by Leslie North
Holly’s entire spine hardened, her jaw going tight with jealousy. Of course, having a baby—two babies—together didn’t mean marriage for the two of them. But a bitter taste flooded her mouth when she thought of seeing news coverage of Malik’s eventual wedding. She had a vision of herself walking with a stroller down a busy street in Qadir’s capital city, trying to ignore television screens displaying footage of the royal wedding. It was absurd—she didn’t have to stay here, to watch him get married—but even thinking about it felt like being pushed into a high fall.
Malik, marrying another woman? No.
You don’t have any claim on him, she told herself savagely. Even with two of his babies in your belly.
Yeesh. It gave Holly chills up and down her spine to think of things like babies in her belly. It had been so far off her radar for so long, and yet here she was, standing on the edge of a desert oasis, pregnant.
She breathed away the acid sting of jealousy and cleared her throat. Holly shaded her eyes with one hand and focused on the sunlight catching on the surface of the water. “How does custody work in Qadir?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malik shift positions. “In Qadir,” he began with a note of caution in his voice. “If there’s a custody dispute between partners, and one of the partners is not from Qadir, the custody is awarded to the citizen parent by the Qadiri courts.”
“That’s assuming the child is born in Qadir, right?”
“Yes.” The word fell slowly from between Malik’s lips. “I would prefer that the babies be born in Qadir. It would make the most sense, considering you’ll be moving here.”
“Will I?” Holly kept her tone lighter than air. An ugly fight over custody was something she’d only witnessed on television, but she didn’t want one. “I haven’t made up my mind about that.” Now she couldn’t help but look at Malik. He had turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest, a look on his face that she registered as somewhere between regal and pissed.
“Maybe I could visit Qadir a couple of times per year, and you could visit the States an equal amount,” she offered, even though part of her wanted to storm off into the oasis and never return.
Malik frowned. “I won’t be content with being a part-time father. You’ll have a suite of rooms in the palace for you and the children.” There was no room for argument in his voice, and Holly swallowed hard. What would that be like when they were living in the reality of Holly in the palace and Malik with a wife who wasn’t her? Would he think of her as the other woman? Would she cause friction between him and the woman he loved? How would the twins react, once they were old enough to understand? She felt a bitter laugh rise from her gut but didn’t let it out into the world. The twins wouldn’t know any different, she realized. It would be a life of working to co-parent them peacefully while burning up with envy.
“I’m going to take a walk.” She made her way out from under the tent and across the sand to the trees before Malik could argue with her. He didn’t call after her.
It was hotter near the trees, but Holly felt chilled to the bone. It was hitting her all over again. Not only had she lost out on her chance to make partner at Clifton’s firm, she didn’t have a job at all now. At the very least, she would need to immerse herself in an intense job hunt as soon as possible, all while navigating the early months of pregnancy. Finding a position in her field was going to get more difficult by the hour. People in the property development world ran in tight circles, and once word got out about her firing, the news would spread at the speed of the Internet. She had no doubt that the circumstances would get out, too.
Holly stepped closer to the edge of the water and cringed. Her time with Malik had seemed to her to take place outside of their working relationship. Time and again, he’d steered them to more personal territory. Maybe staying in Qadir was her only real chance to start over.
Or…maybe she should go back and try to talk business with Malik again. Would it be an absurd long shot? Yes, it would. But if she could make the case for Clifton’s firm as the best option for the royal family—with zero mention of the oasis ever again—Clifton might take her back. Perhaps he’d let her work from Qadir on the projects.
She laughed out loud, the sound bouncing back at her from the surface of the water. God, what a mess. What an enormous, terrible mess.
The angle of the sun caught her eye. The way it came through the trees near the water like this tugged at something in her heart. It was the kind of scene she’d love for her desk back in New York City. By the time they touched down, naturally, her things would have been packed up and sent to her apartment. Even so, she’d have to get a new desk at some point. A photo like this could serve as a reminder of how not to screw things up.
She pulled out her phone to take some pictures.
“What are you doing?”
Holly wheeled around to find Malik standing behind her, eyes fiery.
“The light is beautiful down here.” What was he so mad about? He had been even keeled during their brief discussion of custody. “I like the way it filters through the trees.”
“I think you like the idea of this area as one of your own projects, even though I’ve told you time and again that this is not up for debate. Stop taking scouting photos of property belonging to my future wife.”
Holly dropped her hand to her pocket. “All right.” It hurt like a heart attack, hearing those words out of his mouth.
“It’s time to go.”
Malik marched back toward the black SUV. Holly followed. She clenched her teeth to keep her chin in place. There would be no tears—not in front of Malik. Not in front of anyone.
He held the door open for her with a flat expression, shutting it tightly the moment she was inside. Malik climbed in on the other side. “Back to the palace,” he told the driver in an icy tone.
The drive was so silent that the air inside the car pressed against Holly’s eardrums. Or maybe it was the effort of keeping every emotion locked down. It was excruciating work, forcing those sobs to the pit of her gut.
