home to Ali and tell him I’m sorry… I tried my best… this is all my fault?

In the quiet corridor, dimly lit by the soft glow of wall sconces, I turn to her. “Tara,” I start, my voice cracking over her name. “I’m sorry for this morning — for pushing you away. For telling you that you were overstepping.”

Her expression is carefully guarded. “Faiz, you can’t keep…” She lowers her voice to the slightest whisper. “You can’t keep him hidden away forever.”

“I know.” My words are also a whisper, a concession I’ve battled against for too long. “I’ve known for a while, but accepting it… it’s hard.” I reach out tentatively, my fingers brushing against hers. “I just need a little more time.”

Tara looks at me, really looks at me, and in that moment, I see the understanding in her eyes — the kind that comes from shared secrets and unspoken bonds. “I understand,” she assures me, her voice soft but resolute.

My hand finds hers, and it’s like electricity, that touch, grounding and igniting all at once.

“Please,” I whisper against the softness of her cheek, my lips just shy of touching skin, “come to my home soon. Ali misses you. And” — it catches in my throat, the admission of my own need — “so do I.”

There’s a pause, an intake of breath, and then I feel her nod against the palm I’ve cupped around her jaw. “I’ll be there tomorrow,” she promises, her voice steady but her pulse fluttering madly under my touch.

The relief floods through me, swift and staggering. Before I can stop myself, I close the gap between us, sealing the promise with a kiss that feels both stolen and infinitely precious. Her lips are a balm, soothing the raw edges of my fears and regrets.

In the embrace of shadows, we linger for an instant, two hearts synced in silent understanding. Tomorrow, another day, another chance — for her, for Ali, for me. For us.