The Sheikh's Love-Child

There was no way she knew of to make this information more palatable, less surprising, so she ploughed on. ‘You have a child, Khaled. A son.’

The silence ticked by for a full, taut minute. Khaled just stared at her, a blank, unnerving stare that made Lucy want to explain, apologise, but she did neither. She just waited.

‘A son,’ he finally repeated, his voice still so terribly neutral. ‘And you did not seek to apprise me of this fact until now?’

‘Actually, I did.’ Lucy kept her voice even. Now that she’d told him, now that he knew, she felt calm, composed. In control. All the things she’d wanted to be all along—all the things she’d wanted to be four years ago. ‘I didn’t realise I was pregnant until after you left,’ she continued. ‘And, when I did, I tried to get in touch with you. Your mobile number had been disconnected—’

‘That’s all?’ Khaled bit out. ‘One attempted phone call?’

‘Not quite,’ Lucy returned coolly. ‘I sent an e-mail to you in Biryal. I got the address off the government website—’

‘You sent an e-mail to a generic government e-mail address and expected me to get it?’ Khaled interjected, raking a hand through his still sweat-dampened hair. ‘With the kind of information it contained, it was undoubtedly dismissed as a tabloid’s ploy or the ravings of a scorned mistress.’

‘And isn’t that what I was?’ Lucy flashed, her own temper rising to meet his. ‘Except I didn’t happen to be raving.’

They glared at each other for a long moment and then with a sudden, ragged sigh Khaled turned away. ‘What’s his name?’ The question surprised Lucy, softened her.

‘Sam.’

‘Sam,’ he repeated, and there was a note of wonder in his voice that made him seem somehow vulnerable, and made Lucy ache.

‘He’s three years old,’ she continued quietly. ‘He had his birthday four months ago.’

Khaled nodded slowly, his eyes on a distant horizon. From downstairs there came a sudden burst of raucous laughter that felt like an intrusion in the sudden cocoon of warmth Sam’s name had created.

Khaled straightened. ‘I’ll have to have a DNA test done.’

Lucy blinked. It was no more than she expected, but still it hurt. ‘Fine.’ She drew a breath. ‘Khaled, I didn’t tell you about Sam because I wanted something from you. You don’t need to worry—’ She broke off because Khaled was staring at her in what could only be disbelief, his eyes narrowed, his mouth no more than a thin line.

‘Worry?’ he repeated softly, and Lucy shrugged, the movement defensive.

‘Worry that I came here asking for money or something. Sam and I are fine. We don’t need—’

‘Me?’ he finished, and Lucy felt a chill of apprehension. This wasn’t what she’d expected, what she’d wanted.

‘We’re fine,’ she repeated firmly, and Khaled shook his head.

‘Every boy—every child—needs his father.’

‘Plenty of children are raised without one.’ Like she had been. Children didn’t need fathers—not ones who walked away, at any rate. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and met his gaze. She saw sparks firing the golden depths of his eyes.

‘Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want me in my son’s life?’

His words were almost a sneer, a condemnation and a judgement. Lucy threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She was ready to fight. God only knew, after four years of living with so many unanswered questions, the broken pieces of a shattered existence—not to mention of her heart—she was ready. ‘Yes, I am saying that. You haven’t exactly proven yourself reliable, Khaled. The last thing I want is for Sam to come to know you, love you, and then for you to do another disappearing act.’

The skin around Khaled’s mouth had turned white, his eyes narrowed almost to slits. ‘You are insulting me,’ he said in a dangerously quiet voice.

‘Is it an insult?’ Lucy arched one eyebrow. ‘I rather thought I was telling the truth.’

Khaled muttered a curse under his breath, then stalked back to the table by the window to pour himself another drink.

‘I think you’ve had enough, considering you’re on medication.’

‘I haven’t even begun,’ Khaled snarled, his back to her. ‘And I don’t need any advice from you.’

‘Fine.’ Lucy’s heart thudded but she kept her voice cool. Still her fingers curled inwards, her nails biting into her slick palms.

What did Khaled want?

His back and shoulders were taut with tension and fury as he tossed back another finger’s worth of whiskey. Lucy was suddenly conscious of how tired she was; her mind spun with fatigue, every muscle aching with it.

‘Why don’t we continue this conversation tomorrow?’ she said carefully. ‘I don’t leave until noon. I think we’d both be in a better frame of mind to consider what’s best for Sam.’

‘Fine.’ His back still to her, Khaled waved one hand in dismissal. ‘We can have breakfast tomorrow. A servant will fetch you from your room at eight.’

‘All right,’ Lucy agreed. She waited, but Khaled did not turn round. ‘Till tomorrow, then.’ She walked towards the door, only to be stopped with her hand on the knob by Khaled’s soft warning.

‘And, Lucy…’ He turned round, his eyes glittering. ‘We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.’

The door clicked softly shut and Khaled raised his glass to his lips before he thrust it aside completely with a muttered oath. It clattered on the table and, pushing a hand through his hair, he flung open the doors that led to a private balcony.

Outside he took in several lungfuls of air and let it soothe the throbbing in his temples, the still-insistent ache in his knee. He hadn’t had a flare up like the one tonight in months, years…and Lucy had seen it. Seen him, weak, prone, pathetic.

He’d never wanted that. He’d never wanted anyone—especially her—to know. Hadn’t wanted the pity, the compassion that was really condemnation. He didn’t want to become a burden, as his mother had, to her own shame and sorrow.

It was why he’d left, why he’d taken the decision out of Lucy’s hands. It was the only form of control he’d had.

Yet now he realised he would have to put that control aside. Things would have to change. He would have to change. Because of Sam.

Sam…

The air was sultry and damp; a storm was coming. He felt as if one had blown through here, through his room, his life, his heart.

Sam. He had a son. A child; flesh of his own flesh. A family at last. It was an incredible thought, both humbling and empowering.

A three-year-old son who didn’t even know of his existence. Khaled frowned, guilt, hurt and anger all warring within him. He wanted to blame Lucy, to accuse her of deceiving him, of not trying hard enough to find him, but he knew that would be unfair. He had not wanted to be found.

He had pushed her out of his mind, his heart, his whole existence, and thought things would stay that way. He’d made peace with it, after a fashion. He’d certainly never planned on seeing her again.

Loving her again.

For a moment, Khaled allowed himself to savour how she’d looked—kneeling before him, the sweep of her glossy hair, her slender, capable hands that had once afforded him so much pleasure. He remembered the way that satin dress had clung to her curves, pooled on the floor, and even in the red haze of pain he had a sharp stab of desire.

Desire he wouldn’t—couldn’t—act upon. Yet neither could he deny that Lucy was in his life once more, and now he would not let her leave it. He wouldn’t leave, because things were different.

Sam had changed everything.

* * *