Page 54 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

We settle into the sitting room, where staff brings us tea. The drama surrounding Ali’s existence still goes on outside the palace, surely, but in here it’s as if it never started in the first place. It almost feels normal within these four walls.

I relax into the plush cushions of a divan, Faiz’s hand still warm around mine. The sheikha’s gaze, curious and expectant, shifts between us, and the question hangs delicately in the air like the final note of a symphony.

“Where do you stand — Tara, Faiz?” she asks.

I feel every eye upon us, the anticipation in their gazes like a tangible thing. My throat tightens, but I glance at Faiz, finding an anchor in the steady brown depths of his eyes.

“We are together,” he says, his voice carrying a tremor. “I hope,” he adds, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a tentative smile as he turns to me. It’s a silent plea for affirmation, for the courage to step beyond the walls we’ve both so carefully constructed around our hearts.

A laugh bubbles up from my chest — a mingling of relief, joy, and sheer incredulity — and spills over into the space between us. “Yes,” I confirm, squeezing his hand, the laughter warming my words. “We’re together.”

The room blossoms into smiles, the sheikh’s face creasing with lines of genuine contentment. Even the heavy drapes seem to flutter in approval, as if caught by a sudden, joyful breeze.

“Then happiness be upon you both,” the sheikha declares, her eyes gleaming with what I could swear is triumph, as though this were the missing piece to a puzzle she’s longed to see completed.

The fear of forever being alone, which so often haunts my thoughts, retreats into the shadows, chased away by the light of acceptance in everyone’s eyes. I’m here, present in this embrace of new beginnings, where the risk of baring one’s soul is rewarded with a chance at shared tomorrows. And I think thatmaybe, just maybe, this is what it means to find home — not in a place, but in the heart of another.

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER: TARA

“How are you feeling?” my friend and bridesmaid Esme asks.

I draw a deep breath. “Nervous… and… happy.” I grin wide. “So happy.”

I watch myself in the full-length mirror, my reflection almost ethereal in the ivory gown Esme helps me adjust. The delicate lace hugs my form, trailing down to where it pools elegantly at my feet.

“Almost ready,” she murmurs as she secures the final pearl button along the back of my dress.

“Thank you,” I murmur, grateful beyond words.

When I decided to stay in Zahrania after all, I wasn’t even thinking about making friends. I was fully focused on work and my new life with Ali and Faiz. But I guess loosening the reins a little was all it took, because only a few weeks later I met Esme, who had just started working as a lawyer for the royal family. We connected over growing up near each other — she comes fromNew York — and our love for books. Since then, she’s turned into someone who feels more like my sister than anything else.

“I can’t believe it’s my wedding day,” I murmur.

“I know, right? You look so gorgeous, Tara.”

“Thank you.” My hands tremble slightly — not from nerves, but from a rush of anticipation. Today, I marry Faiz. I’ve pushed myself to open up to this world, to him, and now, the fruits of vulnerability lie sweet upon my tongue.

“Look.” Esme gently turns my gaze toward the window. Outside, little Ali dashes among a group of children, his laughter reaching us through the pane of glass. It warms my heart to see him so carefree, enjoying friends just as he should be.

Suddenly, a shadow looms in the doorway, and I whirl around, feigning sternness. “Faiz! You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Is it bad luck if I can’t resist?” His voice holds a playful edge, and his brown eyes shimmer with love and lust.

“Only a smidgen,” I reply, allowing the moment to soften me.

Esme clears her throat. “I’ll go check and see how everything is coming along downstairs… Be right back.” She slips from the room, leaving me and Faiz alone.

He steps closer, close enough that I can see the faintest trace of worry creasing his brow. We’re on the edge of forever, and the weight of it seems to press against him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I only worry…” He swallows hard. “That I might not be good enough for you. That I might let you down somehow.”

“Hey,” I whisper, reaching out to smooth the line with my thumb. “We’ve come this far together. You haven’t let me down yet.”

“Indeed, we have.” He smiles, and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds. He leans in, and we steal a kiss that feels like a promise — a fleeting touch that speaks of more to come.

---