The Billionaire's Christmas Bundle Of Joy - A Secret Baby Romance

by Holly Rayner

  “It was just last week, actually,” Amie said proudly, offering Zafina her ring finger for inspection. “At my place. He set up a trail of candles leading from the entry to the ring box.”

  “My, my,” Zafina said with some surprise. “And how long had you been together before he proposed?”

  Amie went to speak but Malik cut her off. “Five months, Zafina. I told you that already.”

  “I know,” she smiled, sliding her tongue across her teeth. “It’s just a little fast, I suppose.”

  “Well, when you know, you know,” Amie confirmed, looking up into Malik’s eyes and brushing her hand against his cheek. “What about you, Zafina, are you with anyone?”

  “So Amie,” the sister went on, ignoring her question. “Tell me, when is Malik’s birthday?”

  Amie fought the urge to frown. Low blow, Zafina, low blow. She laughed nervously and looked to Malik for some guidance, trying to think of any plausible reason why she wouldn’t have learned his birthdate in the course of five months together.

  “Oh, Zafina, she knows it’s in October,” Malik said, sounding bored. “You know how she knows?”

  “How?”

  “Because hers is in October, too!” he lied.

  Zafina stared between the two of them before finally relenting to a laugh. Her demeanor seemed to soften from that point on, and the Newlywed Game came to a halt. The three were practically inseparable for the rest of the afternoon. The gala turned to dinner and dinner turned to cocktails, and before long the pair had been socializing well into the evening, with no shortage of important patrons and well-dressed figures for Amie to meet. Many of the guests spoke English, which boded well for her. She frequently heard the term, ‘Sheikh Malik’s American fiancée’ floating around the room.

  There were a few more bumps and blips throughout the night, including an incorrect pronunciation of Malik’s last name to the gallery owners, as well as not even being able to fathom a guess at his mother’s name while talking to some of his childhood friends.

  To Amie’s exhausted relief, the night slowly drew to a close. The gallery owners cut the ribbon on their new art wing, as well as announcing a large donation to the local hospital, and finally, around midnight, Amie and Malik left the gallery.

  FIVE

  The pair made their way to their waiting limo and sat in silence as they were driven back to Malik’s home. Amie had so much to say; so many things to ask, and so much frustration to express that she couldn’t even put her thoughts together. Why had he made her wait so long before telling her what her role was? Saying she could have been more prepared for tonight was beyond an understatement. Not to mention… what possible reason could he have for putting on such a gigantic ruse to his family?

  “You did a fantastic job tonight,” Malik said finally, stretching back in his seat.

  “Thanks,” she said curtly. “Although you could have, oh, I don’t know, given me a little time to prepare? Explained this wasn’t a play but a weird sham; that the sheikh you mentioned back at The Delphi was actually you?”

  “You’re mad at me?” he said, sounding surprised.

  “Of course not,” Amie said, in typical mad-girl fashion. “I can’t be mad at you, you’re my boss. Remember?”

  He watched her for a moment and took a breath. As if on cue he perked up once more and leaned in towards her. “Here, I thought you were my fiancée.”

  She narrowed her brows and fought a smile. “Hilarious.”

  This drive was long enough without awkward tension filling the room. Malik had mentioned that his residence was on the outskirts of town, but didn’t say it would take nearly an hour to get there. Well, that was just peachy, Amie thought in frustration. Now if they ever wanted to go anywhere, they'd have to wait more than an hour. So much for going out for breakfast; she'd be dead of starvation by the time they reached their destination.

  “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely, running his hand through his hair. “Everything happened so fast, I just… I trusted you, and you did well, so my trust wasn’t misplaced. You played the perfect part.”

  “The perfect part, huh? What does that mean?”

  “You played, basically the opposite of yourself: charming, elegant, sophisticated… Perfect!”

  Amie gritted her teeth and seeing her reaction, the Sheikh began to laugh. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! That was a joke!”

  She huffed into her fist and stared awkwardly out the window. So now she wasn’t even a lady?

  “You were amazing, Amie. Even with all of Zafina’s attacks, you handled yourself just as I thought you would. You were brilliant. Really.”

  She turned from the window and finally met his eyes; relenting to an unwanted smile.

  “Really,” he repeated happily.

  Amie gave an over-exaggerated sigh and couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks. What’s up with her, anyway?”

  “Oh Zafina?” He sighed and gave a dismissal with his hand. “She’s just… over-protective, perhaps? It’s hard to tell.”

  Amie nodded and the two returned to a comfortable silence, which was odd considering how awkward she normally felt when it was quiet. Casting calls were a nightmare when she would finish her audition and just have to sit there, watching her betters assess her work in stark silence. It was part of the reason she babbled on so much in nearly every situation since she moved.

