The Sheikh's Secret Love Child (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise 2)

Rosie took several steps back, feeling the anger of the

man before her. Tears spit from her eyes as she realized the truth: this was a world she could never understand. She was never going to mean anything to Hakan, not really. She was just one in a line of several covered-up scandals, just as she’d feared. And now, like the others, she was being dealt with. She shuddered, hoping her tears weren’t obvious.

As moments passed, she felt caught in her memories of Hakan, like a bug in a spider’s web. He’d been so compassionate, so kind, asking her questions about her as if he truly cared. He’d spoken about taking the crown as if it were a duty he was proud of, one he needed to fulfill to satisfy his family. And she’d been impressed by his commitment to that lineage.

And yet: his lineage lived in her stomach, now, and he wanted her to disappear.

Rosie felt that the worst thing was, of course, that Hakan hadn’t even deigned to tell her the truth himself. Rather, he’d sent this crooked old man, who looked at her as if she were a piece of meat to beat down cold.

Osman stuck his hand out once more. “So, it’s decided,” he said gruffly. “You’ll accept one million dollars per year, after the birth of your child, and you will stay away from Hakan. You will not mention to anyone that he is your baby’s father. And you will not try to contact either of us in the years to come. This is the end of our time together. Do you understand?”

Rosie kept her hands over her stomach, hating herself for speaking the quivering word: “Okay.” She refused to shake the man’s hand.

Osman brought his hands up, toward his face, splaying out his fingers. “That’s fine, Miss Lund, if you want to play it that way. You don’t have to be respectful about this.”

“Well, he isn’t. And neither are you.”

“I’m just doing my job, Rosie. Something I was certain you would understand. We can all be adults here.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be in touch regarding the payment. Just remember: you’ll never have to worry about money again. You can get a better place, you can live the life of luxury, just like the one that Hakan showed you. Aren’t you pleased you stepped in front of that Lamborghini all those weeks ago? It’s almost like fate swooped up and planted you into a new life, isn’t it?” He was grinning at her toothily, showing her three gold teeth on the left side of his mouth. “Maybe it’s just fate.”

Rosie took several steps back, hating that fate felt like a brick wall on which she was banging her head, over and over. She spun away from him and started marching back toward the bus stop, even as the wind rushed up again, spewing raindrops. She’d covered some ground before she remembered something, spinning back around.

“Apparently,” she began, catching Osman’s attention once more, “I’m no different from that wrecked sports car.” She shook her head, her hair flapping in the wind. “Just like that insanely beautiful, dead vehicle, I’m something to be left behind; to be dealt with using cold money. I suppose that’s just the Sheikh’s way, isn’t it?”

She spun back around and ran full-force to the bus stop, then, but not before she caught a sly grin spreading across Osman’s face. It was clear that deep in his crooked soul, he was enjoying her misery.

Rosie boarded the bus when it arrived, raindrops dribbling down her nose and mixing with her tears. She took a seat near the back, hoping nobody would sit with her as the bus ran down south and back into civilization. Outside, gray and black cars swept by in a sad procession, on a continuous search for what came next. She checked her phone, realizing that Amy had called her five times since she’d arrived at the Locks. She couldn’t call her back. Not yet.

The baby that stirred in her belly, gaining new cells all the time, was half Hakan’s. And yet, that baby wasn’t wanted by him, the man who had filled her world with sunshine for only a moment before disappearing into the Seattle clouds. She wondered where the Lamborghini was right at that moment. It was probably rotting in a garbage dump somewhere nearby, each of its pieces asking the universe what had gone wrong. In her life, she had learned to fix things with people, to make compromises, and not to just thrust things and friends out of her life. It was why she was a loyal friend. It was why her friends stuck by her, as well, no matter what. Relationships had meaning.

The bus drove to Capitol Hill, and Rosie sighed as she stepped onto the sidewalk, looking at her shoes. A million dollars per year, every year after her baby was born. This was a hefty number. She looked up and down the streets as she walked, realizing she would be able to rent any apartment in this, her favorite neighborhood. Heck, she could even move somewhere new and start over. Perhaps she could change her name. This was exactly what Hakan wanted, apparently: for her not to exist.

But money had never been her motivator. When she’d chosen to become a nurse, she’d been aware that it paid rather well, but that you had to earn it, and that it didn’t always feel worth it. Her mother had suggested that she become an engineer, but she’d scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that her mother had only her monetary interests in mind.

Rosie arrived at her apartment, then: the one she’d rented when she started her job, as soon as she’d scraped enough money together. It was the first place where she’d lived by herself. It was her very heart, her very own.

She moved from the dining room to the living room, wondering whether or not a child could reside there, growing from baby to man. She imagined herself rocking a baby on the couch; she pictured herself feeding a teething baby in the dining room, the baby splattering peas all over the wall. She imagined that they’d come to appreciate one other as the only other important person in their lives.

And when the issue of a father came up, Rosie knew she wouldn’t be able to tell her child the truth. Not if she accepted that money.

She swung her legs onto the couch, blinking at the empty television screen, and crafting her life scheme. She would, of course, “take” the money from Hakan. But she wouldn’t put it toward anything. It would be a side account, a very large reminder of all that came before. And beyond that, she would carve a life out for herself and for her child. Here.

She picked up her phone, then, and dialed a number she used all too rarely. The phone rang a few times before she heard the familiar, syrupy-sweet voice on the other end, all the way in rural Washington.

“Momma?” she said. She felt herself falling to tears. “Momma. I have something to tell you. And I think, actually, that it’s wonderful news. Absolutely wonderful news.”