by Ella Brooke
He hesitated for a second and then reached out, placing his palm on his computer screen. “Honey, don’t talk like I’m going somewhere, because I’m not. I love you, too.”
She kept forcing herself to smile, but it was hard. All of it hit her hard, especially when the call disconnected. Swiping at her eyes, Tiffany steadied herself. It would only be a few more days, after the ball, and then she’d see her dad again. It didn’t matter if he felt like a burden. He wasn’t, and going home was her great joy and the duty she wanted to serve.
Charlie’s doctors all said his progress was steady and that they were hopeful. It was stage III and not IV like with Sirhan’s mother, but those ghosts haunted her. The uncertainty of her family’s future haunted her. Tiffany only wished her dad could take all her help. He was the furthest thing from an albatross around her neck.
That was something else.
Like the heart burn working its way up her throat every day like clockwork. It started two months ago and she tried to ignore it, then medicate it. Now, she was taking the meds like crazy but also eating a fairly bland diet when she could, which was a feat in the Middle East. She made herself eat plains eggs or milk or freshly baked bread when not around Sirhan. She didn’t want him to know she wasn’t feeling well; he might blame himself. Besides, there was nothing sexy in telling your lover you needed extra Tums every day. Of course, it didn’t help that the heartburn mixed with whatever hint of flu she’d contracted. For the last five days, she’d woken up vomiting at 4 a.m.
Omara burst into her quarters and Tiffany was glad for her friend’s arrival. It would help keep her from focusing on illness — both her father’s and her own. Trailing behind the older woman was a short man with a wizened face, a crisply tailored suit, and several young assistants trailing him, each decked out with sewing supplies and dresses in their arms. It was time for the fitting before the annual Hakim Family Ball. Tiffany had the first set of measurements taken her first month in Dubaya, but now her dress contenders were ready enough for the final fitting. Sirhan was too good to her, spoiled her far too much. She had several final choices that were to be ready in case she changed her mind. So, that meant fittings, which she’d been putting off from earlier in the week due to her constant nausea.
Just let me get through this and not puke one a thousand-dollar dress, she told herself.
She hopped to her feet from the chair and reached out to steady herself on Omara’s shoulder. If she didn’t get a handle on her weird sicknesses soon, then more than just her friend would notice her off behavior. She didn’t want either Sirhan or her family to worry, especially about something that was going to clear up any day.
“Madame Saunders,” the little man said, the hint of French clear in his accent. “We can start with the sky-blue chiffon. It matches your complexion so well.”
She nodded and undressed to her slip below her maid’s kaftan and then started trying to pull the dress down over her head but grimaced when the fabric wouldn’t stretch right over the bust. Eventually, she had to stop even trying and then tugged it back off over her head. Her cheeks flared with embarrassment, and she looked back helplessly at Omara.
“Maybe we can try the red silk?”
The tailor frowned and Tiffany could tell there would be so much he’d be saying out loud if she weren’t the consort of the sheikh. Fine, let the smug designer keep his mouth shut just this once. She’d take the privileges of power this time. Yes, she knew she’d put on a little weight since she’d gotten to Dubaya, but that was due to a much shortened work day and the delightful treats and spoiling she received from Sirhan. She’d meant to do more, to get time to walk around the grounds or refocus her attention on her figure. But it had only felt like a few pounds at the time.
As she tried — and failed — to pull on the red dress, Tiffany realized with a painful stab to her heart that she miscalculated and put on far more weight than she realized.
God, I must have gone up two dress sizes without even noticing!
Of course, when you wore a kaftan as your uniform and, frankly, nothing around your lover at night, then regular clothes or closely tailored things weren’t exactly on your mind.
“I…” she said, trying not to let her face crumble before the master tailor and his snickering assistants. “I just need a minute,” Tiffany finished, shoving back on her lilac servant’s uniform.
Omara didn’t need a cue to swoop in and bark orders quickly in Arabic. Soon the smug look fell from all the designer’s team’s faces. They scurried out of the room like rats from a sinking ship. Gratefully, Tiffany hugged her friend and then sat back down at her desk.
“What did you say?”
“I told them that their services would no longer be needed, and I’d find you something myself. I also might have mentioned that Sheikh Hakim doesn’t take kindly to people laughing at the woman he loves.”
“You didn’t.”
“No one messes with my friend,” Omara said, her dark eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m so annoyed that I let myself go. I know I didn’t have much to work with to begin with.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
Tiffany shook her head and pinched at her right hip. “Clearly, I let myself go far too much. I don’t even know how Sirhan’s not noticed. God, maybe he has and he wants to dump me.”
Omara slapped her shoulder. “You’re very paranoid. I thought all Americans brimmed with confidence and moxie until I met you.”
“We don’t, especially those of use with thunder thighs.”
Omara shook her head. “You don’t have those, but I do have a theory for why you’ve been sick lately and the weight gain.”
“Maybe I’m just not adjusting to Dubayan food the way I thought I would. Swiss food isn’t bland, but it’s not all garlic and onions and spices either.”
