Challenging the Doctor Sheikh Read online

  Tahira offered tea in response, accepting without questions. At least that would be the same.

  Speaking Arabic had started to feel normal. She no longer had to think in English then mentally translate to make herself understood. She could thank Dakan for that, if she ever saw him.

  Not that she could count on that in the near future. Dakan was off doing medical system stuff. He no longer came strolling in whenever he liked, no matter how much she wished he would.

  In the days since she’d been relocated, she’d occasionally seen him from a distance when the helicopter had picked him up or dropped him off. Texting him had worked that first day, but had garnered nothing but silence since then.

  For the first time in her life Nira sympathized with her mother’s romantic trauma. If this was how she’d felt...

  She could ask her mum. Since she’d sent the photos, her calls were always answered. Her mother had even given a modest amount of information about Jibril. Apparently, knowing the man’s name had been the key.

  He was her father. Check.

  He’d sent Mum home when he’d found out she was pregnant. Check.

  They’d met in Tabda Aljann when she’d accepted a position as an air hostess on the royal family’s new fleet of jets. She’d fallen for him on a long flight she’d worked to Australia. All that was new information.

  Thanks to her studies, she knew Tabda Aljann meant Paradise Begins in one of the local dialects. It didn’t sound like a bad place to go but she’d learned her lesson. Just because something felt good, it didn’t mean it was good for her.

  Mum had probably felt much worse.

  Or maybe she’d felt better. She’d come away with Jibril’s child, at least.

  How would it feel to have Dakan’s child?

  Tears rushed to her eyes before she could banish the thought.

  What a stupid thing to ask herself.

  She may understand her mother better now, but she wouldn’t become her. A broken heart could be mended, or it could be left to putrefy.

  Nira was a builder.

  Inside, she might still feel like she was flat on her back in that crawlspace, holding up floor joists with her feet, but she wouldn’t stay that way. She’d get out from under it and rebuild, which was what she was doing now—getting on with life, designing a project that would advance her career, laying a foundation for future projects to be entrusted to her.

  Foundations were never easy. To construct them properly you had to dig...and dig and dig and dig...until you had blisters and raw, bloody hands. When you got far enough down to know your building would be on steady ground, only then could you start building.

  She just hoped her heart would hurry through feeling raw and blistered. A week had passed since she’d seen Dakan, and she still felt she could barely take things hour by hour, that some minutes were longer than days.

  * * *

  It had been just over a month since she’d come to Mamlakat Almas. Zahir and Adele had returned and the royal family had begun to ready itself for a celebration of their nuptials. Nira stayed in her room and made long, frequent visits to the penthouse. One future wing for the hospital had now been designed. She tried to deliver the plans to Dakan for approval, but he didn’t answer her messages. After three visits to knock on the door of his suite in the hope that someone would drag him to the door, she’d finally given up and sent them via the servants. He signed them and send them back the next morning.

  It was like she’d become completely invisible.

  Leila, who Nira had figured out knew everything that had gone on with Dakan, still treated her with kindness, still welcomed her on the evenings Nira felt she could no longer avoid dining with them without appearing ungrateful and rude. The King was the one who didn’t seem to know what to say to her. He’d ask the obligatory questions about the hospital, and once she’d answered he’d nod, make some sound of approval, and eat his dinner.

  She made herself more scarce after their arrival.

  The importance of the hospital made people excuse her workaholic approach to it. She actually wanted to meet Adele, but the idea of seeing someone in married bliss with one of the Al Rahal brothers...

  Maybe she was becoming her mother after all.

  They spoke daily now, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of her new address and the fear it triggered, or because Nira’s fresh, new heartache bonded them. Not that she discussed it much. It was her last bit of emotional currency, which she’d definitely need to get to the very bottom of her Father Mystery.

  The morning of the fourth day since their arrival, Nira was finishing tying her hair up in one of the many beautiful scarves Leila had provided, wanting to be out the palace door before everyone got up—as had become her practice—when a knock came on the door.

  An inevitable thrill followed as with any knock—hope that it was Dakan. She wanted to run, her feet demanded speed, but she made herself walk. She knew better. Dakan didn’t knock.

  A pretty blonde woman stood there, smiling, on the other side.

  Adele.

  Cornered.

  “Good morning. You must be Adele,” Nira said, speaking English for the first time in weeks. For lack of any idea of how to greet the woman properly, she offered a handshake. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” The idea of having to explain made her eyes burn, and she gestured quickly to the room. “I’ve been working. Please, come in.”

  To have time for her emotions to calm, she walked across the room and opened the drapes then the windows.

  “The mornings have nice breezes here,” Adele said. “This was my room when I stayed as Leila’s nurse.”

  Suddenly, Nira remembered Dakan saying that his mother had been ill, and it brought her a pang to think of their previous confidences, now a thing of the past. “I trust she’s better now?”

  “She is. Fully recovered.” Adele perched on the window seat. “A selection of gowns is being brought to the palace today. Leila asked me to make sure you’d be here as you haven’t anything to wear.”

