Secret: The Maid And The Sheikh

by Lara Hunter

  "Is that why you don't want to be with Dad?" Charlie asked.

  Tracey sighed, considering avoiding the question.

  "Yes," she said finally. "He kept a big, bad secret that hurt all of us. I can't let that happen again."

  "Was Mr. Sheikh's secret that bad?" Charlie squirmed in her arms to better look up at her.

  Tracey shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. He wouldn't tell me. And I can't risk it."

  Charlie put his head down against her chest. He was silent for a long moment.

  "I don't like it," he concluded. "I want to go back to how things were before."

  "Yeah, me too, buddy," Tracey said, staring off into the darkness. "Me too."

  THIRTEEN

  The next morning, Tracey woke early to make coffee and tidy up before Iris got up and left for her early classes. She called into work again. Even if she could have gone home to get her uniform, she was in no place to face Adil right now. She was half afraid she'd collapse on him and cry.

  She spent the day looking for resources online, knowing her case was weak since Derek hadn't been physically violent toward her. Then, around noon, her phone buzzed with a text message. Her stomach twisted as she picked it up, afraid it would Derek even though she knew he didn't have her number.

  It was Adil.

  "I want to explain," the text said. "If you're willing to give me a chance, please meet me for dinner tonight. I understand if you won't, but I still want this. I still want to try."

  She let her phone sit for nearly an hour, considering it before she replied with one word: "Okay."

  He sent her the address and she did her best to clean herself up, despite the fact that she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and had nothing to replace them with.

  "You don't mind watching him?" Tracey asked for perhaps the third time. "I should only be an hour. I just...need to be sure, you know?"

  "It's fine," Iris said yet again. "I watch my sister's kids while I study all the time. I'm sure Charlie can't be as bad as them. And hey, if you and the Sheikh get together, you can pay off my student loans, right?"

  Tracey tried to laugh, though her heart wasn't in it. She wasn't sure it would go that way.

  The address, to her surprise, took her not to the high-end restaurants downtown, but to a small, run-down neighborhood crowded with family-owned Mediterranean and Middle Eastern restaurants and businesses. Tracey dimly recognized it as one of the neighborhoods included in Adil's construction project. It was to one of these restaurants the address led, a tiny place called Tamam.

  Tracey stepped inside, and in the small, spice-scented space, it was easy to spot Adil sitting near the back. He was dressed in normal street clothes, and he almost never dressed so casually in public. He could have been any average inhabitant of this neighborhood, and for some reason that made her suspicious.

  She sat down across from him, dark circles under her eyes, knowing she looked awful but forcing herself not to care. If things went as she expected them to, then it hardly mattered what he thought of how she looked. Perhaps he'd leave thinking that he'd dodged a bullet.

  But he smiled as soon as he saw her, like he saw right past her disheveled appearance.

  "I'm so glad you came," he said. "Thank you, Tracey. I wanted to apologize before anything else. It was wrong of me to lose my temper that way."

  "I need to apologize too," Tracey said. "I shouldn't have pushed you to tell me things you weren't comfortable with. I've had bad experiences with men keeping secrets before, and I...I couldn't take the thought of it happening again. I'm still not comfortable with it. I'm sorry."

  She readied herself to leave, to understand if he couldn't do it. He might have every reason to keep that information private. It was her problem that she couldn't deal with it, and her responsibility to accept it if that meant they couldn't be together.

  "It's okay," Adil said, taking a deep breath. "Honestly, I was—I wanted to tell you. I just wasn't ready. But I think it's time."

  He closed his eyes for a moment, preparing himself. When he spoke again, it was with an average American accent.

  "My name is not Adil," he told her. "I am not from the Persian Gulf. I am not a sheikh. I'm a second-generation Palestinian. I grew up in this city, in this neighborhood. My name is Matt Hajjar. It's nice to meet you."

  He said the last few words with a helpless little shrug and a laugh, trying to make things lighter. Tracey just stared at him.

  "I don't understand," she said, blank with confusion.

  "This was my first job," he said, gesturing at the restaurant. "I was a busboy here, cleaning tables for a frankly insulting paycheck. But I had big dreams of owning my own business. I went to school, got my degree, but I couldn't get my foot in the door. What I told you about the appearance of wealth is true, and I looked like a poor Palestinian immigrant. No doors were open to me."

  Tracey sat back in her chair, still not quite comprehending what he was saying. Adil was fiddling with a napkin, folding it into ornate shapes and unfolding it again, over and over.