  Yet, with Malik, it was as if they’d grown up together and never had a tense moment in their lives, despite the incredibly strained night they had just shared. She felt her spirit lift as they reached his home.

  Glimpsing it at the end of the winding driveway, she saw it was something between a palace and a mansion; huge, with a vast array of windows. Windswept olive trees lined the driveway, with grass and gardens surrounding the entrance. The driveway circled around a black iris garden, ending in front of the immense front doors. Amie stepped out of the limo and was quickly assured that the driver would deliver her luggage to her room.

  The pair made their way inside and Amie was once again blown away by the opulence of the place. The foyer was beautiful, with white walls and smooth textures. She barely had time to turn and admire her surroundings before Malik ushered her up the spiraling staircase, where the first doorway led them through to a sprawling bedroom suite.

  “Obviously, we won’t be sharing a room,” Malik said quietly.

  “You mean, this is all yours?”

  He exhaled in exhaustion and looked around the room. “All mine…” he repeated, almost dismissively. While Amie was beyond impressed, Malik couldn’t even bat an eyelid at the riches that awaited him in the Middle East. If she had a bachelor pad like this, Amie thought there’d be no way she’d go back to Chicago, especially not to work in real estate.

  The halls leading to Amie’s guest bedroom had the same smooth white walls and gold trimmings that she’d seen downstairs. The passage had beautiful murals framed in gold moldings; intricate and majestic. Hanging tapestries lined down the hallway along with chandeliers and luxe sofas, all with red cushions.

  Down the hall, she could see something that looked like a drawing room. Before the pair could reach it, however, Malik stopped in front of a set of white double doors.

  “This will be your room while we’re here. Your belongings have already been unpacked for you, and you’ll find a fresh selection of makeup, hair products, clothes, and—”

  “—panties?” she interrupted with a laugh.

  She managed to make him blush. “Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “All that stuff. Help yourself, sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Amie nodded and slowly closed the door behind her. “Goodnight,” she said through the crack in the door.

  “Goodnight.”

  SIX

  As the door clicked shut behind her, Amie turned to marvel at her new bedroom; it was as extravagant as the rest of the estate. Beige and red carpeting covered the floor, complex patterns flowing through it. In the center of the room was a bed
with a dark red canopy behind it. There was a large, antique vanity next to the bed, and next to that sat a group of chairs made with the same wood and fabric that decorated the canopy, all sat around a dainty tea table.

  Rummaging through the dressers, Amie found a tank top and pink pajama pants which she promptly put on. It felt so good to be out of her formal dress. She made her way into the attached washroom and stared at her drained face and fallen curls. She quickly washed her face but couldn’t quite be bothered with trying to remove her mascara.

  She stepped back into the bedroom and flopped into bed, hoping for some much-needed sleep. She settled into the comfortable down-filled blankets and quickly turned the lamp off.

  It felt strange being in someone else’s bed, and slowly Amie’s mind began to wonder. What kind of scandal had happened between him and his family that would make his sister and father so insanely resistant to getting to know her? What tension was there that Malik would take freezing Chicago winters over a palace and endless warm nights?

  She tossed and turned for hours, trying to get comfortable. She knew she’d have trouble sleeping; she always did. Throw in jet-lag, the strangest acting gig imaginable, and a rumbling stomach and you get one exhausted but unrelentingly awake Amie.

  After hours in purgatory, Amie finally gave up on sleep and started wondering if she might be able to find some herbal tea in the kitchen, or a bag of chips. Really, either would do.

  She tiptoed out of bed and made her way into the hallway. The whole house was quiet and dark. She did her best with the limited lighting to find her way down the winding, intricately-carved staircase. The more she looked through the house, the more she believed it had come straight out of a book of fairytales.

  Her feet hit the cold tiles of the foyer and within a couple of steps Amie was in the kitchen. Luckily for her, all the cupboards were well-stocked with food. She grabbed a plate from a shelf and began loading it with pita bread, carrots, hummus, a meat skewer, and a large helping of baklava. Juggling her large plate, along with a glass of milk, she walked into the living room only to be startled by the sight of Malik, sitting in an oversized chair.

  She jumped in the lamplight, spilling a dollop of milk as she did. “You scared me!” she cried, anxiously looking down at the stain spreading over the plush carpeting.

  Malik laughed. He was lounging back in an emerald green chair, watching an old black and white movie. He looked down at the mark on the carpet and slowly reached for the remote, pausing the film.

  With a smile he stood and moved towards the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”

  Within moments he emerged with a dishtowel and wiped up the spill, giving her a teasing smile.

  “What!” she laughed. “You scared me!”

  “My apologies for my terrifying… watching in silence,” he laughed again and returned to his seat.

