Page 10 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

I should be focused on Ali’s recovery, the clinical details of his chest infection, but my thoughts are knotted around the question of his identity. Who is he and why is Faiz so protective of him?

I get into my car and start the engine, feeling off leaving Faiz’s palace and heading back to my sad, small apartment. The guard at the gate nods as I pass, and I feel like he’s always been there. Even before the palace was built. Even before the concept of time was created.

I want to brush all of this off, to tell myself that Ali is the son of one of the staff members and it was just easier for Faiz to call me to the palace rather than take him to a doctor’s office. But things don’t add up, especially when you consider how distant Faiz is from his family.

Is Ali… Could it be…?

No. I don’t want to entertain that possibility — that Ali is a child whom someone is missing. That he’s being kept in this palace as a hostage or a kidnapping victim. That’s too crazy. Too unexplainable. Why would Faiz do that?

Then again, can I really write anything off at this point?

I do know that I need to keep my speculations in check until I know more. I can’t let my imagination get ahead of me. Rather, I need to keep my eyes and ears open to information as it comes in.

I sigh as I turn onto the road. It would be so much simpler if I could just tell myself this isn’t my problem, but it’s too late for that. The moment I walked into that bedroom, I was already in too deep, and now I have to see this situation — whatever it is — all the way through.

CHAPTER 6

FAIZ

Ilean against the cool marble of the window frame, watching the front gate close behind Tara’s car. I should be suffused with gratitude — and I am — but it’s a gratitude knotted up with concern for Ali and a yearning that makes my chest tight.

Tara has this effect, has had it since the first day she walked into my life two years ago, all professionalism and subtle warmth. But even then, standing amid the family who trusts her implicitly, I sensed the undercurrent of something more — a connection, an impossible possibility. The complications of my life prohibit indulgence in such fantasies. And yet, I can’t help but feel the pull, magnetic and undeniable.

I push off from the window and make my way to Ali’s room, the path so practiced I could take it with my eyes closed. Opening the door, I find him propped up in his bed, a small frown creasing his forehead as he plays with a toy car. The sight of his furrowed brow increases some of the tension in my own.

“Hey, champ,” I say, ruffling his dark hair with affection. “How are you feeling?”

Ali looks up at me, his brown eyes brightening. A semblance of energy has already returned to them, though it can’t be because of anything more than Tara’s presence. “Better, Baba. I liked the lady doctor. She was nice. Can she come back?” His voice, still weak but hopeful, strikes a chord within me.

A smile tugs at my lips, my heart swelling with both love for my son and fear over what inviting Tara into our lives could mean.

“Yes, she’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’re doing,” I assure him, choosing not to dwell on the fact that Tara’s return is as much for Ali’s benefit as it is a concession to my own selfish desires to see her again.

Because even though it is risky introducing Tara to Ali, there’s a part of me that couldn’t wait to see her today. Even though I know nothing can ever happen between the two of us, there’s a flutter in my chest every time she’s around.

“Good.” Ali’s simple reply carries the weight of innocent expectation, so unaware of the complexities that roil just beneath the surface of my carefully maintained control.

For his sake, I must keep those complexities buried deep, knowing the precarious balance upon which our lives are built.

For now, there’s contentment in Ali’s gaze, and that’s enough to anchor me. I sit beside him, watching over him as he drifts into a peaceful sleep. It’s moments like this that remind me what’s at stake, why the walls I’ve erected around us must stand firm. And yet, as I think of Tara’s imminent return, I can’t shake the fear that one day, those walls might just come tumbling down.

“Faiz?” A soft whisper comes in through the door.

I look over and see Ali’s governess, Amina, standing in the doorway. Even though she works for me, I asked the entire staff long ago — what five of them are left — to address me by my first name. The day Ali came into my life, everything changed. I don’t even feel like a member of the royal family anymore, “sheikh” a title that doesn’t fit my changed form.

Carefully, so as not to wake Ali, I stand and walk over to Amina. The older woman peers at Ali with a soft smile, the earlier worry in her eyes gone.

“She is sending a course of antibiotics to the house,” I whisper.

Closing the door behind us, Amina and I step out of Ali’s dimly lit bedroom. The thick carpet swallows the sound of our footsteps as we move away from the quiet area where my son now sleeps.

“Thank you for calling her,” Amina whispers, her voice filled with a sense of relief that tugs at the corners of my heart.

She wanted to take him to a hospital, as our regular doctor who makes house calls is on vacation, but the walls of this palace are not just made of stone and mortar; they’re built from secrets and silent vows.

“Ali needs more than what we can give him here,” she adds.

I nod, the gesture more for myself than for her; I merely want to end this conversation before it even begins. “Tara will keep an eye on him,” I reply, the name feeling strange and dangerous on my tongue.

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