Haunted for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 15)

by Annabelle Winters

  “I do not know. I have sent the doctor away,” Fatima said, moving slowly over to the table and choosing a large piece of almond brittle made with camel milk and cane sugar. “I did not like him.”

  Hakeem took a breath and folded his arms across his chest. “Mother does not like doctors who tell her things she does not want to hear,” he said to Liv.

  “Well,” said Liv, “what’s the point of being a queen if you can’t eat cake all day? And fire doctors who tell you not to? Besides, you’re figuring out ways to live forever, aren’t you? A pill here, some syrup there, and boom: immortality!”

  “Ya Allah,” the Sheikh grunted, shaking his head. “I should not have brought you two together. All right. I can see I am outnumbered. Go on, Liv. Humor my mother and try some of those atrociously sweet things.” He grunted again as he walked with Liv over to the table and eyed the heaping platters of treats. “If the devil is anywhere, it is in this plate of camel-milk cookies.”

  “I’d better try one then,” Liv said, taking her pick and biting into it, cupping her hand to catch the crumbs. “Oh, my God. Sinfully good! So rich and creamy. Soft and perfect! My compliments to the chef!”

  “In the end, Allah is the only chef,” Fatima said, raising her arms, palms upturned, muttering a quick Arabic prayer beneath her breath and looking up at the ceiling. She paused a moment, still chewing some brittle as she finished her prayer. Then she looked directly at the Sheikh, her dark eyes focused, as if she knew exactly why he was here.

  “Mother,” he said, taking a breath as he felt the blood rush to his face. How was he going to ask her about this? It suddenly seemed so crazy. But the hesitation was not because he was worried she might not believe him—it was because he did not want to give the old woman the chance to say, “I told you so!”

  “You do not need to explain,” Fatima said, waving him off and turning to Liv. The old Sheikha leaned forward, reaching out and touching the pendant that Liv had put back on. “You are here because of this. You want to understand. You believe, but you still do not understand. Yes?”

  The Sheikh could see Liv almost choke on her cookie, and he stepped forward and took a breath as he stood by her side and faced his mother. “What do you know about this? Is this your doing? Are you somehow behind this? Speak, mother! It is time.”

  “Time?” said Fatima, calmly chewing her brittle and smiling, her teeth brown with the sticky treat. “What do you know about time? Nothing! You have dedicated your life to defeating time as if it is an enemy when in fact it is just an illusion.”

  The Sheikh rolled his eyes and sighed. “Ya Allah, here we go. My mother the physicist, chemist, and philosopher all in one.”

  “Mock me if you want. I do not care.” Fatima wiped her mouth with a silk napkin and tossed the soiled cloth aside as she turned and faced Liv. “What do you believe, Olivia?”

  Liv blinked, glancing at the Sheikh and then back at his mother. “About what?”

  “All of it. This. That. Everything,” said Fatima.

  “That’s kind of a broad question,” Liv said slowly.

  “All right. Start with this,” said the old Sheikha, pulling the pendant away from Liv’s body and then letting it fall back. “By now you know it is the symbol of Antaraksha, one of the fallen.”

  “The fallen?” said Liv.

  Fatima sighed. “Do not pretend. You know as well as I do what I mean. The fallen. Every so-called demon was an angel to begin with. That is what the Quran and the Bible and every other religious text says about the origin of these entities. Yes?”

  The Sheikh watched as Liv took a slow, shuddering breath. “Yes,” she said softly.

  “Which means that you understand that every so-called demon was once divine, which means it still contains the essence of the divine within it. Yes?”

  Liv hesitated, and then she shrugged. “I suppose. All right. Yes. I guess that makes sense.”

  “And whether you are a Christian or a Muslim, if you believe that God is all-powerful, then you acknowledge that at some level, even these demons are God’s creatures, yes?”

  Liv stayed quiet, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Fatima.

  Fatima took a step closer. “You wear this symbol even though you know what it is, do you not? Why?”