That had all gone so horribly wrong. Holly turned her analytical mind to the situation, but her heart kept flashing back to all the moments she’d had with Malik. The lovely moments hurt most of all. When had they taken such an awful turn? Which decision would she change in order to redirect any of it?
It didn’t matter. She stared at the city blocks going by outside the window. It didn’t matter, because the past couldn’t be changed.
Malik hopped out of his seat as soon as the SUV came to a stop and went inside the palace without another word.
She waited as long as she could bear it—five long, slow breaths—before she followed, rushing down the halls at top speed so that nobody would see her cry.
13
Malik’s pulse beat like a drum in his ears, so loud that it blocked out the voices of everyone who spoke to him on the way back to his rooms. That was probably for the best. He felt the boundary of his self-control sizzling against his skin. Malik had never been the kind of man who was prone to outbursts, and as the crown prince he’d always known that his reactions should be beyond reproach.
It hadn’t worked out that way at the oasis. The back of his neck was hot with the shame of how he’d reacted to seeing her take those photos. He had every right to be irritated, even angry, but to speak to her that way had been wrong.
Still, he wrestled with the awful twisting sensation of betrayal like it was a rough rope between his palms. Holly had still been trying to get that property for her company. Clearly, she’d been in it for the professional accolades all along. He’d been in it because of his feelings for her. He should have known. He should have known that Holly wasn’t the type of woman who wanted a romance that didn’t come with other benefits.
He walked blindly into his suite and shut the door behind him, breathing hard.
That wasn’t a fair assessment of her, and he knew it. It had all been a whirlwind. She had come to Qadir for work. And
she was passionate about her job. He’d known that from the moment he first saw her. She hadn’t been in the tent five minutes before she was back out in the field, making plans with a sheen of excitement in her eyes. He emptied his lungs slowly, deliberately, trying to steady himself. All the habits he’d built up over a lifetime as crown prince came together, and his thoughts quieted…even if the ache in his chest got sharper.
He took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed his father’s office. Malik wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t going to barge in and demand attention.
Hasim’s secretary picked up on the first ring. “Sheikh Hasim’s private line,” she said smoothly.
“It’s Malik. Is he there?”
“Yes, he is. Should I let him know you’re coming?”
“I’m on my way.”
Three minutes later, Malik stepped through the door of his father’s office to find him already waiting in one of four chairs grouped around a low table. A tray sat in the center with a teapot and two cups, and Hasim poured the first while Malik made his way over and sat down. It looked like Hasim had been reviewing some paperwork—a black binder was perched near the edge of the table.
“Just in time for tea,” Hasim said easily. “I thought you were out of the palace today.”
“No. Just the morning.”
His father looked up at him across the table. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Malik. I can see your struggle written on your face.”
Malik wanted to ask his father if he’d been the one to tell Clifton about Holly’s pregnancy. He wanted to trace the path from the call he’d made to Amina to the moment when Holly had been fired. But that was all a distraction from the real issue: the wound at the center of his chest. It was not going to be pleasant to admit that he, a grown man, couldn’t make a decision about Holly’s motives by himself. It would be less pleasant to stew in it all night. Or for the rest of his life.
“I discovered this morning that Holly Remington, from Clifton Berber’s firm, is pregnant with my child,” he said bluntly.
His father nodded as if Malik had told him that there’d been a change in the weather forecast. Malik took this as a signal to continue, so he told him more about Holly. How she’d always been interested in the oasis as a development property. How he’d wanted something with her that had nothing to do with her job. The words spilled out, one after the other, until every pent-up feeling Malik had was laid bare for his father.
“Have you thought about what’s more important to you?” Hasim posed the question in the same even voice he’d used when Malik had been in school and thought that his teenager’s problems were the biggest he’d face in his life. “It seems to me that your choice is between your personal vision for the oasis and the mother of your children.”
“Does it?” Malik hadn’t thought of it that way, but if his father did, then he’d begin there. “In that case, what do I do? Do I marry the mother of my children and refuse to honor mother’s wishes? Do I marry her and let her have her way with the oasis? Or do I work out some other arrangement that doesn’t involve marriage at all?”
“I would start by separating the issue of the oasis from your feelings for Holly.”
Malik blinked at him. “My feelings for her?”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes,” Malik said instantly, knowing the truth of it down to his bones. Of course it was true. He loved her—that’s why it stung so deeply that she’d still wanted to build a skyscraper at the oasis, despite what he wanted. He loved her, and he wanted her to see him the same way. He wanted her by his side. He didn’t want to go to battle about this kind of thing.
Hasim picked up the black binder. “Before you make your decision, I’d suggest taking a look at this.”
Malik took the binder from him. It was heavier than it looked, and he flipped open the front cover to reveal a presentation printed on thick, glossy paper.
