The Sheikh's American Baby (The Sheikh's Every Wish Book 5) (9 page)

THIRTEEN

Lucie felt the tools that she’d been working with drop from her hands and started to walk towards the motorcade, as though pulled by an invisible string. The other members of the team seemed to be coming along, too, though they seemed a lot more excited about it. She was terrified.

When she got to where the cars were parked, she found that everyone was lining up. Of course, she thought. It was a royal audience. She took her place in line, and braced herself. The tears she had stifled in the bathroom at the airport were trying again to fight their way out, and Lucie could imagine nothing worse than breaking down in front of him when he finally saw her again.

The Sheikh got out of his car, and as much as Lucie tried to avert her eyes, she couldn’t help but sneak a look. Again, he was wearing traditional clothing, and he looked good. Better than Lucie wanted to admit.

He went along the line, greeting everyone. She heard the Arabic rolling off his tongue and remembered how foolish she had been, thinking that she should work hard at improving her Arabic so that when they spoke together she would be treated to hearing his voice in his native tongue.

When he got to her, he shook her hand, as he had the others.

At his touch, she felt a fire ignite within her. She’d tried for so long to put it all on herself. She’d been foolish, she thought. But now that he was in front of her, and she knew she was pregnant with his child, all that self-blame was gone.

He had misled her.

He had never acted as though the connection between them were so disposable. He had not presented it as a casual fling that they would both walk away from, without a single word spoken between them to say so. He’d made it seem as though it was the beginning of something—not the whole of it.

Suddenly she wanted to slap him. She could see it happening in her mind… the anger, the indignation all released in one violent moment. But then, she could also see Zach looking on with interest; maybe even planning to seduce her now she was at her lowest. She didn’t know what bothered her more: that he would try and make a move on her when she was so upset, or that she would likely be so distraught that he might succeed.

So she let the Sheikh say a few cool words of greeting to her, the same as he had to everyone else, and move on. And then she walked away, while Professor Hasseb gave him a guided tour of the site.

When she had returned to where she was working, she began to feel better. Not by much, but by enough that she felt a bit less lost in it all.

The worst had happened. The worst was over. She’d seen him, and the world hadn’t ended. She had managed to hold in the anger that she hadn’t even known she’d been harboring. He also hadn’t taken her in his arms and apologized.

A new sadness came with the knowledge that it was really and truly over. There was something so final about it. She found that she almost preferred the uncertainty of not knowing what might happen if she ever ran into him again to the sadness of knowing that nothing would.

Again, she found herself holding back tears. But these were new tears. These weren’t tears of fear or desperation. These were tears of loss.

This was the state she was pulled out of when she heard the Sheikh’s voice behind her.

“Lucie.”

He only said her name, but at the sound of it she still panicked as though he was revealing something private. She was aware, suddenly, of those around her. Many had gone back to work on different areas, but Professor Hasseb and Calista were still there, as was Zach.

Slowly, she turned to face the Sheikh.

“I was wondering,” he continued, in a calm, measured tone, “if you would be willing to join me for dinner tonight. I quite enjoyed our conversation on your last trip, and I would like to continue it.”

Instantly, the rage was back. And this time, it was white hot, and she felt as though it might shoot out of her fingertips like lightning in an ‘80s movie.

Their conversation? The euphemism felt as thin as it was insulting.

But she was trapped by the gaze of the onlookers, all waiting for her response.

She plastered on the widest, fakest smile she’d ever managed to muster. “I’d be delighted.”

He had to know her enthusiasm was feigned. She could see it on his face—just a split-second of something that looked like remorse. But this was a play, now, and they were the actors. And he could only say his lines and let her know that his driver would be there to pick her up when her day’s work was done.

And then he was gone. He was walking away, and Lucie was left to turn back to her work, and try desperately to focus on anything other than the dinner to come.

FOURTEEN

The ride to the palace was much longer than she remembered it being. But then, the first time, she had been enraptured in conversation. This time, she was miserable and torn.