  "So, because I was a kid and no idea was too stupid or crazy, I borrowed my father's old dishdasha and bought a headscarf, and the next time I went to a pitch, I introduced myself as Sheikh Hajjar. It was clumsy and desperate, but I got lucky. People were so drawn in by the idea of a Saudi prince and his oil fortune that they rushed to work with me. Once I had the money, I had my name changed and fake records made up to make the sheikh part real. Before I knew it, I had enough money to make a real difference. To make a difference here, in this neighborhood. And before I knew it, it was too late to go back. If I revealed myself, I would lose everything, including the opportunity to make a real difference in people's lives and change the world for the better."

  The fierce, stiffened set of Tracey's shoulders loosened slowly as she listened to Adil's story, beginning to process it all. She'd guessed about his name, but she could never have guessed the reason for the change.

  "And, more than that," Adil said, looking down, ashamed, "I was afraid. I had built so much. I was afraid of being called a fraud, even though that's exactly what I am."

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded photograph, the same one that had been on his desk.

  "These are my parents," he said softly, showing it to her. "My father...he died, not long after this. A heart condition. It caught us all by surprise, and then he was just gone. My mother raised me by herself after that. She worked like a slave to try to keep us afloat. Now she won't speak to me. She says I've renounced our family. She hates that I play to Western stereotypes for money. She thinks I am a joke."

  He paused for a moment, pain in his eyes. But then he looked up at her, smiling.

  "The first time we spoke," he said, "I saw her in you. A single mother, fighting tooth and nail to get by. I thought, if I could make your life even a little bit easier, it might redeem me. But the more I saw you, the more I spoke to you, the more I saw not her but an incredible, brilliant, beautiful woman. A woman I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. And after you left me in that bedroom, I realized I could never share only half of my life with you."

  He reached for her hand, pressing the photograph into her palm.

  "If you ever loved Sheikh Adil," he said, softly and yearningly, "can you love Matt Hajjar too?"

  Tears stung Tracey's eyes. It was too much. It was all too much at once. She pulled the photograph to her heart with one hand and covered her eyes with the other.

  "I'm going to need a little time," she said. "There's just...too much right now."

  "Are you all right?" Adil asked, frowning as he realized it wasn't just his deception that was hurting her. "Can I help?"

  She shook her head, overwhelmed.

  "Please," he said gently, standing and reaching out to brush her hands away from her face and wipe her tears. "You trusted me that day by the pool. Trust me again now."

  Tracey held her breath until her heart calmed down and cooperated again.
/>
  "Charlie's father is back in town," she said. "He wants us to move in with him again. He won't leave my house."

  Adil's eyes narrowed.

  "Do you want me to—"

  "No," Tracey said at once. "No. Thank you. I don't want to escalate things. He could take custody of Charlie."

  Adil scoffed. "With his record?"

  "I can't risk it," Tracey said, shaking her head. "I'll find a way to deal with him."

  "Whatever happens with him or between us," he said, taking her hand, "you are always welcome with me. I don't expect anything in return. My mother would never forgive me if I didn't offer shelter and protection to a single mother in need."

  "Thank you," Tracey said gently, not doubting his honesty. "But the best thing you can do for me right now is to give up the Sheikh."

  "What?" Adil leaned back, surprised.

  "Come clean," Tracey said simply, looking him in the eye. "To everyone. No more secrets. No more costumes, no more lies. If you could run your business as Sheikh Adil, you can run it as Matt Hajjar. Show everyone that the poor child of an immigrant single mother can do just as well as a Saudi sheikh. That's what I want."

  "Tracey," Adil said, stricken. "It isn't that simple. My work, all the good I can do—"

  "Can be done with your real name just as easily as your fake one," Tracey insisted. "If you keep playing a farce this way, one day someone will find out, and then you will be ruined. But if you get out ahead of it now, you can control it. It's the best move to continue your work. It's the only move to continue this relationship."

  He stared at her, swallowed hard, and then nodded.

  "I will...consider it," he said.

  "And I'll consider this," she said, folding up the photo and putting it into her bag. "I should get back to Charlie."

  "May I drive you home?" he asked. "Just in case he's still there?"

  Tracey considered it for a moment, unsure. She was going to have to go back eventually, if only to get her clothes. She couldn't keep missing work. And she would feel a lot safer going back with help.

  "All right," she said. "Just a ride home. I don't need you to fight him for me."

  "I won't fight him unless you ask me to," Adil said.

  They drove back to Iris's place in strained silence, both caught up in their own thoughts. The fact that Andre was sitting silently in the front passenger seat also made things awkward. Tracey was still processing what Adil had told her, trying to comprehend what it meant for her, for him, in the grand scheme of things.

  Derek had ruined her for secrecy. Even knowing Adil's secret, she couldn't be with him if she had to keep it; that was all there was to it. Or was it just another excuse to not take a chance on him? She'd been searching for a reason it wouldn't work since day one. He was too rich, he wouldn't be interested in her, it could never work, and now this. Was the truth that she was just too afraid to be with anyone again? Too scared to take the risk?