“A PROPOSAL FROM BERBER INC.,” read the first page. “Prepared by Holly Remington, Associate, for the Royal Family of Qadir.”
His heart twisted at the sight of her name…and at the date written on the third line. It had been officially submitted just yesterday, when Holly had arrived back in Qadir. Before he’d learned about the pregnancy.
“I don’t want to look at this. She doesn’t understand about the oasis, and she won’t understand the way we want things done at the other sites, either.”
Hasim shot Malik a look that was pure skepticism. “How do you know, my son? You haven’t reviewed the presentation.”
“Fine.”
Malik flipped the first page. He scanned the first rendering, which was a sketch of a plan for one the sites the family had been hoping to develop.
What was he looking at?
All along, Malik had been preparing himself to see something like the cityscape in Dubai. Towering, modern buildings. The mile-high buildings his brother had mentioned seeing in Clifton Berber’s portfolio. Something out of the future.
Holly’s proposal was nothing like that.
The buildings themselves seemed like a natural extension of the desert, and Malik immediately recognized clues from the ancient architecture that formed the core of most of the buildings in the city—stonework meant to reflect heat during the day and keep warmth inside during the nights when the temperatures dropped, colorful touches of tile work…all of it was modern, but felt so familiar to Malik that he ran his fingertips over the paper, trying to absorb that feeling through his skin.
And that wasn’t all.
The notations for the designs pointed out all the ways the developments themselves worked in tandem with the environment, leaving as much of the natural landscape intact as possible. Every building had been designed with conservation in mind, with solar panels blended into the rooftops. All of them incorporated local materials. He flipped through the pages, looking at the plans for one site then another. Again and again, he saw Holly’s thoughtfulness written there in every word about solar and wind power and water recycling, about green buildings and carbon footprints, and about responsible construction from reputable sources.
But what struck Malik to his core as he looked through the vividly colored renderings weren’t all the cutting-edge additions that had been carefully added at every available juncture.
It was the focus on the people.
Each of the development sites had been imagined with the people of Qadir in mind. Each benefit could be directly tied to improving the lives of the people who would live and work in and near the sites. Holly had proposed uses for almost all of them that put the public first.
“The soul of Qadir lives in the people who will use these spaces,” read the last page of the proposal. He could practically hear Holly’s voice saying this as part of her presentation. “While increasing revenue is a priority, our firm takes pride in ensuring that the traditional bond between the royal family and the people served by that family comes first.”
Malik looked up into his father’s eyes. Hasim arched one eyebrow above the cup of tea he’d lifted to his lips.
“Thank you,” Malik said. “I have to go.”
He had been so wrong about her. So wrong. He had mistaken her professional drive for a dogged selfishness, when in fact Holly had been good at her job. Extremely good at her job. Holly had taken in everything Malik and his brothers had ever said, she’d studied the local culture and traditions, and she’d woven all of it into every word and image of her proposal. He’d been a fool not to hear her ideas about the oasis.
He’d been a fool to let that come between them.
Malik strode to the door to Holly’s room, waiting for his breathing to slow. One, two, three breaths…
And then he noticed that the door was open.
Just an inch or two, but open, nonetheless.
He pushed it further.
The room was empty.
Malik’s heart crashed down to the floor. She’d gone—that much was clear. The curtains were thrown open,
the bed had been made, and there was no sign of her.
“Oh—Sheikh Malik.”
A maid stood at the bathroom door, a towel slung over her arm.
“Ms. Remington,” he said uselessly. “She’s left the palace?”
“Yes.” The maid, Shamsa, furrowed her brow. “But she left something behind.” She walked over to the desk by the window and slid open a drawer. “Must have been out of sight, out of mind.” She handed Malik a slim tablet.
“I’ll make sure this gets to her.”
She dipped her head and left.
Malik pressed the button on the front of the tablet, and the screen sprang to life. It wasn’t locked, which must mean it wasn’t a work device. But it opened to an app for creating presentations. His heart skipped a beat. The screen read, “The Faiza Abdul-Rahman Center for the Arts.” Named for his mother.
It was like Malik’s thoughts had been whisked onto paper by a magic wand. The document was full of pictures and sketches. Photos from the marketplace, one of him playing soccer with the children, plants, the expanse of the desert.
And the sketches.
They came after a series of pictures of the oasis and there, in vivid color, was Holly’s idea for the oasis.
A series of low buildings seemed to rise from the sand beneath them, each one for a different purpose. An art gallery. A series of indoor-outdoor spaces to paint. A small auditorium for lectures and theatre productions. One building featured a community gathering space, complete with a kitchen. All of it was designed to leave as much of the oasis untouched as possible while making space for people to come together.
It was, as the notes read, a space for teaching, learning, and sharing among the citizens of Qadir in the midst of the nation’s greatest natural treasure.
Malik rushed into the hallway in time to see the maid step out of the next guest suite. “Shamsa,” he said. “Do you know where Ms. Remington went?”