During their brief conversation, it hadn’t occurred to Lucie to let the Sheikh know he would be having a child. In all the thoughts she’d had in the short time since discovering her pregnancy, she’d pictured raising the child alone.

But now that he was inviting her to his home, and they would have the opportunity to talk in private, the equation had changed. Now, instead of quietly raising her child alone and just never upsetting him with the news, she would be deceiving him if she didn’t mention it. Now that she knew, she had to say something, didn’t she?

The road to the palace seemed to stretch out longer and longer the more she thought about it. By the time the car actually pulled up to the palace gates, she was even more of a wreck than she’d been when she’d left the site.

The car picking her up directly after work had robbed her of the opportunity to release the tears that threatened her. But soon, she thought, she would get to yell at him, the way she’d been craving since she set eyes on him.

Entering the palace, a maid informed her that His Highness was waiting in the casual dining room, and Lucie slowly made her way there. Though the house was labyrinthine, she found she knew it well enough that she didn’t have a moment’s doubt which way to go. She resented how much this place still felt like it had when she’d woken up all those weeks ago, sure in the knowledge of his affection.

As promised, she found him waiting for her in the dining room, alone. Now was the moment of calm before the storm. Now was when the water washed back, before turning into the wave that would crush them both.

But just as she was gearing up to speak, she was interrupted.

“I’m sorry,” Abdul said suddenly, standing up and rushing towards her. “I’m so sorry, Lucie. I don’t know what you must have thought.”

For what felt like the hundredth time since meeting him, Lucie felt completely at a loss.

“W-what?” she sputtered out, trying to get across all the anger she had in her voice but failing spectacularly.

“I was about to come meet you, like we planned, when I found that my grandmother was not well. She’s been in California for the last few months. She didn’t want the people to know of her sickness, but the best doctors are there, and no amount of money or persuasion could bring them here.”

“Your grandmother… Your last living relative.”

She said the words out loud as she was putting them together, and he nodded to confirm.

“I had to be there. I thought she still had a few months left. The doctors all said… But she didn’t.”

Her anger didn’t quite melt away at that; it was pushed back behind a growing wave of concern.

“And were you able to see her?”

He nodded, solemnly. That vulnerability, again. There it was.

“My flight landed just a few hours before she passed. I was able to see her before she was no longer coherent. And as much as I regret the pain that I caused you, I will always be grateful that I was able to speak with her, one last time.”

Lucie’s anger began to again demand attention.

“I’m sorry about your grandmother. But you could have told me!”

He gripped her arms at that, as though clinging onto her and fighting for his life.

“I tried, I swear. I told a trusted servant to get word to you, but the message… it got mixed up. One servant told another who ended up coming to the States with me… I didn’t realize what had happened until much later. I was trying to arrange to bring my grandmother back home, and figure out how to bury her without the public funeral that she insisted she didn’t want. It was difficult, and complicated, and on top of all of it, you no longer wanted anything to do with me.”

“That’s not true!”

“I didn’t know that; I just assumed as much because you didn’t reply to my message. By the time I figured it out, you were gone. And as much as I wanted to reach out to you…” He trailed off.

“Weeks!” she said, aware of how small her voice sounded. “I was there for weeks, thinking you wanted nothing more to do with me. You could have saved me all that suffering, Abdul. All of it!”

“Yes,” he said, hesitantly. “I could have saved you all that suffering by telling you I love you.”

He’d said it. The words she’d never dared hope to hear.

He stepped close to her again.

“I didn’t know if you would forgive me. And there was no way for me to reach out to you without the chance that what happened between us might get out. There are many people in my country who don’t agree with the changes I’ve made. They think that I have changed things for the worse. It’s a delicate time in our history; if word got out that I’m in love with a Western woman, well, it could end up costing me more than a broken heart.”

