Page 33 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

“You should have been wearing your bathing suit already!” He’s already running back to the slide, ready for a second go.

After checking to make sure Amina is watching him, I head inside, peel off my wet clothes, and put on a bathing suit and T-shirt. I can’t get back outside quick enough. A sense of expectancy hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of chlorine and sunscreen.

I’m ready, or at least I’m getting there. For Ali, for the possibility of something new, for everything that lies beyond the threshold of this ordinary day turned extraordinary.

“Let’s get more balloons up, Ali,” I suggest, needing something to do while I wait for Tara. Ali nods, eager, and together we return to the task at hand, building a celebration that feels like a promise of things to come.

The warmth of the sun plays on my skin, a gentle touch that seems to coax the tightness from my shoulders. Around me, the staff move with quiet efficiency, laying out a spread of refreshments and adjusting lounge chairs to face the sparkling blue of the pool.

“Look, Dad! They’re like floating jewels!” Ali tosses a couple of balloons onto the surface of the pool.

“Indeed they are,” I reply, my heart swelling at the ease of his happiness. It’s a rare gift, this simple pleasure, and I guard it fiercely, even as I long to share it with someone who understands its price.

A soft rustle announces her arrival before I even turn. Tara steps through the garden gate, a vision of understated elegance in a blue sundress, her blond hair shimmering like spun gold. She smiles, her hazel eyes warm yet carrying that ever-present hint of introspection.

“Wow, you look like a princess from one of my books!” Ali exclaims, rushing towards her, his arms open for an embrace.

She laughs, a sound clear and genuine, as she bends to sweep him up into a hug.

“Thank you, Ali. You’re quite the charming prince yourself,” she replies, setting him down gently. Her gaze flickers to mine, and something unspoken passes between us, a current as real as the touch of the breeze.

“Is Tara your best friend, Dad?” Ali’s question cuts through the moment, innocent and incisive all at once. “Is that why she’s coming to our party?”

“Something like that,” I answer, feeling the promise of unvoiced hopes settle in my chest. “She’s a very special friend.”

I glance over at Tara, catching her eye as pink spreads across her cheeks. The sight tugs at something deep within me, a yearning that rocks me to my core. I want to reach out, to tell her exactly how special she is to me, but fear of rejection leaves me paralyzed. Instead, I offer her an apologetic smile and turn back to Ali, hoping she understands.

As Tara exchanges pleasantries with the staff, I watch the ease with which she inhabits our world, a seamless fit among the familiar faces. Ali tugs her towards the pool, insistent in his excitement to show off his latest swimming achievement, andshe follows, her laughter mingling with the splash of water as she applauds his efforts.

Later, we gather on the lawn, the grass cool beneath our feet, the air filled with the smoky tang of grilled food. Plates are passed around, piled high with seasonal fare, and conversation flows as easily as the iced drinks from the cooler. Ali sits between Tara and me, animatedly recounting his morning adventures, while Tara listens, her attention unwavering.

I watch her, this woman who has slipped unexpectedly into our lives, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to have her here always — a constant presence rather than a fleeting one. The thought is as tantalizing as it is terrifying.

“Try the watermelon.” Tara passes a slice to me, her fingers brushing mine. The contact is brief, but it sends a ripple through me, disrupting the calm surface of my composure.

“Thank you,” I manage, the word catching slightly in my throat.

“Best pool party ever!” Ali declares, grinning, and I believe it could be true — not just for him, but for me too. For us.

“Want to swim, Tara?” Ali asks, watermelon across his cheeks.

“We should wait a while to swim after eating, but how about we play with those water guns?” She nods at the ones leaned against the pool house.

“Yes!” Ali pops to standing and rushes to get them.

I stay where I am, leaning back in a lawn chair, watching them dart around the yard. Amina has fallen asleep in the chair next to me, a huge visor over her face. Ahmed and the rest of the staffare at the grill, joking and laughing. The day feels close to perfect — the only thing that could make it better being…

Well, more of Tara. All of Tara.

“Got you!” she exclaims, getting Ali’s shoulder with a stream of water.

They move on from a squirt-gun battle to swimming in the pool. I try not to stare at the way Tara’s two-piece swimsuit hugs her body, leaving little to the imagination, but inside I’m thinking filthy, filthy thoughts.

“Dad, look! I’m the king of the pool!” Ali calls out, perched atop Tara’s shoulders, his small hands triumphantly thrust into the air.

“Long may you reign!” I call back.

I turn away for a moment, gaze sweeping over the scattered groups of lounging staff, all basking in this rare day of leisure. It’s a snapshot of normalcy. And here, among them, I can breathe — really breathe.

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