The Sheikh's Hidden Heir. Оливия Гейтс

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       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      SHE’D told him.

      Whatever his response, Felicity felt a certain relief that she had done the right thing—had given him the opportunity to be a part of his child’s life and he’d declined it.

      Maybe it was better this way, she thought, choking back tears as Helen came to see her early the next morning.

      ‘Your things were packed last night…’ There were tears in Helen’s eyes as she spoke, but she was trying to smile. ‘I grabbed a change of clothes for you. I figured you wouldn’t want to sit on the flight in your nurse’s uniform.’ And then she was serious. ‘You should have told me,’ she said. ‘I could have helped.’

      ‘You know?’ Felicity blinked.

      ‘Well, most people don’t faint and then leave rapidly in the first few weeks unless they have good reason. It is lucky that Karim dealt with you—he’s spent enough time in London not to judge.’

      Helen gave her a final cuddle, and it dawned on Felicity that it would never enter Helen’s head there had been anything between herself and Karim.

      ‘Here—I got these from the safe on the ward.’ She handed over Felicity’s paperwork. ‘You wouldn’t have got far without them.’

      Another nurse wheeled her to the lavish hospital entrance, and to the limousine waiting to take her to the airport.

      Her things had, as Helen said, all been packed for her. The driver told her they were in the rear of the limousine as she stepped out of the wheelchair the hospital had insisted on and climbed into the cool air-conditioned vehicle. She craned her neck for a last glimpse of the hospital, realising that in a few hours she would be gone from Zaraq.

      But at least she would be on her way home.

      Just another single mother-to-be, another father who didn’t want to know. She hadn’t been here for very long—no one would miss her.

      Especially not Karim.

      Zaraqua really was stunning, and Felicity watched it speed by for the last time through tear-filled eyes. Vast freeways sliced through the edge of the desert. How she would have loved her year here, Felicity thought, wondering about the sights she would now never see. She stared at the deep blue sky, the harsh landscape. This was her child’s home. She tried to imprint it on her mind, so that one day she could tell her child about its origins—because its father clearly wouldn’t.

      She hadn’t remembered the journey from the airport taking this long, and it was twenty minutes later that concern started to register.

      The road signs were in Arabic, but there were pictures of planes to indicate the way. The driver seemed to have ignored them, turning off the main road and heading towards the glittering ocean.

      Perhaps this was a quicker way? Felicity told herself. But, no, there was another sign for the airport indicating left. The driver was going straight ahead.

      ‘The airport,’ Felicity said, unsure if he could hear her through the glass partition. ‘How far is it to the airport?’

      On he drove. Felicity caught him looking at her in the rearview mirror, and suddenly she was nervous. She banged on the glass, demanding his attention, but still he drove on, and somehow, even before the white building loomed into view, even before they swept into a vast drive with the blue ocean glittering in the distance, Felicity knew where he was taking her.

      Zaraq Palace.

      She had seen it in the brochures, on the tourist film, from her bedroom window, but nothing could have prepared her for the imposing grandeur of it as they neared.

      What did Karim want?

      Her hand moved to her stomach. The tiny life inside her was the answer.

      How foolish to think she could tell him and just leave.

      How foolish to think it might be that easy.

      As a midwife, Felicity chose to expect things to go smoothly, but she prided herself on being prepared for when things might not go well. It was important to smile and stay unruffled even when you were concerned.

      She could see the driver’s eyes on her in his rearview mirror, and knew he was waiting for her to react—she refused to.

      She had nowhere to go—all her things had been packed and loaded and were in the car, and her documents were in her bag. Her passport was in there too, and apart from the life inside her it was the most precious thing she possessed right now. No one knew she had it. Everyone assumed that she only had the copies, not the originals, and instinct told her it must stay that way.

      It was the one thing she clung to quietly as the gates slid open. The limousine glided past armed guards at checkpoints, and Felicity sat, her forehead beading with sweat, trying to wonder what Karim would have to say. Maybe he wanted to say goodbye, she told herself as the door opened and the driver came round to let her out.

      A woman who introduced herself as Jamal greeted her, smiling warmly, but Felicity was unable to return it.

      ‘Come.’ Jamal led a shaking Felicity into the palace. The cool marble, the height of the ceilings—everything was daunting. ‘We will have some refreshments…’

      Tea was poured, mint tea that was refreshing, and Felicity didn’t waste her breath asking about the purpose of the detour, knowing it would be in vain.

      A man in a suit came then, and spoke for a minute in Arabic to Jamal who briefly translated.

      ‘Karim will see you now—Khan will take you.’

      She was guided through corridors with pictures of ancient ancestors hanging on the walls.

      He rose from a low sofa as she entered a room, and he was wearing traditional black robes and a black and white chequered kiffaya. Tall, imposing and grim, he looked nothing like the man who had once held her—nothing like the man she had seen laughing and chatting—and Felicity knew she was meeting Sheikh Prince Karim Zaraq of Zaraq and it unnerved her.

      His black eyes loathed her, as they had yesterday, and his brief smile was a fake one, of that Felicity was sure.

      ‘Have a seat.’