The Sheik's Unsuitable Bride

Yesterday she could have made a fortune selling her ‘story’ to the press. She wouldn’t even have had to sex things up. All she’d have had to do was tell it like it was and the entire world would have been enchanted.

As he was.

At first sight.

She hadn’t even considered it. Not for a minute. From the moment she’d been told what had happened she’d thought only of her son. Her family. Of him. Apologising to him as if this was in some way her fault.

She had a son!

How old was he? Did he look like her? Or his absent father? That he was absent he did not doubt. She’d told him that she lived with her parents. Knew that she worked hard to provide for him…

He knew so little.

And yet so much. He knew that she was a loving mother. He’s seen her face, tender as she’d spoken the boy’s name. It was a look that had torn his heart out.

It was a look he’d seen tonight on his own mother’s face as she’d lain her hand against his cheek.

Furious as she was, the unconditional love remained. All she cared about was his happiness, a fact she’d demonstrated in searching for a bride who would please him, rather than the daughter-in-law she must have hoped for-an educated, travelled career woman, rather than a stay-at-home girl whose only thought would be to provide her with grandchildren.

He walked until pre-dawn turned the sky grey, coming to terms with what he must do. His parting from Diana had been abrupt, painful. It had not been done well and, before he could move on, embrace the life that awaited him, he had to thank her for what she’d done. Show her that he honoured her.

Zahir let himself into the quiet house just as dawn was turning from pink to gold and, for a moment, he stood in the tranquil courtyard and let the peace of the place surround him.

He had an apartment in the city, but he’d made no secret of the fact that this house belonged to his heart. That it was his home. His future. The place where he would, eventually-when he had time-bring his bride, make a family.

It was hardly surprising the gossips were having a field day, he thought as he crossed to the steps that led down to the pavilion.

Someone had beaten him to it. Diana…?

He paused at the foot of the veranda steps, listening to the soft sigh of her breath. Had she slept amongst the cushions, as he did on warm nights?

One step would bring him to her side. Her hair, tumbled over the silk, would be his to touch. Her cheek, her lips…

The thought made the heat sing in his blood.

‘No…’ The word was wrenched from him but, as he turned away, a tousled head appeared from amongst the cushions. Eyes the colour of a spring hedgerow met his.

Blinked.

Like Diana’s. The same colour. The same shape, but not Diana’s eyes. This was her child? Her son…

How could he doubt it?

The boy’s hair was darker, but the curl matched hers. And his dimpled smile, like hers, went straight to his heart, capturing it in an instant as he sat up, yawned and said, ‘Hello.’ Then, ‘Who are you?’

Zahir touched his hand to his heart, bowed formally. ‘My name is Zahir bin Ali bin Khatib al-Khatib.’ Then, when the boy giggled, he lowered himself to the veranda steps so that he was the same level as the child and said, ‘And you, ya habibi? What is your name?’

‘I’m Freddy.’ Then, as if realising that this came up short, he said, ‘I’m Frederick Trueman Metcalfe. I was named after Fiery Fred, the finest bowler who ever played cricket for Yorkshire and England.’ The words came out all in a rush, as if it was something he’d heard many times but did not quite understand. He suddenly looked less certain. ‘At least that’s what my grandpa says.’

‘It’s a fine name. And are you going to follow in Mr Trueman’s footsteps and play cricket for England?’

‘No. I’m going to be a footballer.’

Zahir managed to hide a smile. ‘We must all follow our own star, Freddy. Dream our own dreams.’

Live our own lives?

No! No…

Then, concerned, ‘Are you alone?’

‘I was looking for Mummy. She wasn’t in her room when I woke up so I came here. She was here yesterday.’

They had both come here looking for her…

‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then maybe we should go and do something about that.’

‘I had pancakes yesterday. Mummy had a fig.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to try one?’ He indicated the tree above them. ‘You could pick your own if you like.’

The boy needed no second bidding, but leapt to his feet. Then, ‘I can’t, it’s too high!’

‘No problem,’ Zahir said, picking him up, but, as he hoisted him to his shoulder, they both turned as they heard Diana making her way up the steps from the beach. She was singing slightly breathless snatches of lyrics from a familiar song, filling in the missing words with the odd ‘la-la’ as she had when they’d danced.

‘La-la, la-la…La-la, la-la…’

She appeared on the path below them, for a moment totally unaware that she had an audience. Then, as Freddy giggled, she looked up, saw them together and stopped in mid ‘la’…

And his mouth dried.

She had been for an early morning dip and was wearing nothing but a simple one-piece bathing costume. Her creamy skin had dried on the walk up from the beach, but her hair was a mass of wet ringlets that dripped tiny rivulets of water on to her shoulders. Venus herself could not have been more beautiful, more enticing.

‘Zahir…’ She seemed as lost for words as he was. Then, recovering first, she said, ‘I see you’ve met Freddy.’

‘He’s rather younger than I imagined…’

‘I’m not young, I’m five!’ the boy declared.

‘But very big for five,’ Zahir added quickly.

And Diana smiled.

Stood there in his garden, bare legs, bare shoulders, every curve of her body brought into the sharpest focus by the clinging fabric of her wet bathing suit, smiling that sweet, tender smile that would have tempted a saint. And he was no saint.

But then neither, it appeared, was she.

‘I imagine he gets that from his father?’ he prompted and her smile, along with the flush of exertion from the walk up from the beach, disappeared like water poured on sand.

‘Freddy, I think we’d better go and find Grandma.’ She extended her hand. ‘Come on, she’ll be wondering where we are.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said. Five years old and already resisting the tug of the apron strings.

‘Freddy!’

‘I looked. She’s asleep.’ The boy looked at him, a mute appeal for backup.

‘Freddy and I were about to pick some figs. I’d invite you to join us but, much as I regret the fact, I’m afraid that with your colouring, you need to cover up before the sun gets any higher.’

Cover up…

Diana felt the heat flood into her cheeks as she realised just how little she was wearing. Just an old bathing suit that had been purchased for respectability rather than glamour. Something to wear when she took Freddy to mother and child swimming classes.

She hadn’t even thought to take a towel with her, too locked into the idea of plunging into cold water to cool her overheated body.

Zahir was the last person she’d imagined meeting. Zahir looking at her as if she were Eve and it was the first