by Holly Rayner
“How do you know?” Tiffany said, her eyes glittering with fear. “I mean, of all the things that could have gone wrong…”
“You don’t know if you’re pregnant yet,” Zarina said, saying the word for the first time. Pregnant. “I wouldn’t give this theory any more power than it deserves. Not yet.”
“I always take my pill,” Tiffany whispered, leaning her head against Zarina’s bony shoulder. “Always at the same time. At work. At noon.”
“And there’s definitely no way you forgot to do that?” Zarina said. “During that week? When the Sheikh was sending you all those…”
“The presents,” Tiffany said, remembering. Had she really been so careless? Caught up with being “cared for,” for the first time in her life, had she really neglected her body in such a way? She began to stutter, searching for the right response. “I just—I don’t—”
“Shh,” Zarina murmured. “Just don’t think about it yet.”
But things went from bad to worse once they got to the doctor. After sitting in the waiting room for about ten minutes—each of them ticking by far too quickly—Tiffany found herself seated in front of her bespectacled male doctor, Doctor Gupta, who informed her, in no uncertain terms:
“Yes, Miss Ashworth. You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”
Tiffany’s lips parted in shock. She felt as if she had been slapped. Staring at the ground, her brain raced with the truth she could no longer deny.
She was having his baby.
Dr. Gupta prescribed her a list of vitamins and minerals and rules. His words were comfortable and reassuring, easing her into the reality that she would soon be entering the world of motherhood.
At various points during the talk, Tiffany wanted to blurt out that this was, in fact, not just any baby, but a royal baby. This was Sheikh Kazra’s first child! This baby would one day rule the country! And as such, he or she deserved the best of the vitamins and minerals. They deserved the best of everything.
But she held it in, pressing her lips together. She found herself thanking him quietly, and left the clinic clinging to a pamphlet. She met Zarina out in the waiting room, feeling tears running down her cheeks. Zarina didn’t have to ask, the answer was written all over her face.
On the train home, the two friends sat in silence. Zarina squeezed her hand, reminding her that even if the Sheikh wasn’t around, she was. And she would be there every step of the way.
In her first act, Zarina led them toward the tiny corner store, on the path from the train station to the apartment, and she purchased four different types of ice cream. She wrapped the small tubs in her arms and then scurried back toward Tiffany’s apartment. Inside, she placed them on the kitchen countertop with a flourish.
“If this is going to be a royal baby, then he or she needs royal options,” Zarina said, her eyes wide. “Remember all those days you said no to ice cream because you wanted to watch your figure?”
“Those days are gone, aren’t they?” Tiffany said with a heavy sigh. “Gone and forgotten. I’m about to turn into a blob.”
“Not a blob,” Zarina corrected her. She brought the top off the chocolate mint flavor and stuck a spoon into the top, shrugging her shoulders. “Why not enjoy this, while you can?”
Tiffany took a tentative step toward the ice cream. After a pause, she pushed the spoon deeper into the pot and brought it into the air, inhaling it in a single mouthful. Immediately, she felt the tension in her shoulders decrease.
She chuckled slightly; shocked at the way a simple gesture from a friend could brighten her world. As she rolled her eyes, she took another bite, giggling. “This is delicious.”
“I know!” Zarina laughed. She took a fresh spoon and opened another flavor, lemon meringue. She ate heartily and the tension in the room began to decrease.
As they ate, licking their spoons luxuriously, Tiffany glanced around her apartment. She imagined how it would look in a few months. The baby’s seat, which would be positioned near the window for morning feedings. She imagined her entire side cabinet, filled with baby food. She imagined her and her baby playing on the floor, amazed at the magic they could create together.
The only thing that was missing was the child’s father.
“I have to tell him,” Tiffany blurted out. She held a spoonful of ice cream aloft, near her mouth. “Kazra. He can’t just not know about his child.”
Zarina nodded, considering her words. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Tiffany sighed. “If only I hadn’t promised myself that I was never going to see him again.”
“You’re a strong girl. A strong woman,” Zarina said, blinking several times. It was clear she was searching for the right words. The words that wouldn’t hurt. “You can tell him, but you don’t owe him anything else. You don’t owe him your love, just because you’re carrying his child.”
Tiffany felt her bottom lip creep out. After a long pause, she said, “I just never imagined my life this way.”
“Nobody ever does,” Zarina returned.
It was easy, then, as she stood in the kitchen, eating ice cream. It was easy to imagine how her father and mother had ever gotten together, and then gotten divorced. Life just kind of happened to you, rolled you along from place to place. It didn’t ask what was convenient.
Zarina slept over again that night, making sure that Tiffany was comfortable, and sliding a DVD into the player. It hadn’t been used in months, as Tiffany was normally so stressed about work, or pouring over spreadsheets, or thinking about the next steps in her career to watch movies. Now, with something far more pressing at her doorstep, she just wanted to forget about the world for a bit.
They fell asleep side-by-side like childhood best friends, holding hands tightly. And Tiffany knew, in those last moments before drifting off to sleep, that she would never be alone. No matter what Kazra said.