  Liv stared down at the pendant, blinking and then looking back up. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Because it is a symbol of your conflict. The conflict of every demon that is haunted by the knowledge of the divine at the core of its darkness. And that is also the conflict of every human, beginning with the fall from grace, when we were evicted from the Garden of Eden. That conflict defines the goal of every human, of mankind in general: To find a way back to the Garden of Eden, to that state of grace, to become one with the divine within us.” Fatima took a breath, glancing over at her son with a strange look in her eye. “You have questions, and although I can answer them, I will not. You have to walk the path, find your way back to the Garden together. The clues are right there, hanging around her neck, sprinkled throughout your lives, in the choices you both made, the choices made for you.”

  The Sheikh felt a chill rise up along his spine as he watched his mother slowly turn and glance toward the open balcony as the warm desert breeze played with her flowing black robes like it was all a game, all an act, a scene in a grand play that was unfolding on the greatest of stages.

  “Mother,” he said. “What are you talking about? Mother? Mother!”

  Fatima turned her head halfway, her dark eyes almost invisible, they were so narrowed. “Ya Allah, do you not see?” she whispered, still walking toward that open balcony. “We are the fallen! We are the demons! We are Satan! And this is hell! Is it not beautiful?”

  And before the Sheikh could get to her, the old woman broke into a dead run, leaping over the sandstone parapet of the balcony like she had wings, the wings of an angel, the wings of a demon.

  18

  Liv pulled her head-covering closer around her face as she watched Hakeem recite the Arabic words at the prompting of one of the three clerics on the funeral platform. The entire capital city of Ramaan had gathered to mourn the Sheikha’s passing, and Liv was seated in the front section along with the women of the court. A few of them had glanced at her with curiosity, but mostly they kept their heads down.

  She’d barely spoken after that shocking scene with Fatima, when the woman had launched herself off the goddamn balcony in the middle of the afternoon! What the hell was that?! Who does that?! And after eating almond brittle?! Had she been planning it all along? Was it a moment of senility? A long festering madness? What. The. Hell.

  The clues are there for you to follow, she’d said to them. You have to find your way back to the Garden together.

  What did she mean, Liv wondered as she listened to the lilting voices of the clerics as they recited the funeral prayers. And all that stuff about us being the fallen? Did she mean all humans? Maybe. Liv had heard theories like that, viewpoints that the world of flesh and blood was in fact the hell talked about in scripture. There was no fiery pit—this was the fiery pit!

  She fingered the pendant again, thinking back to what Fatima had said about the clue hanging around her neck. Again the thought came to her about Steve’s strange murder. A son perhaps sacrificed by his own parents!

  Then God said to him, Take your son, your only son . . . and sacrifice him.

  Liv gasped when the verse from Genesis, the parable of Abraham, Rebekah, and Isaac, came to mind without warning, and she blinked as she suddenly felt cold even though the desert sun was beaming down in all its fire and fury. Was that what Steve’s parents were doing?! Sacrificing a son for God?! Not for Satan, but for God?! Or whatever their idea of God was . . .

  Maybe. Perhaps. But still, why give her this pendant? This symbol? And why was she still wearing it? Why did she ever wear it?

&nb
sp; Liv stared at the Sheikh as he sat on the funeral platform on his throne, his green eyes focused on some faroff point. He’d been particularly interested in the symbol, hadn’t he? Indeed, he’d appeared to recognize it. And clearly Fatima knew exactly what it was. So was it this symbol that was tying all of them together? The essence of this particular “demon” that was manifesting itself in the patterns of their lives?

  The choices you both made. The choices made for you . . .

  Liv felt a sickness rise up in her, and she hunched over as she wondered what the hell was happening. Heatstroke? Dehydration?

  “Excuse me,” she muttered, standing up and making her way past the rows of seated women. “I’m sorry. Excuse me. I just need to . . .”

