Fated Lovers (Sold To The Sheikh 2)

FIFTEEN

As she drove home from her mother’s house, Mia tried to focus on how nice it would be to hold Aziz in her arms again; how much she would enjoy crawling into bed with Rami and cuddling with him until she fell asleep. She had prepared the soup for her mother before she’d left, her feelings still turbulent. Finding out that there was a procedure that could potentially benefit Amie—and being unable to help her mother access it—made Mia miserable. “I know she’s right,” Mia said to herself as she turned onto the highway, heading towards the family home. “But why couldn’t she at least have told me? There has to be some way that she can get it. There has to be.” Mia caught her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the bit of flesh and sighing.

Traffic was heavier than she had anticipated, and Mia found herself thinking in circles as she inched forward in her old car. She still ha

d some money from when Rami had been paying her to be his surrogate; but that was money that she needed in order to take care of Aziz until she was able to go back to work—or get a new job. With her debts paid off, too, she could—in theory—get a better teaching job. But that would have to wait until Aziz wasn’t so dependent on her; in the meantime, she would need to rely on the money she’d set aside in savings.

“There has to be some kind of organization that helps patients like her,” Mia said, thinking out loud as she finally managed to get off of the highway. Her stomach was roiling inside of her, her mind torn between conflicting loyalties. “Some kind of charity or something that can help pay for treatment, right?” She shook her head—who was she asking? Mia sighed again, turning off of the exit ramp. She would figure something out for her mother. It wasn’t fair that there could be a solution to potentially improve her mother’s health—and yet her mother be denied it because of something as petty as money. “Money’s nothing when you have plenty of it,” her father had liked to say.

As she pulled into the driveway at the house, Mia saw with relief that Rami’s car was there already. She parked and got out, intent on finding him as quickly as she could. If nothing else, Mia reasoned, telling Rami about her mother’s situation would at least make her feel better—she wouldn’t be only one of two people who knew about it.

Mia found Rami in the living room, holding Aziz. The infant was—for a change—wide awake, eyes open and smiling in reaction to Rami’s antics. Mia smiled to herself, watching as Rami cooed, lifting Aziz into the air in his strong, capable hands; if she had ever entertained any doubts about Rami’s ability to deal with a child, they had evaporated within hours of her delivery, after seeing him confidently and lovingly hold Aziz, murmuring to the newborn about all the things they would do together.

“You know, he’s too young to understand peekaboo,” Mia said, half-laughing.

“Or maybe he’s just extremely gifted and understands it very well—but isn’t impressed with me disappearing,” Rami countered with a grin. “How’s your mother?”

Mia’s upturn in mood disappeared. “She’s still having a lot of problems with medication,” she said quietly. “This afternoon we got into…not a fight, exactly, but kind of an argument.”

Rami’s expression turned serious, his brows knitted with concern. He cradled Aziz close to his body and gestured for Mia to sit next to him on the couch.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Mia smiled at her son as she approached, leaning in close to kiss both him and Rami before she sat down.

“There’s a procedure—a treatment—that would really help her,” Mia explained. She felt her throat tighten as she remembered the details of the letter, and her subsequent confrontation with her mother.

“That’s wonderful, though,” Rami said. “Why would that be bad news?”

“It’s chemotherapy,” Mia replied. She pressed her lips together for a moment before continuing. “The issue is that she can’t pay for it. It’s so expensive; it will cost thousands of dollars.” Rami’s face contorted and Mia almost regretted telling him; he looked almost as upset as he had when he had announced the news of his father’s failed business empire to his family.

“I just cleared out my savings paying for the lawyers who are going to liquidate my father’s businesses,” Rami said with a cringe. “I wish I had known…I might have been able to put them off for a while longer, or I could have offered them a cut of whatever might be left of the estate once everything’s sold off.”

Mia shook her head. “I wouldn’t want you to get into the same situation your father was in before he died—owing people without a clear way to pay them off. I just wish that there was some way I could help her.” Mia explained her mother’s situation, how her body had built up a tolerance and the doctors kept having to increase dosages and change her medications. “Basically she’s in a situation now where she’s going to either run out of medications that work, or destroy her kidneys or liver.” Mia sighed.

“I hate this,” Rami said, jiggling Aziz as the infant began to fuss. Mia gave him a quick, almost sardonic look and reached out for the child, taking him in her hands and arranging him in the crook of her arm as she began to unbutton her blouse.

“He might not be hungry,” she told Rami, pulling her breast free of her nursing bra, “but that has never stopped him nursing yet.”

Rami smiled as he watched the one-month-old latch onto Mia’s nipple and begin to nurse eagerly. “I do hate it though,” he continued. “I promised you that I would take care of you—that I’d treat you like a princess, like the queen you are—and now I can barely even keep a roof over your head.”

“I didn’t get involved with you because you were rich, Rami,” Mia said firmly. “I fell for you because you’re kind, smart, funny, and sweet. Because you have a good heart.” Rami seemed to relax, sighing. “I was thinking there might be some kind of organization—a charity or something—that we could talk to about helping Mom pay for the treatment. It’s worth a try, right?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Rami agreed, nodding. He leaned in a little closer to Aziz. “This is why I love your mommy so much, son: she’s got an answer for everything.”

Mia laughed, shaking her head. “I do not!” She looked down at Aziz lovingly. “I’m just a little more used to not having money to throw around.”

Rami laughed. “Well you’re right about that,” he conceded. “In any case, I do think you’re the smart one in this relationship.”

Mia rolled her eyes, grinning with pleasure in spite of her embarrassment. “We’re both smart. Think of what a genius our little boy will be.”

Rami nodded, smiling. With the three of them together, it felt as though they could push their worries to the back of their minds—for a moment, at least.

SIXTEEN

While Mia could never fully forget the issue of her mother’s situation, the next day, having resolved to figure out what organizations and charities she might be able to talk to about getting help with funding, Mia was somewhat relieved at the possibility to lose herself in the needs of her son. She cuddled him late into the morning; she held him in his sling while she ate breakfast, and then, since Aziz was spending more and more time awake, she spent a little while playing with him before he nursed again.