Omara pulled a small box out from the pocket of her own robes. It took Tiffany what felt like a lifetime to understand, to see the brand labeling on the box and admit to herself it was a pregnancy test.
“But we’re so careful. I’m on the pill and we always…” her voice trailed off.
Omara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not judging what you and the sheikh do, but I’m an old woman and I’ve seen these signs so many times before, including with my own body. We need to make sure it’s not pregnancy so we can figure out if it might be something worse. But what?”
Tiffany brought a hand to her mouth and fought back the daily flare of indigestion. “The first time, we were careful but the condom burst. But that was months ago and we’ve been religious about everything since.”
“I hate to be obvious, Tiffany, but it only takes one time,” Omara said, setting the box gently in her hands. “You need to see, and then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
***
There were two blue lines.
Two blue lines that seemed to be mocking her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t excited. She was, but having a kid hadn’t been on Tiffany’s radar. Six months ago she was young and carefree, living in Europe. Children were something she wanted to make time for by her thirtieth birthday. Now, however, everything was sped up. But it would be a child, one conceived in love with the man she desired and cared for dearly. They would be a family, and that was wonderful.
If Sirhan wanted it too.
Omara sat down next to her on the bed. It didn’t take as long as thought it would to get the test results. In her head, Tiffany imagined hours of waiting. After all, how would she know? She was a complete novice to this. Except, this was a first time’s the charm, hitting a home run first time at bat situation. She might have only taken one pregnancy test in her life, but that was all you needed when you came up positive.
She swiped at her eyes, the tears a surprise to her. She was so excited and happy. Even now, her hands were snaking down to cup her belly, to hold close the child she hadn’t even known was there. That child her love for Sirhan had made. No, that wasn’t r
ight. Their child was born from so much love the two of them shared for each other, and the baby wasn’t even here yet and was the most beautiful thing she’d ever thought about.
But the tears were not just of joy, now she understood that. There was fear. Sirhan had a terrible asshole of a father to deal with, a country to run, and was still technically working to break the complicated legal snarls of his betrothal to Azah. Maybe a child with his American fling wasn’t what he wanted.
Maybe she wasn’t what he wanted, at least not long term.
A soft hand was on her shoulder and, as good a friend as Omara was, Tiffany still wished that this moment was shared with Sirhan; that it was his strong hand comforting her, and him promising that everything would be okay from here on out.
“You should talk to him.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want a family? Maybe I’ve messed everything up?”
Omara’s eyes seemed to blaze with her frustration. “As I understand it, it takes two people to make a baby. Besides, I’ve known Sirhan since he was a child. There’s no news he’s going to embrace more than this. There’s nothing he’s wanted more than this. Ever since the last sheikha died, he’s yearned for family. I know that when you tell him, he’ll be overjoyed.”
“Logically, sure, but neither of us were expecting a child so soon.”
Or at all.
She let out a sharp cry and wrapped her arms around Omara’s shoulders. “What if I’m not what he really wants? What if the baby…”
She trailed off. That thought was too hard to voice, too scary and depressing to contemplate. Soon, Tiffany would have to let Sirhan know. Soon, she’d have to deal with his rejection if this fast and burgeoning family wasn’t what he truly wanted. But for now? Now she’d take comfort in her friend’s arms and plan.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t understand,” he said, trying to get a sense of how his royal tailor and his staff had been so cruel to his lover. In an effort to understand everything, Sirhan sought out Omara after the rumors of Francois’s behavior reached him. Nothing happened throughout the entire estate without Omara knowing about it. “Why on Earth would Francois be so out of character? He’s always been respectful to me in fittings.”
Omara shook her head. “You’re a king for one thing, and Tiffany isn’t. Even your most preferred servants treat others differently. Still, I think that it wasn’t that she’s a commoner as much as the fact that she didn’t fit the dresses he brought.”
Sirhan frowned. “But she did when they were first ordered. I hadn’t even noticed any changes. She always looks perfect to me.”
Omara studied him and he almost balked at her scrutiny. He may be the reigning monarch of Dubaya, but the old servant had been caring for him since he was a child. Not only was she uncanny in her astute observations, almost as if she were psychic, but Omara also had a brutal efficiency for delivering harsh truths. Sirhan was certain that one was coming now.
“You need to go see her. She was very upset.”
“Of course. Where is she?”
“The rose garden.”
He paused. “Mother’s garden?”
Omara nodded. “She begged me for a place that would be truly private on the palace grounds. There’s always so many people coming and going, but I told her your mother’s garden was the best place. After all, who would dare intrude on the sheikh’s favorite place of solitude?”
“I see… Did you tell her about the garden?”
“No, but I think you both have so much to talk about.”
He narrowed his eyes back at her. “There are things you aren’t telling me, Omara. I don’t appreciate that, even if you think me learning things for myself is ‘for my own good’ or some other such nonsense.”
“It’s not about games or lessons this time. It’s about honesty and what Tiffany needs right now.”
“Is she okay?”
Omara swallowed and eyed him carefully. “I hope she will be, that you’re the man I helped raise. Now go to her. She needs you.”
