The Nanny and The Sheikh

“Max, did you know Surim has three children living with him?” she asked.

“Umm? Children? I don’t think so; he’s not married. Though I heard he’s looking.”

“Maybe because he has those three children,” Melissa said. What did that mean, looking? Could she ask without giving the impression it was important?

“What children?” he said, looking at her.

“Their parents just died. They were raised in the UK and speak English as well as you or I do.”

Max looked at her in puzzlement. “How do you know this?”

“Didn’t you hear them last night? The little boy woke from a nightmare and was crying loud enough I heard him in my room.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” He looked pensive. “I can’t imagine Surim with children. Running a country, yes. Visiting Europe and squiring beautiful women around, yes. Kids, I don’t think so.”

“No surprise there. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of sympathy for the little boy.” She tried to maintain her indignation, but couldn’t help thinking of Surim’s side of things. If he wasn’t used to being around children, becoming an instant guardian to three would be daunting.

The limo stopped in front of a large high-rise glass and steel skyscraper. Max led the way and Melissa hurried to keep up. Tall people never seemed to consider that those not blessed with extraordinary height would have trouble keeping pace.

Entering a mirrored elevator, they were soon whisked to the top floor. Stepping out onto a luxurious carpet, Melissa gazed around, noting the old paintings on the walls, the elegance of the furnishings and the quiet hum of business.

She and Max were ushered into a conference room. The outer wall was of glass, offering a spectacular view of the Gulf. Melissa wanted to stand there and drink in the sight, but Surim was already at the large table with three other men. Introductions were quickly made—the contractor and his assistant, and Surim’s project manager. All the men from Qu’ Arim spoke French, so they used that language, Melissa translating into English for Max.

When she wasn’t speaking, she studied Surim. He had the capacity to totally focus on the situation at hand. Did he bring that focus to his new children?

Would he bring that focus to a woman? She could imagine being the center of his attention; his eyes would gaze into hers. His conversation would be on topics she liked. And the woman would feel like a queen. Not that she would ever know. Not that she wanted to even venture there. She’d been burned badly by Paul and had no intention of flirting with a friend of Max’s. Max had trusted her enough to bring her as his assistant; she would do nothing to damage that relationship. How awkward it would be if Surim complained Melissa was flirting with him. She cringed at the thought.

But she couldn’t help glancing his way again. And came up against his gaze focused on her. He didn’t read minds, did he?

When it was time to go to the construction site, Melissa rode with Surim in his private car, which he drove. Max went with the others in the limo.

“I wished to speak to you privately,” Surim said as they merged into traffic.

“About?” For a moment, despite her best efforts of keeping a businesslike demeanor, her imagination soared. Would he reach out and take her hand? Tell her he was delighted she’d joined Max and would she spend time with him alone before they returned to England? Maybe she’d like to see a quiet place only he knew?

“To thank you for calming young Hamid last night. He has been troubled by nightmares a great deal.”

Her bubble popped.

“Not unexpected if he just lost his parents,” she said, feeling foolish after all. Thankfully no one else knew of her dumb daydreams. She really had to get control of her emotions. Paul should have cured her once and for all of getting ideas about rich, powerful men and their interest in a nanny. Especially with the cultural differences added in.

Surim nodded, focused on driving.

“Perhaps. I hope they won’t bother you tonight,” he said.

“No bother. I’m sorry they are going through such a trying time. It was fortunate they have family to take them in.”

“My cousin’s mother, Tante Tazil, is not well. She is unable to care for them. But I don’t believe they will remain with me for long. I have my secretary looking into boarding schools.”

“What? They’re too young to be sent away!” Good thing she didn’t have any illusions about the man; this would have shattered any lingering ones. Who would think of sending babies to boarding school?

“I went to boarding school when I was nine, in England—which was a foreign country to me. We are looking at schools in England. That is their native country, even though their parents were from Qu’ Arim. They have been raised there and I thought it would make them feel better to be back there.”

“Nadia is still a baby, Hamid can’t be five yet and Alaya is still too young to be sent away. Think, Surim, they are children. They have just suffered a horrific loss of both parents. Being here took them away from the only home they knew, and now you’re proposing to shunt them off to some school—if you can even find one that will take them that young.”

“I’m sure that will not be a problem.”

The arrogant statement caused Melissa’s blood to boil. Men who were obscenely rich thought money could buy everything. But not family ties, not love and loyalty, nor negation of his responsibility to his cousin’s children.

“Maybe not to you, but think of them,” she said. “It would be horrible.”

“They are unhappy and disruptive. During the day they run wild around the house, yelling and breaking things. At night Hamid has nightmares and awakens the entire household. Their nurse cannot control them. I believe a more structured environment would be beneficial. It is not open for discussion; I was merely informing you of my plans.”

They had reached the site of the hotel and he turned to park beside the row of cars and trucks near the building. The activity at the site was a stark contrast to yesterday. The lot was crowded with workers. Trucks of cement were dumping their loads. Men and machines worked as if choreographed, building a structure that would reflect the desires of their sheikh to expand tourism for his country.

Melissa ignored it all, however. She was so angry she could spit! How dared he mess those children around like that? They needed stability and love, guidance and assurance that they were part of a family—not to be sent away from the only relative who was apparently able to look after them.

She reached out and caught his arm, stopping him from exiting the car.

He looked at her with some surprise.

Amazed at her own audacity, she nonetheless held onto her courage. “There has to be other alternatives. Think, please. They’re babies. They need comforting, love. You are their cousin, their guardian. Spend time with them or find other family members who can care for them. Don’t send them to some institutional school so far away.”

“I believe I know what is best for the children.” He slipped his arm from beneath her hand and climbed out of the car.

“I don’t think so,” she muttered, opening her own door and getting out before he could come around to assist. Her opinion of the man dropped significantly! How could he do that to those precious children?

Max had said he was looking for a wife. Maybe his attitude was one of the reasons he wasn’t already married.

Yet her heart ached for those sweet children. Maybe she’d find a way to make him change his mind.

Melissa was tired by the time she and Max returned to Surim’s house in the late afternoon. Dinner would not be for a couple of hours. She quickly showered and put on some casual, light trousers. No one had said she couldn’t visit the children, so she went up to the third floor.

They were sitting in front of a television, the program in Arabic. Why weren’t they outside in the sunshine?

“Hi,” she said, stepping inside the room.

All three kids scrambled to their feet and rushed to greet her.

“You came back,” Alaya said in perfect English. “I didn’t think we’d see you again. I’m sorry Hamid woke everyone up last night.”

“I had a nightmare,” the little boy said.

Nadia held up her arms and Melissa scooped her up, hugging her gently, then resting her on her hip.

“What are you doing inside on such a gorgeous day? I heard there’s a path to the beach,” Melissa said. She smiled at the older woman sitting with crochet work in hand.

“Do you mind if I take the children out for a walk?” she asked in French.