The Sheikh’s Secret Son(16)

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?” Rebecca asked. She drank in his imposing physique in his tailored suit.

“Well,” he started, picking up his glass of red wine and raising it to her, “I thought we’d start off with a drink.”

She grabbed her glass. “Wine? I remember you telling me that your father didn’t allow alcohol at the palace,” she said.

“He doesn’t,” he answered with a wink. “Technically, we aren’t in the palace.”

She chuckled as she sipped her red wine.

“I’m surprised your father hasn’t already arranged a marriage for you, to preserve your wealth and status,” she said. If she were honest with herself, part of the reason she’d never contacted him after she’d learned she was pregnant was because she knew there was no chance of a future between them. At the time, she’d thought it was better to let their feelings for each other fade, than to risk the pain of being separated again. She hadn’t known then how often she would think of Zaid in the years that followed. How often she would see him in Calum.

“It’s a long story, and you would have enjoyed being here for it,” he told her, “but I’m allowed to choose my own wife.” His eyes leveled on her as he spoke, drawing the blush out in her fair cheeks.

“I see.” She cleared her throat. He couldn’t possibly be hinting…besides, there was no way she could uproot Calum, take him from everything he’d ever known for a man she hardly knew anymore. Hell, for a man she’d never really known well. She filled the awkward silence. “So, what’s the main course tonight?”

“Lamb with grilled vegetables and rice,” he answered. Her heart raced, but he seemed not to notice how she’d changed the subject, or the impact of his words. She was making too much of his revelation, clearly.

And yet, it hadn’t escaped her notice that it was the same dinner he’d arranged for them in the States five years ago on their last rendezvous. It also wasn’t lost on her that they were wearing the same clothes they’d worn on that fateful, magical night.

She sat quietly with Zaid as a maid brought out a mezzes platter with different flavored hummus, fresh pita, stuffed grape leaves and marinated olives. The silence between them felt awkward, as if neither one of them knew what to say to the other over their wine and the sunset.

“So, when you do finally marry and accept your inheritance, are you going to do more to help the people who are suffering in the Emirate?” she finally asked.

Zaid sipped his wine before answering. “You know, I don’t remember you being quite this political.”

“I wasn’t,” she agreed. “A lot has happened since we were together. I’ve always been interested in helping the less fortunate, of course, because that’s how you prevent some of the violence that has affected my family, but I used to know my place, so to speak.” She laughed nervously. “I forgot my place somewhere along the way, I guess.”

“Well, I can assure you, I will continue the work I’ve already been doing to help my father draw more wealth into the region to bring all our people out of poverty. It’s a complex problem here, though, and it’s going to take a lot of work to solve the issue.”

She was impressed by his answer. He always knew the right things to say even if he didn’t know exactly the reality of his words. At least his heart was in the right place, she reminded herself, even if there was no way he could understand poverty the way she did.

“I think one of the ways to help the problem will be to stop trying to hide it. Or maybe to stop trying to hide from it,” she suggested.

Zaid sighed. “I should have let you attend the tour dinner tonight. I can see our dinner is going to be plagued by this political talk. I get enough of it from my father and his advisor. And trust me, Rebecca, we’re working on it. There’s more to it than simply throwing money their way. There are other issues in play that must be resolved so we can start revitalizing our poorer areas and bring them up to par with the rest of the region.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. Let’s enjoy each other’s company.” She raised her wine glass to him and drank a little more from it before she reached to nibble on the appetizers.

From where they sat on the palace rooftop, she understood why poverty wasn’t a huge topic for the Sheikh or the rest of the royal family. She couldn’t pinpoint any of the poor sections of Sharjah from where they were. As the sun melted into the horizon, it revealed a lush, golden paradise in the middle of the desert, reminding the viewer why people had been drawn to the region for centuries. Whereas Europeans had believed that the streets were paved with gold in the New World, the Arabian sun seemed to spin gold from thin air. And judging by the wealth held in the region, there must have been some truth to it.