Pushing through with his son, Zafir feared he had the answer to Fern’s level of comfort with lovemaking if she’d taken herself into this private domain.
The passage from the sheikh’s quarters was short and dim, lit only by narrow slits in the door where it terminated onto a balcony that extended in a circle around the courtyard below, not unlike the main entranceway to the palace.
Unlike the front foyer, it looked down on a communal bath sunk into the lower floor. A glass dome in the roof allowed sunlight to pour onto the tropical plants that were mostly self-sustaining, provided he kept the pool filled and the fountain running. In the four corners, antique gilded cages hung silent, awaiting exotic birds.
Doors led off the surrounding walls into luxurious accommodation reserved for the women in the ruling family: daughters, sisters, mothers. Wives.
Zafir did not find his wife in the opulent suite closest to the shortcut to his rooms, the apartment reserved for Wife Number One. She answered Tariq’s call and stepped out to wave from the furthest room, the one traditionally used by the groom’s mother. She didn’t need to sleep in close proximity to the sheikh.
Sadira had chosen and modernized that distant apartment, Zafir had seen after her death, adding a computer desk and a television console along with a contemporary queen-sized bed. The other rooms still contained the sumptuous, pillow-covered mattresses and silk wall hangings that had been refurbished and replaced for their marriage party eleven years ago. Was it significant that Fern had gravitated to Sadira’s room?
She didn’t look at him as she came toward them. A wide smile for Tariq brightened her face.
Vivienne was not being shy about spending his money on outfitting his pregnant bride, and was doing so very prettily. Fern wore the dress in a silvery moss color that she’d flown it, but her yellow cardigan, abaya and veils were gone. Her low heels clicked on the marble and even though she wasn’t as willowy as when he’d first seen her, and her bump sat high and prominent, the rest of her was so curvy his mouth watered. Her loose hair bounced and shimmied. As she moved into a beam of sunlight, it caught glints of gold and auburn, producing a halo effect, making Zafir catch his breath at how utterly stunning she was.
“Tariq! It’s so nice to see you.” Her genuine warmth wasn’t even for him, but filled Zafir with gladness.
Tariq canted his head at her. “You look...different.”
“I’m sure I do,” Fern said, cutting a glance at Zafir that sent him a private message. He hadn’t been aware of a desire to become one of those couples who read each other’s minds, but he liked the sense they were.
“Has your father talked to you about, um, why I’m here?” she asked, one hand resting with light significance on her belly.
“Yes. And I wanted to know, do you expect me to call you Mama?” Tariq asked in his forthright manner. He crossed his arms and hitched his hip in a way that Zafir recognized was his own stance when he had already made up his mind about something, but had to suffer through propriety before he could get to the bottom of things.
Fern’s expression blanked. “Oh. I hadn’t...”
“Yes,” Zafir interrupted firmly.
He had thought he’d covered everything with Tariq and leave it to his son to ferret out a fine point, but Zafir found himself loving the idea of Tariq using the title. Fern, at least, would live up to the designation. She already valued Tariq for everything he was.
Fern’s expression flickered and her smile was vaguely apologetic toward Zafir before she returned her attention to Tariq.