Page 51 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

The palace gates swing open, and the world rushes in. Ahmed’s foot is heavy on the gas, slicing through the throng of journalists with their hungry cameras. I grip Ali’s hand tighter, as if to remind us both that this is real — that it’s happening. He looks back, his big eyes wide, a mix of confusion and awe at the sudden interest in our once secluded existence.

“Cameras, Baba,” he whispers, pointing through the tinted windows.

I nod, squeezing his hand. “Yes, they want to see you, my brave little man.”

“Will Tara see them too?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I reply, hoping to God that she will stay and see everything my life holds — the good and the ugly.

We pull up outside Tara’s apartment, the engine giving one last shudder before silence descends. It’s the quiet before the storm — a moment of stillness before the onslaught. My heart is a drumbeat in my chest, adrenaline and fear dancing a tango that I can’t control. I leave Ahmed with a nod, guiding Ali up the steps.

Her door looms before us, but it’s not her welcoming smile that greets us — it’s quiet when I knock.

Ali flits around the landing in excitement. “Stay close,” I tell him.

“Where is Tara?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” My chest tightens.

A neighbor, watering the potted ferns by her threshold, meets my questioning gaze. I see the recognition in her face — two princes, one who was a secret just yesterday — standing in front of her.

“Do you know where Tara Hague is?” I ask, choosing to ignore the elephant in the room.

“Left in quite the hurry, she did,” the woman says. “Not two hours ago. Said she was moving, going back home to the States. She was on her way to the airport.”

“Thank you,” I manage, the words tasting like ash. I don’t have time for pleasantries — we have to move,now.

Ali senses the urgency, trotting to keep pace with my long strides back to the car. There’s no escaping the glare of publicity now, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the beating of my heart, which echoes Tara’s name with every pulse.

“Airport,” I tell Ahmed, and we’re off again, the city blurring past us into abstraction.

“Are we going on a plane, Baba?” Ali asks.

“Maybe someday,” I say, ruffling his hair. For him, I will make the world limitless. But today, we chase a different kind of departure — one I’m desperate to prevent.

The airport swarms with life. People bustling, announcements chiming, the scents from the different restaurants. People stare. Gawk. Take pictures. Ali clings to my hand, his excitement a live wire sparking against my own dread.

“Big planes!” he exclaims, pointing to the glass walls showcasing the giants of steel preparing to cleave the sky.

“Very big,” I say, my voice tight. We navigate the sea of travelers, my gaze darting, searching for that familiar blond hair, the set of shoulders I’ve come to know even in silhouette.

Every step feels like wading through treacle, but Ali’s hand in mine is a lifeline, pulling me forward, urging me not to give up — not yet, not when there’s still a chance to rewrite our ending.

“Sir.” A guard steps forward as we reach security. “You cannot…” He trails off, recognizing me.

I stand a little taller. “I must pass. It is a matter of national security.”

He bows. “Of course, Your Highness.”

The guard unlocks a rope, and Ali and I pass by, people gasping and talking excitedly. If ever I’ve been glad to be a royal, it’s now. For all the troubles the position has caused me, it’s good to know there’s finally a payback.

My heart hammers, breaths shallow, as Ali and I dart through the terminal. Faces blur into a single tapestry of curiosity, but their stares slide off me like rain on glass. Once, such exposure would have been my undoing, but now, the fear of losing Tara eclipses everything else. I am bare to the world, and it feels like freedom.

“Keep close, Ali,” I urge as we weave through the crowd. The feeling of his small hand in mine is both an anchor and a compass — my son, flesh of my flesh, the hidden chapter of my life now open for all to read. The secret that once shackled me now fuels my stride.

I search the screens for any flights that are headed where Tara might be going. I assume she is on her way home, to the US, but she could be going anywhere.How will I?—

Wait. There it is. A connecting flight that eventually leads to New Jersey. My heart jumps into the base of my throat.

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