The old woman didn’t have to tell him twice. Sirhan had to keep his pace even as he rushed to the garden. It wouldn’t be appropriate to break into a run, but it was what he wanted, to sprint at maximum speed to see the woman he loved. Yes, love. Maybe he’d fallen for her the moment she’d rejected him at The Cambrian. Maybe it was the months of bliss they had so far, but he’d always been a womanizer before, always gotten bored with models and actresses and princesses in a few weeks.
He thought that sometimes women could grow dull, but now he understood that love wasn’t about that. If you were lucky enough to find the right woman, then you would never grow tired of her. Hell, he sometimes woke up ridiculously early just to have the privilege of lying beside Tiffany and watching the light of the rising sun shine over her face and gorgeous hair. Everything about her fascinated him, and he looked forward to having years to get to know her better.
Shit, Omara didn’t mention it but… is her father worse?
But, no, he had the reports from the doctors. Her father’s prognosis was very promising. Nothing was guaranteed, but he was so much better off than Sirhan’s own mother had ever been after her diagnosis. So, that couldn’t be it. As he slid out into the garden, he made sure to secure the thick stone door behind him. This was a private sanctuary and, while it was unlikely any servants would ever follow him out here, he wanted it to be explicitly clear that no one was to bother him and Tiffany until everything was straightened out.
He found her in the middle of the garden, sitting by a large, red rose bush and brushing her hand hesitantly over the petals. His heart caught in her throat. There was nothing about her that wasn’t alluring, from her soft hair to her piercing eyes to her soft skin, everything about Tiffany Saunders had entranced him. Honestly, he hadn’t noticed the weight gain. He reveled in her curves so much, loved the way her breasts felt heavy in his hands or the way he could grasp her hips with such ease. Every curve and expanse of her pale flesh was alluring. If there was a bit more of it, then he was truly a lucky man.
“Hello, Tiger — are you alright?”
She turned her attention to him and he balled his fists at his side, furious with Francois and determined to ruin the unprofessional toad’s reputation. How dare he make Tiffany cry, and there was no doubt from her reddened cheeks and slightly swollen eyes that she’d been in tears recently.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was flat and small, nothing like the ferocious woman he’d grown to love and admire.
He strode across the expanse separating them and cupped her cheek, then he put his hand on her stomach, trying already to show her that he didn’t care about a little weight and that some asshole shouldn’t make her feeling badly either.
“You’re not. Omara said you were upset and I find you moping in Mother’s garden, this isle of guaranteed solitude. You’re very upset. You don’t need to be. Some idiot tailor or designer or whatever Francois fancies himself as and his team of idiots don’t have the power to make you feel bad. All you need to know is that you’re everything I ever wanted, that I love you, and if you need a different dress for the ball, then we’ll find one.”
She hiccuped and rubbed at her nose. “Omara didn’t tell you why I was out here?”
“She said I needed to talk to you for myself. I think she didn’t want to reveal how embarrassed you are but I can see how much you’ve been crying, Tiger, and you shouldn’t. I mean, we don’t use the dungeons anymore, haven’t in centuries, but I could make an exception.”
Tiffany laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound, that heartened him all over again. “Tempting, but I think I’ll pass.”
“I think that Francois could still use a time out there. He had no right to be rude to you. I know I’ll never recommend him to my friends.” He grinned back at her. “I do happen to have quite a few wealthy heirs and royalty as friends. I can ruin Francois in another way.” Her face darkened, and he wasn’t sure why his remarks hadn’t earned a laugh
. It was as if the very reminder of his wealth — all in jest — was making her mood worse.
Reaching out, he stroked her face. “Habbibi, my dear one, are you alright? No one comes into this garden, so you had to be alone. I can’t allow that if you’re upset. Is your father okay?”
“Dad’s treatments are going really well, and I’m excited to see him next week. It’s nothing like that, and I’d always keep you in the loop, even if the doctors probably already do.”
He nodded and considered her. “I like to make sure everything is being done for him. Then if it’s not that idiot Francois or health news, what is it?”
She sighed and leaned into him, resting her chin on his chest. He loved being that close to her, being able to bury his nose in her soft hair and to enjoy the lush smell of her, the fragrance from her body that reminded him of lilacs and strawberries. She was a garden in and of herself.
“I have something to tell you, and I’m scared that it’s not exactly what you’ll want. I know what Omara has said, but I’m still terrified. I think it’s because I used to be able to be on my own, be independent, but over the last four months, I know that I can’t live without you.”
“Unless you went on a murder spree lately, there’s no way you did anything that would make me stop loving you.” He let his hand stray down to her chin and tilted it upwards so that he could look more deeply into her enchanting eyes. It bit freshly into him that they seemed to be as dark as storm clouds. “What happened, Tiger? You can tell me anything.”
She nodded and let her hand stray to her stomach. “I… God, this is like tearing off a freaking Band-Aid. I’m pregnant.”
He blinked, unsure that he’d heard her right. She was acting so upset that he thought she, too, was sick with something horrible. Surely she couldn’t be upset over what was one of the best pieces of news he’d heard in his entire life. His heart started to beat faster and he felt the warmth bursting from his chest.
A father. He was going to be a father.
