7. Tara
CHAPTER 7
TARA
I t’s early. Too early to be up. Yet here I am, sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop perched in front of me. My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitant. The cursor blinks back at me, prodding me to type in the search terms that might unravel the mystery of Ali’s parentage.
“Faiz Al-Rashid son,” I murmur as I punch the keys, and then I pause. “Ali Al-Rashid mother?”
But the internet, like a sealed vault, offers no clues. Pages of official royal statements and philanthropy work line my screen, a meticulously curated image devoid of scandal. If there was ever a leak — a hint of Faiz’s potential indiscretions — it’s been cleansed away with ruthless efficiency.
Maybe my hunch about Ali being Faiz’s son is wrong, and Ali’s parents work for Faiz. But that begs the question: where were they yesterday?
A sigh escapes me, the weight of unanswered questions pressing on my chest. Where is Ali’s mother? If she’s not around, does he ask about her? Are even his best days tinged with the shadow of her absence?
Giving up on sleuthing, I get dressed for the day and go about my housework. My phone is silent, meaning I’m not needed at the main palace. I suppose that’s good. No one there will be wondering where I am, what I’m getting up to, what I have to do with Faiz’s strange life.
I do have one place to be, though. Back at Faiz’s. Back to check on Ali.
I’m both dreading and looking forward to setting foot back in that massive home. While I want to see Ali — and still Faiz, despite trying to talk myself out of it — I also know that whatever this situation is at their palace, it’s complicated. Just by knowing them, I’m inextricably involved.
At Faiz’s, the guard opens the gate the moment he sees me. This time there’s a wave but no smile, which I suppose is fine. I’m not here to make friends. I never was good at that anyway.
Faiz is on the front steps, his hands in his pants pockets, his eyebrows furrowed, a slight frown on. My heart does a flip — is it Ali? Is he all right?
Parking, I open the door and call to Faiz over the hood of the car. “Is everything okay?”
He looks surprised by my question. “Yes. Why?”
“Because…” I trail off, biting my lip. So, that’s just going to be his normal expression when he looks at me now. Got it. “Never mind. How are you?”
He hesitates before answering, his gaze still locked on me in that intense, brooding way. “I’m… fine.”
It’s the kind of “fine” that’s shrouded in questions left unasked and answers that lie in wait. But I decide not to probe. This isn’t about Faiz or his secrets or the mystery that paints this palace with shades of intrigue. Today, it’s about Ali.
Grabbing my bag, I walk up to him. His gaze feels like a tether on my face, drawing me closer with each step, a knot around me that I couldn’t untie if I wanted to.
Not that I want to.
“You look nice,” he suddenly says.
I stop on the step next to him, shocked. It’s the closest thing to sweet that he’s ever said to me. “Oh. Um… Thank you,” I manage to reply, looking down to hide the blush blooming on my cheeks.
His compliment shouldn’t bear any weight to it — it doesn’t mean anything beyond simple politeness. Yet, his words seem to echo in my ears, adding an unusual note of warmth to his cold demeanor.
“Is Ali awake?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation away from the unexpected compliment.
Too late, I realize that’s exactly the opposite of what I want to do. I’d rather continue this delicate moment, hold on to this olive branch he’s extended me. But I’m a mess, no good with my words unless they involve data and prescriptions. I’ve been putting my foot in my mouth since I could talk, and that doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.
“Yes.” Something flickers across his face. Disappointment?
I can’t tell. Without another word, he turns and leads me inside.
This time, we don’t see anyone on the way to Ali’s room. I’m sure the staff is around somewhere, but the house is big enough that you probably wouldn’t hear someone yelling from the other end of it.
“Dr. Tara!” Ali’s brown eyes light up at the sight of me, and for a moment, the whole world seems a little lighter.
I’ve always loved children, and Ali, with his irrepressible spirit and radiant smile, is impossible not to adore.
“Hey, Ali.” I smile, setting my medical bag down. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better!” He shows off his bravery like a badge of honor, but the faint pallor of his skin betrays him.
“Good to hear.” I check his vitals — steady; improved — and then offer Faiz a small bottle of probiotics. “These will help his gut recover from the antibiotics,” I explain, meeting his gaze only because it would be rude not to.
It’s even harder to look at him now, following that compliment outside. Even though I know he didn’t mean anything by it — he was only being polite — it shook loose the crush that I’ve been trying so hard to stuff away. Plus, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take a little extra time getting ready today… specifically because I was coming here.
“Thank you,” Faiz says, his voice low, always measured.
His fingers brush against mine as he takes the bottle — a barely-there touch that still sends a jolt through me. I pull away, professional boundaries snapping back into place.
“Make sure he takes one with every meal,” I add, packing away my stethoscope.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, and I look over to see a small, older woman entering. She peeks into the room with concern then flashes a smile at me.
“Amina!” Ali says. “This is Doctor… Doctor Tara.”
“Amina is Ali’s governess,” Faiz explains, and I’m more than a little surprised to hear the answer come from him. What happened to essentially demanding that I don’t talk to anyone here?
“He’s been looking forward to your visit,” Amina tells me.
“Thank you for taking such good care of him,” I reply, my gaze flickering to Faiz, who stands quiet by the doorway. His expression is unreadable, but the slight tension in his shoulders tells a tale of vigilance and concern.