Chapter Nine
Of course, getting in touch with the Sheikh so soon after his coronation proved to be a challenge. As Tiffany’s body grew and changed, as her tastes altered, and as the dresses she’d once loved were pushed to the far end of the closet and were replaced with stretchy items, she continued to try to contact the Sheikh.
She did it in roundabout ways, at first. She said she wanted to cover a story about the new Sheikh for her company, something that could potentially boost the economy. For this, she was put on hold each and every time, with someone usually coming back on the line about thirty minutes later, saying it was “simply impossible” for the Sheikh to get away at this time.
Frustrated, she tried other tactics. She told the palace reception that she was a dear friend of the Sheikh. But when she gave her name, the receptionist checked a particular list, learned she wasn’t on it, and promptly turned her away. “I’m sorry, but the Sheikh doesn’t include you in his intimate circle,” the woman had said, sounding snarky. “And you’d be well advised not to try and fool the Sheikh.”
“I’m not trying to fool him,” Tiffany had said, irritated at the accusation. “It’s terribly important that I speak with him.”
Other tactics, including having Zarina call instead, proved less than stellar. Suddenly, she was about nine weeks into her pregnancy, and doing it all alone. She spent long evenings after work, walking around the park across the street from the palace, gazing up at its marble pillars. She sat alongside the fountains, listening to the water bubble, and sliding her hand up and down her stomach. She was careful not to ask too much of Zarina, not all the time, as she wanted Zarina to keep her old life. To build on it, if she could. But Tiffany couldn’t help but feel the deep ache of loneliness during these hours. She couldn’t help but think that this loneliness would last forever.
Tiffany continued to see her father often, heading to his apartment for dinner after-work several times a week. She made sure to wear loose clothing each time, even putting more attention into her makeup so that he wouldn’t notice that her face shape had begun to change. She knew her skin was glowing. F
requently, he commented on how “healthy” she looked. If only he knew.
But after nine weeks, Tiffany knew that her lie had gone on too long. Her father’s apartment smelled of Italian food: garlic, tomatoes and cheese. She watched as he poured the pasta into bowls, speckling it with Parmesan and passing a bowl toward her. He uncorked a bottle of wine and offered it to her. But she waved her hand, refusing it.
“Dad, I can’t,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“You’ve been quite the teetotaler lately,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Really, it’s a good thing, if you’re looking to watch over your health.”
“Dad, I’m pregnant,” Tiffany finally blurted out, gazing down at the floor. After a long, dramatic pause, she slid her hand along her stomach.
Her father sat down heavily. He poured himself a glass of red wine, and then flung it back. He swiped his hand across his mouth, his expression shocked.
“Well. I can’t say I thought this would be happening anytime soon.”
Tiffany couldn’t help but smile. All those years, back in the States, all she’d wanted was to see her father more often. Now, he was in residence for one of the most dramatic, most remarkable times of her life. She reached across the table and clung to his wrist, waiting. How could she give him the final bit of news?
“I suppose I should ask who the father is,” her father began, tipping his head slightly. “Although I won’t push you if you don’t want to say. You’re a stronger person than nearly every man I’ve come across in all my years as ambassador. You have a knack for organization. And for taking what you need from this life.”
“Actually, I might need your help,” Tiffany sighed, glancing toward the window. This was going to be the most difficult part. “I need to contact the father.”
“So you do know who it is?” her father asked.
“I do.” Tiffany glanced at her plate, still untouched. She plucked a piece of bread from the bread basket and began to tear at it nervously. “It’s the Sheikh. Sheikh Kazra.”
Her father’s face seemed to fall, and his lips parted in surprise. Tiffany couldn’t stand to look at him, at his disappointment. She slid her hand over her stomach, wishing herself back to five minutes ago, when he hadn’t known.
“Say something,” Tiffany said, trying to laugh. “I know it’s a shock.”
“Out of all the men you might have gone out with,” her father said with a long, shuddering sigh. “You chose this—this utter imbecile…”
“He’s not,” Tiffany said, her eyebrows high. “He’s the ruling Sheikh. Surely he’s thrown away all his bad habits.”
“But you were one of his bad habits,” her father interrupted, pressing his hand against the table. “You allowed yourself to get wrapped up into his world. And now…”
Tiffany felt her anger begin to rise. “There’s nothing I can do about it now,” she whispered. “I’m having this child. And I need you to help me to get in contact with the Sheikh. Otherwise, my son or daughter will grow up without a father.” She allowed her words to hang in the air for a long moment, before adding, “The years I lived without you were the worst of my life, Dad. Don’t let this happen to my child.”
Her father erupted from his seat, clinging to his glass of wine. He walked through the kitchen, tapping his fingers against the glass. “It’s not just your child we need to worry about,” he said finally, leaning against the far wall. It seemed he wanted to put as much distance between him and his daughter. “As U.S. Ambassador, I cannot be connected to the royal line. It’s a conflict of interest.”
The words were like a shot to Tiffany’s heart. She pressed the back of her hand against her lips, shocked. She’d never assumed that her actions might have impacted her father’s career.