  Amie sat down on the sofa across from him and set her plate down on the coffee table before her, letting out a tired laugh as she did. She sighed unevenly as she started ripping the pita bread apart and dipping it in the hummus.

  Malik watched quietly as she picked at her food, the faux-couple sitting in silence until he resumed his movie.

  “Anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” she said through a mouthful of food.

  “Anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to raid the entire contents of a host’s fridge?”

  “Here, I thought you were my husband,” she said mockingly.

  “Fiancé,” he corrected.

  “Then what’s yours is mine!” she joked, stuffing her mouth with baklava. “What? You said help yourself!”

  They both smiled sleepily, sitting quietly for a moment before Amie pointed to the screen and asked, “So what are you watching, anyway? You’re into old movies?”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  She laughed. “Like what?”

  “With shock and horror,” he grinned. “Not your cup of tea?”

  “Old, outdated, before my time,” she shrugged. “Uninteresting.”

  “All right, Amie Shaw, I believe it’s about time we had our first pre-marriage debate,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and taking a sip from his water glass. “I take your argument and will raise you a counter to every point you make.”

  Amie leaned forward playfully, cupping her hands together. “Perfect!” she said with a grin. “We betting on this debate?”

  He laughed. “Do you have money to bet?”

  “No,” she said bashfully. “But I heard I have half a million dollars coming my way if I pretend to be marrying this cute guy.”

  Cute guy? She clenched her teeth. Why, oh why did she have to admit that to him? Joking banter aside, you probably shouldn’t call your boss cute, no matter how, well, cute he is.

  If he thought her comment was out of line, he didn’t say so. Instead, he made a suggestion. “Okay then, we play for bragging rights.”

  “Perfect,” she nodded. “All right, my first argument. Old movies are… old. No CGI, no special effects, just… black and white.”

  He nodded and scratched his chin as if considering her point. “Counter,” he said quickly, “Black and white films have better acting and better storylines because there’s no fantastical computer-generated scenes to distract from the story. Back then, if your actors were incredible, then your film was incredible, too.”

  She pursed her lips in an over-exaggerated manner and attempted to mimic how he’d scratched his chin. “Fair enough,” she concluded finally. “Second point: these fantastic storylines you just raved about may have been great at the time, but they deal with things which are now irrelevant to our culture. We simply can’t relate to the stories or scenarios anymore.”

  Malik extended his hand to the movie on the screen and shook his head. “I see them as historical portraits. Fascinating little time capsules for us to look back on. What better way to see an accurate portrayal of the 1940s than to see a movie made in the 1940s, by people who actually lived in that time period? The stories were full of substance, because they had to be. They had little else to fall back on.”

  “Okay,” she conceded with a groan. “But can you relate to them?”

  “Sure! These were films being made back when there weren’t a thousand other films like them with the exact same storylines. They were original, and they dealt with stories that are still the forerunning themes for movies today: love, pain, the human spirit. They’re timeless.”

  “And not a werewolf or vampire in sight,” Amie said, raising her brows sardonically. “All right,” she shrugged and continued picking at her plate. “So why do you like them, really? It can’t just be for the history lesson.”

  “I’m something of an insomniac by nature…” He took a long breath in and watched the actors on the screen; their steps perfectly in-time as they danced together through a field of sunflowers. He smiled as they did so and, almost out of nowhere, Amie felt a flash of attraction for her new boss. “They… make me feel something indescribable. There’s a spirit in these films that you can’t find today.”

  She snapped her fingers slowly and joked, “But they sure don’t help you sleep.”

  “Unfortunately not,” he said with a smile. “So what about you, Amie? What brings you down here, besides your apparently insatiable appetite?”

  Amie watched Malik, illuminated in the half-light of the television, and couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked. His eyes were tired, yet bright. His skin was perfectly tan, and he was well-built in frame, much taller than her, with the most enviable thick brown hair that she wouldn’t dare admit she was jealous of. What drew her in most was his smile; straight teeth, white as a cloud.

  Snap out of it!

  She shook her head suddenly before dropping her carrot stick and leaning back on the couch. “I just couldn’t sleep,” she said lamely. “I guess I’m still full of questions.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Do you mind?”

  He
made a sweeping gesture with his arm and nodded. “Not at all.”

  “Okay, how about we start with… why you’re doing all this? I mean, we’re taking the whole parental acceptance thing a bit far, aren’t we?” The words came out somewhat harsher than she intended and she winced slightly.

  “I guess you could say that,” he laughed and gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes. “You want the truth?”

  “Always,” she said softly.

  “I moved to Chicago about nine years ago,” he explained, leaning back in his chair. “My father sent me there to make a name for myself.”