  She managed to make it to one of the private restrooms that had been set up in tents for the women of the court before she got sick, and when she stared at herself in the mirror and dabbed her mouth with one of the towels handed to her by a veiled attendant, she saw it in her own eyes, read it all over her face, sensed it in her body, felt it in her womb.

  It had been less than a week since they’d made love like animals in that house, but somehow she knew what was growing inside her. She couldn’t possibly know this soon, and morning sickness wouldn’t happen this early; but still she knew. She was certain. As certain as anything.

  And God commanded Abraham and Rebekah: Sacrifice your only son . . .

  Oh, God, she thought as she almost collapsed on her feet. Is this a test? Am I being faced with the ultimate choice? Is that where this is heading?

  Give me your son . . .

  19

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  “I’m pregnant,” Liv said, trying to keep as straight a face as she could. She sucked in her cheeks, straightened her back, and stared at her reflection in the large oval mirror set against the wall in her chambers. “With your baby.”

  A shiver passed through her when she said the words “your baby.” It was almost like the words choked her as she spoke, like there was something inside her that was contesting that fact, contesting whose child it was, who got to claim the child as theirs.

  “Stop being ridiculous,” she said out loud as she prepared to rehearse how she’d tell Hakeem that she was carrying his child. “You’re still here, in his palace. Surely if he didn’t want to have anything to do with you, he’d have sent you packing.”

  But Liv knew she wasn’t being ridiculous. It had been two weeks and yes, she was indeed still here. But she’d barely seen the Sheikh since the day his mother died. The funeral ceremonies had stretched over five days, and she’d spent most of those days alone or with the women of the court, all of whom were polite and respectful but spoke almost no English. Her attendants seemed to understand her and her needs well enough (such as the fact that she really liked those camel-milk cookies . . .), but they might as well have been statues or robots, because they were silent as stone most of the time.

  As for the Sheikh . . . well, he hadn’t even kissed her since that first reckless encounter in that old house, and suddenly Liv felt a yearning to go back there. More than just a yearning: A desperation. A need.

  She blinked away tears as she looked into her own brown eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t understand why she was so messed up about it. Then she forced herself to smile and acknowledge that it was one hell of a mess and she had every reason to feel messed up!

  She’d slept with a man she barely knew. Now she was pregnant, ten thousand miles from home, and this guy had pretty much disappeared on her! Hakeem didn’t even take his meals with her anymore, and from what Liv could tell, he barely even ate.

  His mother just flung herself off a balcony in front of him like she was possessed or insane, she reminded herself. He’s depressed, traumatized, and confused.

  “So just cheer him up and tell him he’s gonna be a daddy!” she said out loud, trying to hold that smile on her face even as the tears rolled down her round cheeks.

  But she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t know what was going through the Sheikh’s mind right then, and she didn’t want to add to his stress. She’d tried to see him the previous night, walking like a thief through the massive hallways of the empty palace until she somehow found her way to the northern wing, the Sheikh’s chambers. But she’d been stopped at the massive teakwood double-doors by his attendants. They’d just shaken their heads and said, “Iidha qumt bitarjamat hdha, sa'ursil lak ktabana mjanyana,” which Liv figured was the Sheikh’s way of saying, “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

  “So I’ve been ghosted by a guy while living in his house the entire time,” Liv said, finally getting a real smile to break when she acknowledged how ridiculous the situation had gotten. Also she’d used the word “ghost” in a sentence.

  She thought of that house again, smiling and shaking her head when she remembered that it wasn’t her house—it was the Sheikh’s. She had nothing but her shitty apartment, a shiny red Mustang, and great shoes that would be out of style in six months.

  Still, there were some good points, right? It certainly seemed like she wasn’t going to lose her commission after all. That whole thing that had kicked this off seemed faraway and minor now, which meant she had a good chunk of change. She could pack her bags, head back to Raleigh, and get ready to be a kickass single mom, just like in the movies! Or from that TV show! Or from the pages of Cosmo or whatever it was that kickass single moms read while breastfeeding and riding motorcycles at the same time!

