The Sheikh's Baby Bet

by Holly Rayner

  “I think you could use the company,” Zarina said with a shrug. “I was watching you back there. You hardly ate your dinner.”

  “What do you mean to do about that?” Tiffany sighed, unlocking the door with a click. They walked through the small foyer and collapsed on the couch. In a way, Zarina was her sister: forcing her to recognize her own emotions and calling her out on her bull.

  “I’m going to order us a pizza. That’s what,” Zarina said, wrapping her arms around the Tiffany’s thin frame. “I’m not going to let you go hungry. That’s for sure.”

  “You’re going to make me fat,” Tiffany chuckled, watching as Zarina dialed the nearby pizza place.

  “So be it,” Zarina smirked. “Better than making you go hungry. As a single woman, you owe nothing to anyone. And as a woman wronged by the Sheikh…”

  “Let’s just stop talking about it,” Tiffany said, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Okay?”

  Chapter Eight

  Just three days after the news of the old Sheikh’s death, the day of Kazra’s coronation arrived. The ceremony was set to screen live on every station in Al Barait, all regular programming halted. Everyone was out of work, able to attend or else watch at home, basking in the glory of a new era.

  Tiffany remained at home, curled up on her couch, sipping tea, watching the hubbub of the early hours of the coronation. Religious figures in traditional garb marched back and forth, speaking closely with one another, awaiting the ceremony. Half the city seemed to huddle outside the palace gates, waving when the camera passed over them.

  The camera showed Kazra exactly once, about an hour before his official crowning. The sight of him sent a shiver down Tiffany’s spine. Shocked at how miserable he still made her, she lifted the remote and turned off the television. The silence around her was deafening. Almost immediately, her phone began to ring— it was her father calling. Knowing he was at the coronation, Tiffany allowed it to go to voicemail. She could hear about it later. It wasn’t a matter of life or death. Not now.

  Realizing that an entire day was stretched before her, she hopped into her bedroom, grabbed her running clothes, and bounded down the steps and into the sunshine. The city streets were empty, with all the cars sweeping toward the royal palace. The area by the pier was completely still. The Ferris wheel had halted and the other rides were closed.

  At the boardwalk, Tiffany began to run, lifting her knees as high as they would go. As she ran, her eyes burned and tears tracked their way down her cheeks: a reminder that, no matter how deep she shoved the Sheikh’s betrayal, it had affected her in ways she couldn’t comprehend. She was angry. She was upset.

  More than anything, she wondered if she’d ever be able to trust anyone with her heart ever again.

  After running flat out for a few minutes, Tiffany stopped, gasping, near the far rocky ledge. Gazing out over the water, she watched as gentle waves lapped easily against the cliffs. The water was a bright turquoise, and it was calling out to her.

  Glancing around her, she noted she was the only one around for miles. Lifting her arms, she stripped herself bare, and draped her clothes on the rocks. She felt the wind whisk past her breasts, along her stomach.

  As she stood, poised, ready to dive, at the top of the rocky ledge, she eased her hands down over her body. Frowning slightly, she glanced at herself, noting that a small bit of fat had begun to creep up along her stomach. Pressing it with a finger, she realized the “fat” was rather hard, as if she were bloated. But she hadn’t eaten anything yet, and had barely scraped at her dinner the night before.

  What was going on? Why did she feel like a blob?

  Feeling suddenly frightened, Tiffany reached back and grabbed her clothes. She dressed quickly, and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Feeling suddenly uninspired, even with the crashing waves behind her, she chose to walk the rest of the way home. Her shoulders slumped forward and her heart hammered in her chest.

  Suddenly, she felt certain of something. But she didn’t dare check up on it. If she took the test, she would know, for sure, that she was carrying a child. His child. Perhaps, if she left it alone; perhaps if she didn’t take any sort of test or pay attention to her symptoms; perhaps if she just carried on living, the bloat would go away. She would get her period. She wouldn’t feel so nauseous in the mornings. Everything would go back to normal. It couldn’t be true.

  Didn’t the body always have a way of tricking you into thinking crazy, horrible things? For a full month, the previous year, she’d been sure she had lockjaw, and for as long as she remembered, every single time her period had been late, she had been one hundred percent sure that she was pregnant, even if she hadn’t had sex in months. She had always allowed her brain to run wild, even at the most innocuous of symptoms.

  She couldn’t afford to do it this time. She had to stay strong.

  But as the weeks passed, her symptoms grew. Suddenly, she found herself racing away from a morning meeting to throw up. She found herself avoiding some foods and opting for greasy things she’d never normally choose, or nothing at all. For a moment, she attributed the weight gain to the greasy foods. But as her stomach stretched into her favorite “fat pants,” she knew she needed to do something.

  She couldn’t ignore it forever.

  Zarina took the day off work to go to the doctor with Tiffany, clinging to her hand and trying her best to make jokes. When Tiffany couldn’t give her anything more than a small smirk, Zarina sighed, bringing her hand to Tiffany’s cheek.

  “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. The streets were racing beside them as the train bolted into the center of the city. “Really.”

  “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. Frequently, 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.