There were those words again. Abdul was still talking, but Lucie didn’t care for his explanations anymore.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her. Then she kissed him, with all the force of the longing she’d been repressing for weeks, truly believing she would never again indulge in the touch of his lips.

They kissed for a long time, each lost in the feeling of being lost in the other. And, when they finally parted, Lucie finally felt the contented stillness that had been missing from her life since the last time she’d left the palace.

“I was hoping you might feel that way,” he said, a wry smile on his lips.

Then he pulled back, sliding his hands down along her arms until he caught her own hands in his. He gently coaxed her forward, around the dining table that Lucie only now realized had never even been set.

To her surprise, he opened up a set of windows at the back of the room and brought her out to a balcony. From here, they could overlook the whole of the gardens, the oasis and the desert beyond. Lucie’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the place where they had had their first kiss.

“Come,” Abdul said, drawing her out of the revelry of memory. “You must be starving.”

There was a table there, laid out with two settings, with the first course already in place. When she smelled the food, Lucie was suddenly aware of how very hungry the day at work on the site had made her.

So she sat, and she ate, speaking in low tones to Abdul while the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon, casting the world below them in a golden glow.

She should tell him about the baby, she knew. She should tell him now. But the moment, now, felt too precious. She didn’t know how he would react. She didn’t know if he would be angry that she hadn’t told him sooner, or even if he would believe her when she said she had only just found out.

All she knew was that she would remember these precious few moments for the rest of her life.

When they finished eating, she told herself, then she would broach the subject, and let the chips fall as they may.

But they lingered over the meal, eating their courses slowly, and speaking much in between. There was course after course, each exquisite, but also small and delicate enough that they could draw the meal out almost indefinitely, it seemed. By the time they had finished eating, the sun had hidden itself away, and the moon and stars had come out to replace it.

As dessert was finished, Lucie knew that now was the time she had promised herself she would tell him. But instead of opening her mouth to speak the words that might yet ruin it all, she opened her ears to the music that was carried out of the house on a perfumed breeze.

It was something written for piano; soft, sweet, and contemplative.

“Do you want to dance?” the Sheikh asked.

He was standing, now, holding his hand outstretched. Lucie’s mind flashed back to the moment when he invited her to follow him through the house and explore the tunnels below. She remembered the feeling of her body betraying her mind and following him, wherever he wanted.

And it happened again. In spite of her better judgement, in spite of knowing that the longer she put off telling him, the worse it would be, she found herself standing to join him in a dance.

I’ll tell him after we’ve danced
, she told herself. Just after she had spent a little more time in his arms, lost in the music.

She longed to hear his voice. Not when he spoke in English, but in Arabic. With her ear against his chest, she thought it would sound even richer than when she had heard it before.

“The night is so dark,” she said in Arabic, her accent was a little stiff. She wanted him to like that she would speak to him in his native tongue, and, from the quickening of his heartbeat, she knew he did.

“Yes,” he answered in Arabic, and she felt the warmth of his voice wash over her. “I wish it could be as it was six weeks ago, when the moon was full, and we walked beneath it. I think of it often.”

“As do I,” she said.

But she didn’t mind that the moon was in a different phase. She didn’t mind the way the sun had set so quickly, and left the world cold and dark so suddenly. All she needed was his heartbeat, the gentle swaying of their slow, intimate dance, and the feel of his arms around her.

Or at least she thought so, until he brought up his hand to her face, tilting her chin slightly so he could look her in the eyes.

She let herself gaze at him, drinking in every detail. If everything was, in fact, about to go wrong, she wanted to remember every moment of this. She would cherish the curve of his mouth, and every last word he spoke to her.

But he didn’t speak. Instead, he brought his lips to hers, filling her again with the sparks and fireworks that had burned bright at their first kiss.

And with that, Lucie found that she again wanted so much more of him than his heartbeat, and his arms, and his kiss. She pulled away, and took him by his hand, and led him, once again, back to the royal suite.