And yes, he fully intended to stay married to her, if she accepted him. He’d already sat his family down and explained the situation. Funnily enough, after the momentary shock wore off, they’d been okay with it. There was no love lost between the deceased Roxanne and the Nazrani clan because of all the anguish she’d put Feraz through. Even his dear mother Zuhra was happy. She’d always loved Isabella and to know that she was still alive and well and would be the mother of Feraz’s children brought her infinite joy, she’d said.
Feraz shared the sentiment, in spades.
Now, if he could just see Isabella again and talk with her about these things he’d be all set. He didn’t have long to wait. His wife’s plane was due to land in twenty minutes at the Al-Qustra International Airport and he planned to be there when she arrived. Along with the rest of his family because they refused to stay behind.
They all piled into the two limos waiting in front of the palace and headed out through the open desert toward the airport on the outskirts of town. No one said much and Feraz was grateful for that. He had a lot on his mind. Mainly remembering the last time he’d visited the family’s private hangar. He and Isabella had just landed from New York. He’d kissed her, thinking she was Roxanne, but even then he’d had inklings that things were different. At first he’d put it down to her pregnancy, but his heart knew the truth.
Things were different because the woman in his arms was different.
Isabella was always meant to be his. He could see that clearly now. He only wished he hadn’t been so blind years ago on the beach and allowed
himself to be swept away by Roxanne’s glitz and glamour. Isabella was more subdued, more refined, but every bit as beautiful.
He wasn’t yet sure how they would handle the press or all the questions about Isabella’s identity. Under normal circumstances, he would have waited an appropriate time out of respect for Roxanne, then married Isabella quietly and got on with their lives, if that’s what she wanted. But with the twins on the way, time was of the essence. It was a quandary, one he was still pondering when they pulled up inside the hangar at the airport.
“Relax, my son,” Zuhra said, smoothing her hands over the shoulders of Feraz’s charcoal gray custom Italian suit. “She will want to be with you. She loves you. A mother knows these things.”
Ferax forced himself to exhale and gave a curt nod. “I hope you are right. Things are much more complicated than I like.”
“The best things always are, my son.”
“And I thought my love life was complicated, brother,” Raheem said, stepping up beside Feraz and nudging his shoulder. “I believe you get the prize on this one. Though I demand a rematch of our basketball game.”
“Any time.” Feraz grinned. “And you seem to have worked your way through your problems to a happily ever after.”
“What are you two discussing?” Rehaj said, moving to flank Feraz’s other side.
“Feraz’s horrible luck with women,” Raheem said.
Rehaj snorted. “The absolute worst.”
“Who’s the worst at what?” Jess asked, walking up to them, the rest of the sister’s in tow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to mess this up again, brother. Feraz, you love Isabella and I would bet a fortune she loves you too. I’ve talked with her, spent time with her since her return, and I’ve seen it in her eyes. Don’t mess this up again.”
The roar of approaching jet engines cut off Feraz’s reply.
Isabella was home.
My Isabella.
He swallowed hard around the lump of tension in his throat as the jet’s tires touched down on the runway in the distance, then watched as the small plane slowly taxied toward them. His pulse pounded, and his palms felt clammy. Allah help him, he’d not felt this nervous since he’d been a schoolboy asking a girl out on his first date.
The jet slowly pulled to a stop in the hangar and the fuselage door opened. Stairs descended from the cabin down to the tarmac with a hydraulic hiss. Then Isabella slowly moved into the doorway, her lovely green eyes wide and her pretty pink lips parted as she took in the crowd awaiting her.
Even from where he stood, he could feel the stress pulsing off her in waves, see the slight shadows beneath her eyes and the sharpness of her cheekbones. She’d lost weight since she’d been gone. She looked far more fragile now and he longed to rush to her side and pull her into his arms, vow his everlasting protection and love and never let her out of his sight again.
But first, they had things to discuss.
Isabella didn’t meet his gaze as she descended the stairs then walked over to stand in front of him. She glanced to either side of him, taking in his family lined up like soldiers to come to his defense. “I, uh…” she started, her voice thin. “I’m sorry about the way I left. My mother is gone.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, rohi.”
“Thank you. And thank you for sending such a lovely arrangement to the funeral. It was much appreciated.” Isabella clasped her hands in front of her, so tightly he could see the skin turn white over her knuckles. Truthfully, he’d had a secretary make the arrangement for the floral delivery. Given all the lies and tricks Calista Germain had brought into his life over the past two years with her interference, he considered it an act of supreme generosity. But he’d owed the kindness for Isabella’s sake. Now, he considered that debt, and the debt to his deceased wife paid in full. He was ready to move on to his future with Isabella and prayed she was ready too.
“Listen, Feraz. Can we go somewhere private to talk. I—”
“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my family.” He raised his chin, gathering all his inner strength not to reach out and pull her into his arms. She needed to get this out first and he needed to listen. “Go on.”
Isabella cringed, but did as he asked. “I’m not who you think I am. The truth is your wife, Roxanne Isabella Germain, died in that car accident in France. I’m actually her twin, Isabella Roxanne Germain. I underwent the IVF treatments in Roxanne’s place because I’d been desperate for the money to pay for my mother’s care. It was all supposed to be so simple. Everyone would get what they wanted out of it. No one was ever supposed to know…”