  And just like that, her plans for the day changed. Breakfast with the Al Rahal women. Shopping. Maybe some studying later if she was lucky.

  Adele had made it sound like a request, but it really wasn’t one. It came from the Queen, and if the Queen wanted you to go shopping with her...

  This was what Dakan complained about. Even if she still wanted to shake him for his utter abandonment of her, she’d begun to understand his feelings and they hadn’t even asked all that much of her.

  * * *

  Dakan’s itinerary for the day left him without anywhere to go to avoid the palace at noon when everyone would be milling about. He should’ve taken a car to his morning appointment. Then it might’ve taken the whole day.

  The sound of women laughing caught his ear as he approached the garden, intent on getting to his wing before he was spotted. He recognized his mother’s voice and who was probably Adele. Would Nira be with them?

  A smart man would’ve kept walking, not stopped to try and see her. But, God help him, he wanted to see her.

  He just didn’t want her to see him.

  Keeping close to tall bushy palms planted in artistic clumps and lines around the garden, Dakan stopped, ignoring instincts telling him to run.

  The three women sat in an arc of three chairs and before them another woman held up a gown for their inspection.

  His mother finally had a daughter to dress for parties. And also Nira—Mother probably already felt attached to her even without the bonds of matrimony to tie them.

  Her dark hair hung over one shoulder, thick and braided with a ribbon woven through it to match her robe. Hair that soft should never be bound up.

  Mother and Adele appeared to enjoy the dress viewing, but Nira sat with such a blank expression,
despite the blistering noonday sun, he felt an unpleasant coldness seep into his limbs.

  Of course she wasn’t happy here—though he couldn’t be sure whether it was due to her new constraints or because he’d disappeared from her life.

  Right. Enough of this. He couldn’t bring her more except further heartache by sticking around. If she saw him, it’d only reopen that wound.

  He hurried to the exterior door of his wing and immediately went up the inside stairs and directly back out to the second-level battlements. He’d be able to see her from there. She’d never think to look up. He could look his fill, regain control, then get back to business tomorrow.

  “Yes, Nira will try the green ones,” his mother said, clapping her hands and gesturing to two different green gowns—one emerald and one pale green that reminded him of her eyes. She’d look magnificent in it. But then, she’d look magnificent in any of them.

  Mechanically, Nira stood and held her arms out for the gowns. “I’ll just go to my chamber.”

  “No...there is a screen behind us, use that.”

  Dakan looked down and that cold pit in his middle heated up. If he stayed there, he’d be able to see her changing.

  A gentleman wouldn’t spy on her like that.

  A gentleman would walk away, or never have let it get this far to begin with.

  She stood for a long moment after the gowns had been placed over her arms until his mother asked what was wrong. Nira finally asked for the lavender dress instead.

  So her will was still there. He could take some comfort in that.

  The gowns were swapped out and she trekked over to the screen, hung the dress on one section of it, and began stripping off her robe.

  Look away. Now would be the time to look away.

  He’d seen her before, of course, but...

  The silk slid down her arms and past her hips to float to her feet in a puff.

  The bruise on her arm had faded a lot. At least he could calm his mind with that knowledge. She was healing. He hadn’t broken her body even if he was certain that he’d broken her heart.

  She unzipped the gown and stepped into it. A moment later she had it on—save that zipper down the back. The memory of her zipper, the brush of her soft skin against his knuckles...

  He was just torturing himself.

  Rounding the screen with the back held together, she turned her back for Adele to zip and looked up. Their eyes locked over the short distance. Anyone else might’ve looked away from him, but Nira held his gaze. In her eyes he saw everything also currently churning through his insides. Desire. Sadness. Regret. Resignation. But something else—the way she held herself, the lift of her chin... Feelings he didn’t feel right now. Strength. Determination.

  She might sit quietly and do what she was told, but the woman had a steel core.

  Adele finished with her zipper and bade her turn to face the Queen, and only then did she look away from him, turning her back on him as well she should. That was what he deserved, and what would be best for both of them.

  He turned away as well, and went to lock himself inside until tomorrow came and another trip would rescue him from the lead deadening his own center.

  He had to stay away, though he wanted to do something for her. Not an apology so much as give her something he knew she wanted.

  Women in Mamlakat Almas enjoyed using henna for special occasions. All except Mother, who could never hold still long enough for the henna to settle, so she would never think to supply a henna artist to Nira. But Nira had mentioned loving the art. He could send her a henna artist without claiming the gift. Provide one last experience in her quest to discover her cultural heritage...anonymously.

  She need never know it was from him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DAKAN HAD DREADED the celebration since everything had happened with Nira, but was there any part of his life in Mamlakat Almas that he didn’t dread now?

  The medical care overhaul. He liked working on that. Having something useful and important to do was the only thing that kept him sane. Last month he could’ve said Nira, but in the past couple of weeks he’d felt dread for her every day. He dreaded what her life was shaping up to be, whether she’d caught onto it yet or not. He dreaded not seeing her, even as he did his best to avoid her.

