Page 34 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

When was the last time I felt anything even close to this?

Watching Tara with Ali, the ease of her smile and the grace in her movements, I wonder what it might be like to have her in our lives full-time. To wake up to her soft voice, to share quiet evenings after the day’s bustle has faded, to not have to hide behind the careful construction of doctor and employer. The idea settles within me, a seed taking root.

“Hey, Faiz, come join us!” Tara shouts, beckoning with a splashing hand.

The invitation feels like more than just a call to the water; it’s an offer to a life less compartmentalized, one where my roles as father and man aren’t kept at arm’s length from each other. I push off from my seat, feeling the pull of that imagined future with each step toward the pool.

“Prepare to be dethroned, Your Highness,” I warn Ali playfully, the corners of my mouth turning upwards in a genuine smile.

“Never!” he retorts.

And as I dive into the cool embrace of the pool, I allow myself to float in the possibility that Tara could be more than just a fleeting presence in our lives — that maybe, just maybe, she could be the missing piece to the family we never knew we were building.

CHAPTER 18

TARA

The sun dips lower, casting a golden glow over the water where Faiz and Ali are in the pool. I watch as Faiz supports Ali’s small back with a steadiness that’s both strong and gentle. The way he guides his son through the motions of the backstroke, encouraging him, is unexpectedly tender — a side of him I don’t often see.

“Kick harder, buddy,” Faiz instructs, sounding like a proud teacher.

Ali’s legs churn the water, splashing droplets that catch the light and sparkle like fleeting diamonds. The interaction makes me smile, but a pang of longing darkens the moment. Even though every fiber of my being disagrees with the secrecy surrounding Ali’s life within these palace walls, witnessing this bond forces me to acknowledge the good within Faiz’s flawed choices.

And we’re not all perfect, are we? Goodness knows I make my own mistakes, and if I were to become a parent one day, I wouldn’t do it to please anyone else. I would make all of my choices based on my own values, based on my family’s well-being.

Faiz more than cares for Ali. He worships the boy. It’s clear as day.

As the party dwindles and the sky blushes with the colors of dusk, staff members begin to gather discarded towels and empty glasses. I roll up my sleeves and start helping, collecting half-empty plates and crumpled napkins. Ali emerges from the pool, dripping and giggling, and Faiz wraps him in an oversized towel, rubbing his hair dry.

“Dr. Tara, you’re not leaving, are you?” Ali’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I pause. The pool party is over, and this isn’t my home. So of course I need to go. The only other option would be overextending my invitation — and while the thought is tempting, I also would never be that rude.

“I was thinking I might,” I begin, but my words falter as Faiz’s gaze meets mine — a silent request lingering there.

“Stay,” he says simply, and it’s not a command but an offer, wrapped in a vulnerability that resonates deep within me.

My heart races, the chemistry between us crackling like static in the cooling evening air. I am caught in this moment, tethered by the intensity of his stare and the silent plea from his son.

“Okay,” I find myself saying, the word escaping like a secret I’ve been keeping from myself. “I’ll stay.”

The decision feels reckless, an impulsive leap into waters uncharted and potentially treacherous. Yet as we move together, finishing the cleanup, the possibility of what could unfold tugs at the edges of my caution. The laughter and chatter around us fade to a backdrop, and all I’m aware of is the proximity of Faiz— the man who has slowly etched himself into the periphery of my thoughts, blurring the lines I’ve so carefully drawn.

“Tonight is Cook Nina’s night off.” Ali slips his hand into mine as we walk into the mansion.

“Oh, it is?”

“Uh-huh. That means my father and I cook.” He looks up at me. “Would you like to cook, too? Or you can relax, and we’ll cook you dinner.”

I glance back at Faiz, following close behind us, not sure what to say. As it turns out, he nods in confirmation. “Please feel free to take it easy. You’re our guest tonight.”

“I do like cooking…” I squeeze Ali’s hand.

And so it’s settled. While the staff scatters, everyone heading to their homes — except for the guards who are on duty, who post up in the security room and the guard house — Ali, Faiz, and I head to the kitchen. It’s such a “normal person” thing, making dinner. Never in a hundred years would I have even expected it’s something that Faiz does.

But it turns out he knows his way around a kitchen pretty well. In hardly any time at all, the ingredients are out and the pans are heated up, the result of Faiz’s quick skills. Ali stands on a stool beside his father, his little hands eagerly tearing lettuce for the salad.

“Like this, Dr. Tara?” he asks, holding up a particularly well-shredded piece of green. “Is this how you like your lettuce?”

---