The Sheikh's Secret Son (Sharjah Sheikhs 3)

“So, when you do finally marry and accept your inheritance, are you going to do more to help the people who are suffering in the Emirate?” she finally asked.

Zaid sipped his wine before answering. “You know, I don’t remember you being quite this political.”

“I wasn’t,” she agreed. “A lot has happened since we were together. I’ve always been interested in helping the less fortunate, of course, because that’s how you prevent some of the violence that has affected my family, but I used to know my place, so to speak.” She laughed nervously. “I forgot my place somewhere along the way, I guess.”

“Well, I can assure you, I will continue the work I’ve already been doing to help my father draw more wealth into the region to bring all our people out of poverty. It’s a complex problem here, though, and it’s going to take a lot of work to solve the issue.”

She was impressed by his answer. He always knew the right things to say even if he didn’t know exactly the reality of his words. At least his heart was in the right place, she reminded herself, even if there was no way he could understand poverty the way she did.

“I think one of the ways to help the problem will be to stop trying to hide it. Or maybe to stop trying to hide from it,” she suggested.

Zaid sighed. “I should have let you attend the tour dinner tonight. I can see our dinner is going to be plagued by this political talk. I get enough of it from my father and his advisor. And trust me, Rebecca, we’re working on it. There’s more to it than simply throwing money their way. There are other issues in play that must be resolved so we can start revitalizing our poorer areas and bring them up to par with the rest of the region.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. Let’s enjoy each other’s company.” She raised her wine glass to him and drank a little more from it before she reached to nibble on the appetizers.

From where they sat on the palace rooftop, she understood why poverty wasn’t a huge topic for the Sheikh or the rest of the royal family. She couldn’t pinpoint any of the poor sections of Sharjah from where they were. As the sun melted into the horizon, it revealed a lush, golden paradise in the middle of the desert, reminding the viewer why people had been drawn to the region for centuries. Whereas Europeans had believed that the streets were paved with gold in the New World, the Arabian sun seemed to spin gold from thin air. And judging by the wealth held in the region, there must have been some truth to it.

As dinner came out and they began eating, she couldn’t help but ask. “So how is it that you get to choose your own wife? That’s awfully modern, isn’t it?”

Zaid gave her a rueful smile. “My father may be traditional, but he’s not stupid, and after my brothers…” He told her about the mess his brothers had made of their arranged marriages, abandoning the women their father had chosen for women they’d met in America. She tried not to let herself feel anything as he recounted the story, but there seemed to be a definite trend in his family.

Sipping her wine, she couldn’t resist speaking up, “Well, from everything you’ve said, the three of you definitely seem to have a thing for American women,” she teased.

Shrugging his shoulders, he mimicked her movements with his own wine as he looked at her across the top of his glass. “My brothers are more progressive and as Sharjah continues to modernize, they want to see changes in our culture as well.”

“And you don’t?” She didn’t know why she was prodding him.

Taking another drink, he continued to look at her, “There has only ever been one American woman of interest to me and she has made a point of resisting me at every turn.”

Rebecca flushed and quickly gulped her wine, coughing slightly as she swallowed too much too fast. This was not going how she had planned. She had thought she would be the one making him flustered. She set the empty glass down and Zaid refilled it for her as she concentrated on her meal. They ate in silence before he broke it asking her about her recent work.

She told him about some of the places she’d visited for work and how having to leave her son at home made her regret her career choice from time to time.

?

?Who does he stay with when you’re gone?” he questioned.

“My sister, Amy. He adores his aunty.”

“So, there’s no male father-figure in his life?”

“No, there isn’t. It didn’t seem...appropriate.” She wasn’t sure how to answer the question. She wanted to tell him about how often she dreamed about him. She wanted to let him know that every time she looked into Calum’s eyes, she saw Zaid staring back at her and she simply couldn’t bring herself to date someone else.

But, she didn’t know how to drop the walls she’d built up over the years. Her career and family had kept her from being able to stick with the only man she’d ever really had feelings for, and she didn’t want to lose anyone else to the life she’d chosen for herself. So she walled herself away from the rest of the world, shutting everyone out to the point that she didn’t even know how to let Zaid back in. The one person she wanted to let in.

By the end of dinner, their awkwardness was gone. All the political talk, the nostalgic hindsight, and the stilted small talk gave way to two friends being able to reconnect after five years apart.

“You know, there are times when Calum makes me want to call my parents and apologize for all the things I did as a kid,” Rebecca said, shaking her head, resting her hand on the table. More than anything, she wanted him to take it, to wrap her fingers in his warmth.

Zaid chuckled. “I can’t imagine raising a little version of me,” he added.

“That’s exactly what he is, too,” she told him, glancing away, unable to meet his eyes. “Every time I look at him, I see you. He likes to be on top of things the way you do, too. He is definitely the take-charge type.”

“I would like very much to meet him,” Zaid said, his voice quiet. “I would like to be part of his life; of your life.” He took her hand then, and just as before, an electric jolt went through her, electrifying her, as if she’d been waiting all these years for his touch.

She brought her eyes to his. “I’d love for you to meet him, at some point. I’m not sure about bringing him to Sharjah where it seems like the remaining pockets of poverty are beginning to turn violent,” she admitted.

“It isn’t that bad,” Zaid practically growled in frustration, pulling his hand away from hers.