  The formal ceremonial acknowledgement of Zahir and Adele’s union and prayers for blessings concluded, Dakan tugged the sleeves on his tux straight and walked into the ballroom for the private party with the family’s closest couple hundred friendly dignitaries in attendance.

  The Al Rahals, as hosts, were supposed to dress the part, but Dakan had resolved to stick with what he felt comfortable in, and to the burning sands with anyone who disagreed. The rebellion he’d avoided in his youth had finally caught up with him. There wasn’t a single agreeable ounce left in him. No more acting simply to meet others’ expectations. It had never served him in the past anyway.

  He meandered to the side to an out-of-the-way spot where he could loiter and observe entering guests—and wait for Nira’s father. One of the Al-Haaken would be there to represent their family. Mother had claimed not to know which, but he’d seen the lie in her eyes.

  It’d definitely be Jibril, and Dakan was going to have a good long talk with him. He’d do what felt right. It started with the tux, and in the fairy-tale land of his mind ended with him and Nira hopping on a jet to London away from everyone who could cause them grief. Maybe there he could sort out relationships—how to have one. Probably not, but the fantasy was nice.

  Nira came through the archway leading to the garden. Even with her head turned away from him and her hair covered, he knew it was her. She’d selected that lavender gown. The long sleeves and high neck may have hidden her skin, but it showed her shape. He didn’t need to see her face, the hurt and determination he’d seen there the last time had burned into his mind.

  The twinge in his chest had him turning away.

  He stepped around a massive potted plant where she’d be less likely to see him, and refocused on the archway.

  He couldn’t undo his actions in the last weeks, but maybe he could prevent her father from doing further damage. Impress upon him the importance of civility with Nira, and disabuse him of any notion to abscond with her. He’d be civil but blunt. Not raise his voice. It was as far as his civility could extend in the matter.

  “Why are you hiding in the bushes?”

  Zahir.

  Dakan cast an eye over his brother—the good one—regally clad in the expected robes.

  “Plotting my escape,” he murmured. He remembered the coffee in his hand and took a sip.

  “I don’t know about escape, but you’re plotting something, by the look of you,” Zahir said, moving to the other side of him and leaning one shoulder against the wall, demanding his attention but not quite blocking his view of the door.

  “It’s Nira’s first big event. I don’t want to take the fun out of it for her.”

  Zahir nodded slowly. “She sent me the plans for the hospital, what have been approved so far.”

  “They’re rather remarkable, aren’t they?” Dakan still pored over his set, even after he’d signed off on them. “You did well, hiring her.”

  “And you did too in actually carrying it out. I looked at the other proposals you wrote, for the Air Ambulance teams, traveling physicians, and the arrangements you made with Dubai and Qatar to use their hospitals during the build. Excellent ideas. Have you worked out proposed budgets for start-up and to maintain the service?”

  Jibril swept in, blanking out everything Zahir had just said.

  He needed to move if he was going to get to the man before Nira spotted him. Dakan turned back to Zahir and asked, “Can we talk about it later? It’s your celebration. You should still be with your wife. It’s he
r first big event too.” He patted his brother’s arm, and stepped around him to divert Jibril before he got too far into the crowd.

  He intercepted him at the beverage bar and offered a hand. “Prince Jibril, I was hoping you’d be attending. Spare to spare, could I speak with you a moment?”

  The man smiled at the greeting, and took Dakan’s hand, just as he’d expected. The two families had been doing this dance long enough to know the steps.

  Dakan shook his hand, though he wanted to break it. It might be jumping to conclusions, but that didn’t mean the conclusions were wrong.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  They moved to a quiet area by the wall, and Dakan snatched his phone from his pocket, eager to get this over with.

  “Do you remember this woman?” The photo of Nira’s parents came up on the screen.

  The man’s eyes narrowed, all traces of the fake friendliness there vanishing. He twisted Dakan’s cellphone so that the photo faced the floor, where people would not see it.

  And looked angry.

  “I see that you do. Were you aware your union produced a child?”

  “What concern is this of yours?”

  Now evading the question.

  “Have you become entangled with this woman?” Jibril recovered his façade, but anger remained in his voice, his words. “This photograph is quite old, she is what the Westerners call a cougar now?”

  Dakan didn’t have the patience for this, but he wouldn’t rise to the bait. He’d calmly deliver his message—a technique he’d been taught he actually approved of. The art of diplomacy didn’t usually involve threats, but he’d learned how to modulate his voice during twenty-seven years of lessons.

  “No, Al-Haaken, the child is my concern. Did you know about the child? She’s here tonight. If you’d like to avoid her, it’d probably be a good idea if you left. That’d also be my preference in the matter. If you stay, you will address her respectfully. She looks like your family, so you wouldn’t be able to miss her. Be a gentleman and we won’t have any problems.” He smiled, showing his teeth in the most socially appropriate manner possible.