The Sheikh's Love-Child

Exhausted, Lucy entered her bedroom and peeled off her evening gown, leaving it in a puddle of satin on the floor. She knew she should hang it up, keep it from creasing, but she couldn’t be bothered. Her mind and body cried out for sleep, for the release of unconsciousness.

For forgetfulness…for a time. A few hours; that was all the respite she’d been given.

And then tomorrow the reckoning would come.

What did Khaled want?

Just the question sent her heart rate spiralling upwards, her breath leaking from her lungs. She hadn’t anticipated him wanting anything. She’d planned, hoped, believed that after today she would walk away, free.

Yet now she realised she might have entangled herself in Khaled’s snare more firmly than she had before. Now perhaps Sam was entangled too.

What did Khaled want?

And had she been so naïve—stupid, really—to think he wouldn’t want anything?

That he wouldn’t want his son?

But he didn’t want me.

She slipped under the covers and pressed her face into the pillow, trying to stop the hot rush of tears that threatened to spill from behind her lids.

She didn’t want to cry now. She didn’t want to feel like crying now.

Yet she did feel like it; she craved the release. She wanted to cry out in fear for herself and for Sam, and in misery for all she’d felt for Khaled once and knew she could not feel again.

And, surprisingly, she felt sad for Khaled. What was he hiding? Lucy couldn’t tell what kind of injury had him in its terrible thrall, but it was serious. More serious than she could treat as a physiotherapist. It was the kind of injury, she suspected, that could keep him from playing rugby ever again…no matter what Eric had said.

Had he left England because his rugby career was finished? And why would that have meant they were finished? The only answer, even now, was that she simply hadn’t meant enough to him. Not like he’d meant to her.

Her mind still spinning with too many questions and doubts, her heart aching like a sore tooth with sudden, jagged, lightning streaks of pain, she finally fell into a restless and uneasy sleep.

Lucy hadn’t even risen from bed when she heard a perfunctory knock on her bedroom door the next morning. With a jolt she realised it was already eight o’clock, and Khaled’s servant had come to fetch her.

‘Just a moment,’ she called out, throwing off the sheets and reaching hurriedly for clothes. Unshowered, groggy from sleep, she knew she’d be at a disadvantage for her breakfast with Khaled.

Calling out an apology, she quickly splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and indulged herself in a touch of make-up.

She didn’t need any disadvantages now.