Lucy pressed her palms to her eyes, blotting out the world and its horrible reality for a few merciful seconds. Why hadn’t she considered this? Why hadn’t she thought more carefully about the Pandora’s box she’d be opening when she told Khaled about Sam?
Because, she realised with sudden, stark clarity, you wanted him to know. You wanted to see him again.
And she wanted Sam to have a father, unlike her.
Had she expected this, secretly hoped for this, when she’d decided to tell Khaled? The heart was deceitful, yet it shamed her to think she’d been so willfully blind to her own secret desires. She’d convinced herself that coming to Biryal, telling Khaled about Sam, was right. Her duty.
Yet now she wondered if she’d just done it for her own selfish reasons—because she’d still wanted to see Khaled. To be with him.
And who would suffer because of it? They all would, she supposed bleakly, and perhaps Sam most of all.
THE Biryali royal jet took off from the island into a sky of cloudless blue, the sea smooth and winking with sunlight below. Lucy leaned her head back against the luxurious leather seat and closed her eyes.
The last twenty-four hours had been completely draining. First there had been the breakfast with Khaled, when her world had slipped on its axis, and she’d realised—and accepted—that nothing would be the same. Not for her, not for Sam. And, she added fairly, not for Khaled.
Her reluctant agreement to accompany Khaled on the Biryali jet and return home a day later than she’d planned had led to a flurry of activity.
First, the England team’s travel coordinator had had to be told. This had led to everyone else in the team’s entourage knowing her changed plans almost immediately, and within the hour Eric had been knocking on her door.
‘You’re staying? With Khaled?’ he demanded as soon as Lucy opened it, and she’d sighed wearily.
‘Yes, Eric. It turns out Khaled wants to be involved in Sam’s life.’
‘And you’re permitting this?’ Eric’s eyes had narrowed. ‘You want this?’
Did he sound jealous? Lucy had shrugged impatiently. ‘I don’t really have much choice. And Khaled has a right to know his son—’ She broke off, not wanting to finish that sentence: even if I don’t want him to.
‘And what about you? Do you want to be with Khaled?’
Lucy had found herself flushing, much to her irritation. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Eric had asked quietly, and Lucy had felt a flash of alarm.
‘Eric—’
‘Never mind.’ He’d held up one hand to stop her from speaking. ‘I don’t really want to know.’ He’d turned to go. Lucy had suddenly blurted, ‘Why did you tell me Khaled would recover from his knee injury?’ Her voice had rung out in accusation. ‘He’s still clearly in a lot of pain. That injury is more serious than anyone ever imagined.’
‘I did what Khaled wanted me to do,’ Eric had replied after a moment. He’d looked disappointed, defeated. ‘I’ll see you back in England, Lucy.’
There had been other difficult conversations before their departure, although Lucy had not been privy to them. Khaled had broken the news to his father that he had a son, an illegitimate one, and that he was going to England to see him.
Lucy didn’t know how King Ahmed had reacted to such surprising news, but she supposed she could guess. Khaled had emerged from the reception room tight-lipped and white-faced, and the palace had seemed alive with speculative whispers.
She’d retreated to her room, too tired and overwhelmed to face even one more sliding, sideways glance.
Now that was all behind her—for now. They’d left Biryal for England, but for how long? How long would Khaled be willing to pretend at being happy families in London? Would he tire of her, of Sam? Did she want him to?
The thoughts and desires of her mind and heart were so tangled, so twisted. She didn’t know what she wanted.
She wanted to be safe. The thought slipped, unbidden, into her mind. She wanted Sam to be safe. She wanted her heart to be safe.
Was it already too late?
Cool fingers tapped her hand and her eyes flew open. Khaled was leaning across the aisle towards her, a faint smile on his face.
‘Would you like a drink?’
Wordlessly, Lucy nodded. He was close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes, the faint stubble on his chin. When she inhaled, she breathed in the scent of him, a strong, woody aftershave, and something else indefinable—something that she remembered as just being him. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she finally managed. ‘An orange juice, please.’
Khaled raised one hand—an imperious gesture, if there ever was one—and an attendant hurried forward. He murmured something in Arabic, and then sat back in his seat.
‘You are all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him.
‘I realise much has changed for you in the last few days,’ Khaled went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And it must be difficult for you.’
‘Thank you for that sensitivity,’ Lucy replied, her tone containing a touch of acid. Khaled smiled faintly.
‘You’re welcome.’
Lucy turned away from Khaled, towards the window. She had so many unanswered questions, but she wasn’t ready to ask them, or to hear Khaled’s answers.
It was astonishing, she reflected numbly, how quickly and utterly her life had changed. And now that it had she couldn’t believe she’d actually ever thought or hoped it wouldn’t. Yet, even as she struggled to grasp the enormity of the changes ahead of her and Sam, another part of her shied away from confronting the reality. One step at a time. One day at a time. One minute at a time if necessary.
‘Where is Sam staying now?’ Khaled asked, breaking into her spinning thoughts. Startled, Lucy turned to him and nearly jostled the glass of chilled juice the steward had discreetly left on the coffee table by her elbow.
‘With my mother.’
Khaled nodded. ‘He likes it there?’
‘Yes. Mum is very close to him. She’s been a tremendous support since Sam was born.’
Khaled slid her a thoughtful glance, his eyes dark and hooded. ‘I suppose it was very difficult for you, a single mother with a demanding career.’
‘Yes, but Sam has always been worth it.’
‘Does your mother take care of him when you work?’ Khaled’s voice had sharpened slightly, though with curiosity or judgement Lucy could not say. Still, she prickled uncomfortably, ready for a fight.
‘Sometimes. He’s in a nursery now that he’s three, and before that I had a part-time nanny.’
Khaled nodded, his lips pursed, and Lucy steeled herself for another imperious interdict. Would Khaled tell her she couldn’t work, or that he wanted to vet the staff that took care of his son?
And what would happen if—when—he took Sam to Biryal?
Don’t think of it, she told herself. Not yet; it’s too much. One day, one minute, one second at a time.
‘You’ll fetch Sam from your mother’s tomorrow?’ Khaled