  Tracey told Iris she was going back home to get clothes, and Iris assured her that, if Derek was still there, she was welcome to come back. Tracey hugged the young woman before she left.

  Charlie was still quiet after the upset of the day before, but he looked at Adil in surprise as he climbed into the car.

  "Are you not mad at Mom anymore?" he asked.

  "No," Adil replied gently. "I am not mad anymore. I should never have let my temper control me, and I'm sorry."

  Charlie relaxed and leaned forward, his head against the back of the driver’s seat.

  "I'm glad," he said. "I don't want anyone to be mad anymore."

  Andre had moved into the backseat so that Tracey could have the front, next to Adil, and Charlie glanced up at him now warily.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  Adil answered for him. "That is Andre, my bodyguard."

  "What are you here for?" Charlie asked.

  "I am here to keep people safe," Andre said, speaking in a low, earthy rumble.

  "Like a superhero?" Charlie said.

  "Yes."

  "Cool."

  Charlie scooted a little closer to the bodyguard and put his head against the seat again. Tracey thought Andre seemed pleased by Charlie's trust, but it was hard to tell with his stoic face.

  Charlie didn't say much the rest of the way back, but it was progress as far as Tracey was concerned. This had been unfairly stressful for him. He would need time to deal with it.

  FOURTEEN

  They pulled up in front of Tracey's duplex, and her heart sank into the pit of her stomach when she saw Derek's car still parked out front.

  "Do you want me to come inside with you?" Adil asked as he parked the car. "Or Andre?"

  "No," Tracey said quickly. "Just stay in the car with Charlie please."

  Adil looked uncomfortable with that, but he nodded and didn't press the matter. Tracey got out of the car and headed toward the door.

  She opened the front door, hoping she was prepared for anything, but she wasn't. Though Derek had only been camped out there one night, he'd clearly gone all out to disrespect her home, leaving more take-out garbage than seemed reasonable for a single night scattered across the living room, spilled on the couch and carpet. Derek himself appeared from the bathroom, wearing her bathrobe.

  "Welcome back, honey!" he said with faux cheerfulness. "I knew you'd be back eventually. I was starting to get worried, though. I might have called Child Protective Services if you'd taken much longer."

  "I'm just here for my clothes," Tracey said flatly, refusing to rise to his bait. She had to pass him to get to the bedroom. He stood blithely in the center of the hallway, forcing her to turn to slide past him. As she did, he grabbed her arm, forcing her to back up against the wall. He didn't say anything, just grinned at her and then let her go.

  He was showing off that he could do whatever he wanted, reminding her that she was powerless. She clenched her jaw and continued past him to her room. She dragged her duffel bag out from under the bed and started stuffing clothes into it, pausing only to carefully fold her work uniform. Derek watched her from the door, unimpressed.

  "So how long exactly do you think you can keep this up?" Derek asked. "I'm already being very patient with you. I could have called my lawyer and started the custody paperwork the minute you left. Do you really think crashing on a couch somewhere with a six-year-old is going to improve your chances of winning a custody battle?"

  Tracey finished grabbing her clothes and picked up the bag, but she was forced to stop when Derek blocked the door.

  "Move," she demanded.

  "What's the magic word?" he asked.

  She ducked under his arm, shoving past him. He caught the bag as she passed, tugging on it and then releasing it when she pulled back. He laughed as she stumbled, like it was all playful teasing rather than the childish bullying it was. Her shoulders so tense she could feel the strain in every movement, she moved on to Charlie's bedroom, gathering his things as quickly as she had her own.

  "Charlie needs his father," Derek said, relentless. "You saw how excited he was to see me. You're hurting him by refusing to end this stupid fight."

  "It isn't a fight," Tracey said, her hair raising as she struggled to control herself, shoving fistfuls of clothing into the bag. "We are divorced."

  Derek scoffed. "Oh please. We both know you only got those papers for attention. You were just trying to control me by threatening me with that. You never would have signed them if your mother hadn't pushed you to do it. I just went along with it to call your bluff and show you how wrong you were. And look how well you did without me. You're barely keeping food in the house."

  "If you're that concerned about helping out," Tracey said through gritted teeth, "you could try paying child support."

  "Hey, I paid every time I had the money!" Derek said, defensive. "What, did you want me to go hungry, end up on the streets? You just would have wasted the money anyway, which is exactly why you should give this up and let us be a family again. I can take ca
re of things like I used to, and Charlie will have a dad again. You can even quit that stupid job if you want. I'll take care of everything."

  Tracey finished packing the bag and zipped it shut. She paused for a moment, her hands on the bag, gathering her strength. She knew he'd be blocking the door again. Maybe he was right. She wasn't doing a good job of handling this on her own. Was it right for her to keep Charlie from his father? Maybe he was serious about getting control of his gambling. Maybe she could make it work.