Hena hadn’t known about the hotelier’s wife, much less his propensity for seducing the chambermaids, until after he left San Francisco and a pregnant Hena behind. It had all been in the final letter Hena had left Liyah.
She’d never told another soul the identity of Liyah’s father. Hena’s shame in the fact he’d been a married man colored the rest of her life and yet she’d written in her letter that Liyah needed to forgive him.
Hena had claimed that Gene Chatsfield was not a villain, not a demon, not even a very bad man. But he had been a man going through a very bad time. Her final request had been for Liyah to come to London and make herself known to her father.
Liyah would respect her mother’s last wishes, but she was happy to have the opportunity to observe the man incognito—as an employee, not the daughter he’d never acknowledged.
Her uniform crisp, her long black hair caught in an impeccable bun, Liyah stood tucked away in a nook near the grand staircase. She’d been in London two weeks and working at the Chatsfield ten hectic days, but had yet to catch a glimpse of her father.
Word had come down that the Honorable Sheikh Sayed bin Falah al Zeena was arriving today, though. Liyah had no doubts her father would be on hand to greet the sheikh personally.
One thing that had become patently obvious in the past ten days: the sheikh’s stay was incredibly important to the hotel, and even more significant to the Chatsfield’s proprietor.
Apparently, in another ironic twist of fate, Gene Chatsfield currently resided in the Chatsfield New York, leaving his new and highly acclaimed CEO, Christos Giatrakos, alone to handle operations from London. However, Gene Chatsfield’s arrival in London to personally oversee the emir’s visit said it all.
Knowing how key this high-profile guest’s stay was to her father, Liyah was determined to do her job well. When she made herself known to Gene, there would be nothing to disappoint him in her work ethic.
Her floor was in impeccable order, each of the rooms to be occupied garnished with a crystal bowl of fruit and a vase of fragrant jasmine. She’d arranged for a screen to be placed at the elevator bank on her floor, as well, effectively blocking the harem quarters from curious looks.
She’d made sure the sheikh’s suite was similarly taken care of. There was nothing to offend and a great deal to appreciate in her setup of his rooms and the floor below.
Thoughts of her work faded as an older man walked with supreme confidence across the lobby. His air that of a man who owned all he surveyed, he acknowledged the numerous greetings by his employees with a regal tip of his head. Her father.
Stopping in front of the reception desk, he was clearly prepared to welcome the sheikh upon arrival.
Gray hair shot with silver, his blue eyes were still clear, his six-foot-one frame just slightly stooped. Garbed in a perfectly tailored Pierre Cardin suit, his shoes no doubt handmade, he looked like a man who would fit right in with the fabulously wealthy people his hotel catered to.
Gene smiled and said something to the head of desk reception. And all the air expelled from Liyah’s lungs in a single whoosh.
She’d seen that smile in the mirror her whole life. His lips were thinner, but the wide smile above a slightly pointed chin? That was so familiar it made her heart ache.
His eyes were blue, hers were green—but their shape was the same. That hadn’t been obvious in the publicity shots she’d seen of him.
She’d gotten her mother’s honey-colored skin, oval face, small nose and arched brows, not to mention Hena’s black hair and five-foot-five stature. Their mother-daughter connection had been obvious to anyone who saw them together.
Liyah had never considered she might also share physical traits with her father.
The resemblance wasn’t overly noticeable by any means, but that smile? Undeniably like hers.
This man was her father.
Hit with the profundity of the moment, Liyah’s knees went to jelly and she had to put her hand against the wall for stability.
Unaware of her father’s moderate financial support and way too aware of the Amari rejection of any connection, Liyah had spent her life knowing of only one person in her family.
Hena Amari.
Her mom was the only Amari who had ever recognized Liyah as a member of that family. A family who had cast her out for her disgrace.
And since her mom’s death, Liyah had been alone. In that moment, she realized that if this man accepted her—even into the periphery of his life—she wouldn’t be alone any longer.
Her father’s face changed, the smile shifting to something a lot tenser than the expression he’d worn only seconds before. He stood a little straighter, his entire demeanor more alert.