“Ali is easy to love,” Amina says, returning her attention to the boy now tugging at my sleeve, eager for more of my presence.
“Can we play, Dr. Tara?” Ali’s large brown eyes mirror Faiz’s, but whereas Faiz’s are often shuttered, Ali’s are wide-open windows to his soul.
“Maybe next time, buddy,” I say, ruffling his hair. “Right now you need to rest and get better. I also have to talk to Faiz for a bit.”
“Okay.” He looks disappointed, but when Amina pulls a short stack of comic books from her bag, his eyes light up. Attention diverted.
As I stand, Faiz’s eyes lock onto mine, a command ushering me to follow him.
“Care for a drink?” he asks in the hallway.
At first I don’t understand. A drink? The two of us together? I would have expected to see pigs fly before he ever invited me to such a thing.
“Sure,” I manage, even though it’s too early for me to be drinking. “That sounds nice.”
We walk several hallways to his study — a place built of rich mahogany and leather-bound books. I try to find something to say as he pours two glasses of scotch with practiced precision, but it’s like my brain just isn’t working right. I can’t think straight at all around this man.
“Please,” he gestures toward the leather chair opposite his desk, his formality making it feel like the old ocean has filled up between us yet again.
“Thank you,” I accept, perching on the edge of the cushion. My fingers curl around the glass, and I’m glad that I at least have something to hold on to.
“Ali really does seem to be doing better,” I venture, watching the amber liquid swirl in my drink.
“Yes, thanks to you.” He leans against the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. He’s only relaxing in his home, but he looks like he could have been ripped from the spread of a magazine.
I take a small sip, the scotch smooth but potent, mirroring the man before me. As I lower my glass, I catch him observing me, his gaze lingering just a beat too long, causing my pulse to quicken.
Is it the scotch or his nearness that sends a flush creeping up my neck? I pray it’s the former. My skin burns under his scrutiny, and I focus on the patterns in the grain of his desk, willing myself to retain composure.
“Ali’s lucky to have someone as dedicated as Amina,” I say, deflecting the intensity of the moment.
“Indeed,” he replies, his tone softening. “She has been with us for many years.”
The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable anymore, but still charged. There’s more coming; he invited me in here for a reason. But I’m fine with sitting here and waiting. I take another sip, letting the warmth spread through me.
His eyes, dark and unreadable, fix on mine as he sits in the chair nearest mine, the leather creaking softly under his weight.
“Ali is my son,” he says quietly, the simple admission heavy with implications that ripple through the space between us.
Ah. There it is.
So many pieces fall into place — the guarded demeanor, the constant vigilance. Faiz is unmarried, and he always has been. I understand now the fortress he has built around himself, an armor wrought from secrecy and fear of scandal.
“Does your family know?” My voice is barely above a whisper, afraid to shatter the tenuous thread of trust that weaves itself between us.
I don’t know why I’m asking. I suspect I already know the answer. Even if they were also keeping Ali a secret, surely they would come and visit the boy? That can’t be the case, though. I know for a fact, thanks to what the main palace staff has said, that Faiz hasn’t invited anyone to his home in over five years. Every time his parents ask to visit, he comes up with some sort of excuse.
“No.” The word slices through the air, final and resolute. “And it must remain that way.”
I nod, though I don’t understand. Not really. Finding out this truth has only led to more questions. Why is it that he feels he can’t trust his family with Ali? What is it that they would do?
Is it merely because Faiz isn’t married? Is he ashamed to have had a child out of wedlock? Worried his parents would be disappointed in him?
I want to ask about Ali’s mother, to understand the full breadth of this story, but I hold back. It’s not my place — not yet.
He clears his throat, shifting in his seat as if to dispel the heaviness. “Tara, would you consider… extending your role here? To become the palace doctor for my family as well? I would pay you in addition to what my father is paying you. With discretion in mind, of course.”
“You wish me to not tell your family I’m working for you,” I clarify.
He hesitates a moment before nodding.
“Ah.”
“Is that a dealbreaker?” he asks.
I think about it for a moment. If it weren’t for Ali, perhaps. Now that I’ve met the boy, though, and he’s my patient, I feel somewhat responsible for him. I still don’t have the entire picture of what his life is like in this palace, and until I do, I welcome the opportunity to be able to keep an eye on him.
Despite the guilt that nibbles at the edges of my conscience for keeping Faiz’s secret from my main employers, I also realize that my duty to patient confidentiality comes first.
“Yes, I accept,” I reply, the words firm and certain.
I’m grateful, not just for the professional opportunity, but for the chance to be closer to Ali. The boy with the bright smile who deserves to know the world beyond these walls.
“I’ll do my best for your family,” I add, my heart fluttering at the knowledge that this family includes Faiz. This means I’ll be seeing more of him as well.
“Thank you, Tara,” he says, and there’s a softness in his voice I haven’t heard before. It’s a rare glimpse behind the mask he wears, and it makes me wonder what else lies hidden beneath his stoic exterior.
We raise our glasses in a silent toast, the clink echoing softly in the room. As the scotch warms my throat, I’m aware of the burden of the secrets we’re now bound by. But for Ali, for this child who knows nothing of the burdens he carries, I am resolved to keep them.