“Dad. I’m so sorry,” she whispered, after a long pause. “I had no idea.”
But of course, it made sense. How could the U.S. Ambassador have any sort of familial connection to the royal family without causing scandal? When she’d gone with Kazra that fateful day; when she’d swum with dolphins and dove under the sheets with him, she couldn’t have imagined that something as simple as a date would have these kinds of consequences. She’d ruined her father’s career. She felt the tears start to come.
But her father cut his hand through the air, shaking his head. “No. This is no time for tears,” he said.
“But what are you going to do?” Tiffany whispered. “You can’t just go back to America. Not after all these years…”
“No, you’re right. I wouldn’t return to the States,” her father said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll keep my job, either.”
“What do you mean?” Tiffany asked. There was a collection of breadcrumbs on the table before her, now. A small mound had grown.
“Tiffany, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not getting any younger,” her father continued. He scratched at the grey hairs on his cheek and chin. “I would be due to retire in the next few years, anyway. I’ve already discussed it with the people back in D.C.” He gave her his first soft smile since she’d given him the news. “And I suppose I could move that date up a little bit, for the sake of you and my grandchild.”
Tiffany’s face crumpled with relief and she began to cry.
“Unless you don’t want me to act as the grandfather here,” her father said. His smile continued to grow. He took a step forward and offered his free hand. Tiffany took it and walked closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She felt his grip on her tighten. This was it. He was accepting her, and he was accepting Kazra’s child.
“I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused,” she whispered into his shoulder, feeling herself shudder with a strange mix of sadness and relief. “Everything is about to change for us both. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”
“Honestly, baby girl?” her dad began. He clutched her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “All I can feel, right now, is joy. Let’s figure out a way for you to contact the Sheikh. I’m sure I can get you an interview or something…”
Leaving their dinner on the table, he fled to his computer. He began to leaf through his online calendar with a frown on his face. Tiffany hovered behind him, eyeing his strategic organizational skills. It was clear that she took after him. Everything was marked, color-coded. On the wall behind the computer was a framed photograph of her father and the former Sheikh, shaking hands. Grandfathers, together. This warmed her heart.
“Aha!” Her father pointed toward an event the following week. “The Sheikh is addressing the nation this upcoming Thursday. A week from today. There’s always loads of press there. They’re coming in and out, interviewing people like me and the other ambassadors. I’m certain I could get you a pass.”
Tiffany remembered the old Sheikh’s televised addresses. They were always stuffy affairs, with the Sheikh laying out the goals and challenges facing his rule for the coming year, hopes for the economy, and highlighting what had been achieved over the past year. Picturing Kazra standing in front of the press made her smile.
“The playboy is giving a national address?” she said, grinning broadly.
“The father of my grandchild is giving the national address,” her father corrected her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, coaxing her. “We’re going to have to forgive him for his wrongdoings if he’s to be a part of our lives. Maybe, just maybe, he’s grown up a little in the past few weeks.”
Her father’s eyes twinkled.
“You’ve certainly changed your tune,” Tiffany laughed. “A few weeks ago you were sure that he wasn’t ready for this responsibility.”
“Well, we’ll see how this speech goes,” her father said. He trudged back to the kitchen and poured himself a second glass of wine, chuckling. “I’m glad you can’t drink, darling. Because I’m going to need to drink this entire bottle myself to get through this.”
“Have it all,” Tiffany said with a grin. After a long pause, she
headed back to her seat at the dining room table, centered on the plan. As her father sipped his wine, she dove into her pasta, eating with purpose. She had a job to do. She had a child to nurture. And she wasn’t going to hold back, with people, with food, with life, on her path to doing it.
When it got late, her father drew open the pullout bed in the couch, lining it with sheets and pillows.
“I want you to stay here tonight,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“Dad. I can take care of myself,” Tiffany laughed, her heart swelling with love with the tender gesture.
“Baby, I don’t want you to feel alone for a single minute,” her father said, insisting. “If I can help out with that in any way…”
“Fine,” Tiffany said, grinning sheepishly. “I accept.”
She found herself sleeping easier, deeper, than she had in weeks. She stretched out on the lumpy mattress and dove into slumber, knowing that her father was watching out for her. He was making the ultimate sacrifice, for her happiness, and for the betterment of her child.
Now, all she had to hope was that the Sheikh would have a similar reaction.
But as she remembered him for his “true colors,” Tiffany wasn’t sure how much hope she had.
Chapter Ten
“The national address?” Zarina repeated, aghast. “He got you a press pass?”
“It was the best plan he could think of,” Tiffany said. They were perched over their lunch, speaking conspiratorially in an empty restaurant.
“You have no idea how the Sheikh is going to react to this news,” Zarina said, hanging her head. “What if he reacts poorly? Or has you thrown out?”
Tiffany’s smile fell. “When faced with the mother of his child?”
“You don’t have any real proof that he’s the father,” Zarina reminded her.
“I haven’t slept with anyone else,” Tiffany affirmed.