  “Hakeem knows where to find me,” she said out loud, tightening her jaw as she tried to steel her resolve. “He just needs to grieve for his mother, make sense of her death, and then he’ll get his head back in the game.”

  So which one is it, she asked herself as she shook her head and realized that hell, her head wasn’t in the game either. Are you making a decision to pull the plug and have this child on your own? Or are you walking away while looking back over your shoulder to make sure he’s coming after you? Are you going to tell him you’re carrying his child or let him find out on his own—which he will, eventually.

  “Unless he doesn’t even bother to look you up after you leave,” she said, shrugging and then puffing out her cheeks. “Maybe he never even returns to Raleigh. It seemed a bit strange that he’d set up shop there in the first place. Yeah, apparently a lot of good research happens in the area, but it can’t be that much different from other places with good universities.”

  Don’t be ridiculous, Liv told herself as she prepared to pack. Of course you need to tell him! And you need to do it now, before you leave! It’s by no means certain that the two of you will stay together—or that the two of you are actually together in the first place! But it’s only right to tell a man that he’s got a child on the way. Give him a chance to make his choice.

  So Liv took a breath and pulled on the velvet chain that summoned her chief attendant, a slim-bodied veiled woman with sharp eyes and excellent posture.

  “I need to see the Sheikh,” Liv said to the woman. “It’s important. Like, really important. Sheikh Hakeem. Now!”

  The attendant bowed her head and then shook it slowly. “Cannot,” she said in heavily accented English. “Sheikh says no.”

  “Sheikh will say yes soon enough, trust me,” Liv said. “Tell him . . . tell him I’m pregnant. With his child. His bastard child. His heir. His goddamn kid!”

  The attendant stared blankly at Liv, and Liv could tell that her rant hadn’t been understood. So she faced the attendant square on and made the motion of rocking a baby in her arms. She pointed to her belly, shrugged, and did the universal sign for “baby” again, and when the attendant’s eyes went wide, Liv knew she’d gotten through.

  Liv waited alone for almost an hour, every paranoid thought flashing through her head even as that image of the old Sheikha leaping off the balcony haunted her. What the hell was that?! It couldn’t have happened! It
didn’t happen! None of this was happening! Not even that strange footage in that house, hours of “lost time” and lost memories! None of it!

  The attendant stepped back into the room just in time to prevent Liv from screaming out loud and perhaps punching the hell out of that mirror. Or maybe start talking to the mirror again. Perhaps it would have replied. Hey, why not?! Shit was making no sense anyway, right?

  “Well?” she asked the attendant, but Liv could tell by the woman’s body language that the Sheikh’s answer was unchanged.

  “Cannot,” said the attendant, shaking her head. “Sheikh cannot.”

  Liv just stared in shock as it sunk in. Had the Sheikh really just waved off the fact that she was pregnant with his child?! Perhaps there’d been a communication issue. After all, this attendant barely spoke English, right? And there was a chance she hadn’t even seen the Sheikh in person. Perhaps one of his men had carried the message to Hakeem, and who knew what was lost in translation between two or three different people. She needed to see him and clear this up. She couldn’t leave without seeing him. That would be insane. That would be—

  “Sheikh say go,” said the attendant, blinking as she made brief eye contact and then looked down at the dark red sandstone floor. “Sheikh say go.”

  20

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Kickass single mom Olivia O’Reilly smiled as the happy couple hugged and then turned to her, husband and wife beaming as they nodded and grinned.

  “It’s heavenly,” said the wife, touching one of the posts on the porch of the house Liv had just shown them.

  “It’s perfect,” said the husband, knocking on the “For Sale” sign and winking. “You can take this down now.”

  “How old is he?” said the wife, leaning forward and smiling at the babe strapped to Liv’s chest. Liv took little Caleb with her everywhere, and she’d found that having a kid strapped against her breasts sold more houses than a tight black skirt! Who knew!