Page 2 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

“I’ll arrange for him to be taken to the shelter,” Karim offered gently, stepping closer.

Nahla glanced down at the pup in her arms. His ears were twitching happily under her chin. “Maybe I could…?”

“Not a chance, Nahla,” a deep voice said from behind her.

She turned, startled.

Her father was striding toward her, all dark suit and scowl, the very picture of royal displeasure. His gaze dropped to the puppy, and even before he opened his mouth again, she knew the answer was no .

“I’m not keeping him,” she said quickly, trying—and failing—to stop scratching behind the pup’s ear.

“I’m just going to take him to the shelter.

They’ll care for him, make sure he’s healthy, and I’ll create a webpage with his pictures—like a little portfolio to get him adopted.

” She gestured vaguely toward the alley. “His lighting was perfect .”

Her father sighed—the kind of sigh that had probably preceded declarations of war or budget cuts. But when he looked back at her, the corners of his mouth softened.

“Fine,” he muttered, placing a warm hand on her back and steering her toward the SUV. “But get in the car. Your soft heart is going to be the death of me.”

She climbed in without protest, still cuddling the puppy. He was now drooling contentedly on her navy-blue suit skirt, his muddy paws leaving little imprints that looked, oddly, like flowers. She didn’t care. She hated this skirt anyway.

As the SUV eased away from the curb, her father glanced at her sideways. “So. What did you think of Nial?”

Nahla froze.

She turned, brows raised. “Wait…was today a setup?”

Khal looked momentarily sheepish. “It wasn’t a setup per se ,” he said, which meant, yes. It absolutely was.

“Dad!” she gasped, glaring at him while adjusting the puppy’s fuzzy head on her lap.

“You’re twenty-seven,” he said with exaggerated calm. “Do you want to have kids someday?”

Nahla’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “That’s…beside the point,” she sputtered.

“Is it?” he countered. “Because time—”

“Don’t even say ‘time is ticking,’” she growled.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I just want you to be happy, sweetheart.”

“I am happy,” she lied. “Perfectly content, actually.”

That, of course, was a lie so big even the puppy stopped chewing for a second and blinked at her.

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “My work fulfills me. I’m building something real.”

Her father gestured toward the ball of fur on her lap. “By photographing mutts?”

She rolled her eyes. “I make a very good living with my photography. And I’ve built a website—one that features my work and showcases other artists’ pieces as well. It’s not just about me. It’s a platform. A brand.”

Nahla’s grin widened with pride, and she sat a little taller, energized by the opportunity to explain her passion project.

“My website gives a higher percentage of each sale to the artists than the bigger sites,” she said, her voice warm with conviction.

“And the rest of the profits go to helping animal shelters and women’s support centers.

It’s not just about pretty pictures—it’s about creating real change in the world. ”

Her father offered a skeptical grunt, but a beat later, his face softened.

“I know about your website, honey,” he admitted, reaching over to rub the puppy’s scruffy head.

The pup rewarded him with a sloppy lick that left a shiny trail across his fingers.

Khal chuckled and wiped his hand on his slacks with mock dismay. “And I’m very proud of you.”

Outside the SUV window, the streets of Paris blurred past—gilded balconies, wrought-iron railings, ivy-wrapped columns slowly giving way to sleek glass facades and geometric office towers.

“I just…” he began, then paused, frowning at something far away.

“You want more grandbabies,” Nahla filled in, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. “You see your brothers and Aunt Marianna boasting about theirs, and now you want to join the club.” She grinned mischievously. “But you have Griff!”

She didn’t need to explain. Zayn and Azlyn’s one-year-old son, Griffin, had turned their entire family upside down in the best way possible.

That little boy—with his dark curls and toothy grin—was already a legend at palace functions.

No one had expected Zayn, the intense, brooding heir to the Lativan throne, to become a full-blown mushball about his son.

But fatherhood suited him. And Azlyn? She’d flourished.

Azlyn’s production company was gearing up to release new interviews—powerful, raw ones—thanks to the new team she’d assembled after losing her best friend. The memory of Olivia Hister’s murder brought a flicker of sorrow, but Nahla pushed it down.

Khal’s expression shifted—his lips twitching into a smile at the mention of Griff—but it didn’t last. A moment later, it faded into a familiar, thoughtful scowl.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do want more grandkids.”

He turned back toward her, eyes soft but serious. “But more than that, I want you to be happy.”

Nahla opened her mouth to object, but he lifted a hand, stopping her.

“I know women can be happy and single,” he said. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He reached for her free hand, his fingers warm and solid, grounding her. “But I’ve seen the sadness in your eyes, Nahla. Especially this past year. You’re not yourself. And you won’t tell me why.”

His voice gentled, coaxing rather than probing. Still, she didn’t answer. Her mouth pressed into a line. Her blue eyes went flat, shuttered against the memories she refused to speak aloud.

Khal sighed, not pushing further. He gave her a tired smile. “So… no interest in Nial, huh?”

Nahla wrinkled her nose. “Not even a molecule of interest.”

“Well,” he said, shifting in his seat with a fatherly groan, “I’m not giving up.”

She laughed lightly. “You never do.”

As the SUV slowed in front of the animal shelter, Nahla leaned over and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Dad. If you managed to find someone as incredible as Mom, then I’ve got decent odds.”

The door opened, and the sharp scent of warm pavement, car exhaust, and distant baguettes drifted in. Her bodyguards stepped out first, scanning the area behind mirrored sunglasses, then flanked her as she exited.

She paused, turning back. “Besides,” she added with a smirk, “Zayn’s your best bet for more grandkids. The way he looks at Azlyn? Phuleaze . They’ll be making baby number two before Griff finishes potty training.”

Her father chuckled and waved her off.

Inside the shelter, the air was warm and smelled faintly of bleach, fur, and doggie treats. Nahla stepped up to the counter, still holding the puppy.

“He wandered into the street,” she explained to the shelter volunteer, her voice low and fond. “No collar. Starving. Sweet as can be.” She carefully handed the pup over, brushing his ears one last time as he gave a soft whine and nuzzled her wrist.

“It’s okay, little guy,” she whispered, giving him a final kiss on the head. “You’re going to find your forever home. Someone’s going to fall in love with you.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. Every bill she had—maybe fifty euros, maybe a bit more—she placed gently on the counter.

“Please use this for food. Or blankets. Or whatever keeps them safe,” she said, her voice tighter now.

And then she turned.

She didn’t look back.

If she looked back, she’d do something foolish. Like scoop him up and shove him into her handbag and whisper, I’ll figure it out later.

So she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and walked out into the Paris sunshine.