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“Faiz,” I whisper, “that must’ve been incredibly difficult for you.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze finally finding mine. There’s a glint of gratitude, maybe even relief, at being truly seen.
“Difficult… yes,” he says, almost to himself, as if he’s just beginning to acknowledge the weight he carries. “But necessary.”
I twist my lips, soaking in everything I just learned. Did Ali’s mother keep his existence a secret from Faiz because she didn’t want the royal spotlight on Ali? Having known Faiz intimately, surely she knew something of the sacrifice being royal requires.
But… then again… is this the life she would have wanted for Ali? For him to miss out on school, miss out on friends, miss out on proper vacations and the simple things like having a beach day with his father?
I curl my fingers around the cold glass, feeling even more conflicted about it all. I understand where Faiz is coming from, and sometimes I wish I didn’t. Though I can’t agree completely with him. Instead I’m somewhere in the middle, leaning toward disagreeing with how Ali is being raised while at the same time being sympathetic to Faiz’s situation.
I am sure of one thing, though. “You’re a good father,” I whisper to Faiz.
His gaze snaps back to me, surprise momentarily flashing in his eyes before it’s overwhelmed by the shadows of doubt and regret. “You think so?” he murmurs softly.
“I do,” I affirm, holding his gaze. “I know your choices aren’t popular. They’re not even easy ones to stomach sometimes…” I pause, groping for the right words. “But every choice you’ve made for Ali has been made with love. And that… is the hallmark of a good parent.”
He remains silent for a moment, but then a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s faint but genuine, a rare sight that ignites warmth in my chest.
“Thank you, Tara,” he says quietly.
Feelings unfamiliar and dangerous bloom within me, their petals opening tentatively, reaching for the light of connection his vulnerability offers.
But even though I’m tempted, I’m not that stupid. Faiz doesn’t feel about me like I do him.
So, I sip my drink. Make some small talk. Soon I’ll go back to my demure apartment, back to my simple life. Back to where I belong.
CHAPTER 13
FAIZ
The last thing in the world that I want is for Tara to leave, but eventually the time comes. Even though my entire body buzzes to have her close, I don’t want to give her the impression that I’m available in a way that I most certainly am not.
And so I walk her to her car, the night air cool and fresh. It’s quiet out here, away from the chatter and clinking of glasses that filled our evening. Underneath the soft glow of the driveway lights, her blond hair catches a golden hue, making her seem ethereal in this mundane setting.
“Thanks for the dinner invite,” she says. “The lamb was exquisite.”
“Only the best for our esteemed doctor.” I stop walking, regretting that we’ve reached her car so soon. The small talk is a thin veil; it’s the proximity I crave, the chance to linger in her presence just a little longer.
Yet something inside me tightens. I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, the drop to what could be either salvation or ruin. I’veplayed many roles, worn many masks, but with her, the façade cracks, revealing the man behind the prince, vulnerable and dangerously close to falling.
“Drive safely,” I find myself saying. “The roads can be treacherous at night.”
She smiles, her gaze lingering for a moment too long before she slips into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. My heart hammers against my ribs.
A simple touch, a straightforward confession, and I could cross that line. But no, I remind myself. There are reasons to maintain the distance, reasons that protect all of us.
She drives away, the taillights of her car painting red streaks in the darkness, and I watch her disappear through the wrought-iron palace gates. They close with a finality that hits me right in my chest.
Tara Hague, the woman who unknowingly holds pieces of me no one else has seen. I let out a slow breath, fighting the pull, the desire to chase after her.
I can do it, though — I can keep my feelings in check. Because I am well-versed in the art of control.
The cool night air brushes against my skin as I turn back towards the front doors, my head and chest feeling heavy in a way they haven’t since Tara walked into my home this evening.
“Sir.” Ahmed’s voice breaks through the silence, and I look up at my head of security.
His presence is unobtrusive, yet always felt, much like the shadow cast by the towering columns lining the corridor.