It was three months later. Now over five months pregnant, Tiffany’s stomach protruded through all her dresses and shirts, meaning she could no longer pretend that she wasn’t very, very pregnant.

She’d had to fess up to the girls at the office, telling them the father was just “a passing fling” (which wasn’t terribly untrue). Mallory had gone baby crazy almost immediately, looking up ways in which they could make the office expectant-mother friendly. She made sure all the smokers smoked at least fifty feet away from the entrance of the office—screaming at them to move if they crept too close—and ensuring that she had extra juices and snacks lying around, just in case Tiffany got “woozy.” Tiffany was grateful for the attention. It forced her to live in the moment, rather than dwell on the fact that the Sheikh wasn’t, and would never be, a part of her life.

Kazra had tried to get in touch several times. He’d sent her bouquets of flowers, as he had months before. He’d sent her letters, all of which she ripped to shreds and flung into the trashcan. His advisors had appeared on her doorstep, each of them pleading to let the Sheikh be the father of his child. But she refused, knowing that she was better off alone.

With a free Saturday between them, Tiffany and Zarina decided to head out for a day of shopping. They entered the crowded sea at the mall, chatting amicably and dancing from one baby supply store to the next.

“You haven’t mentioned the Sheikh in a while,” Zarina said to Tiffany, after a long pause. They were situated in the kitchen supplies area of the store, gazing at baby bottles. “Has he tried to contact you?”

“Oh, sure,” Tiffany said, shrugging. “He hasn’t given up. But frankly, I’m fine on my own. Dad’s been such a great help in the past few weeks. He stays over, cooks me dinner. He’s winding down his job. He just booked his flight back to the States to tender his resignation…” She trailed off, her eyes downcast. “I feel horrible that his career is over, because of this.”

Zarina squeezed Tiffany’s wrist, and smiled warmly. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “He wants to be a grandfather, and he wants to be there for you. Maybe he’s making up for lost time, y’know?”

“We’ve been talking more and more about returning to the States,” Tiffany continued. She was unable to look at Zarina, now. She knew it was going to be difficult, leaving her only real friend. The woman who’d listened to her sob through countless lonely nights, unsure about her child’s future. The woman who’d held her hand along the way.

“It just doesn’t make sense to remain here. Dad says we could move to D.C. He’s been talking about teaching classes at the university. Language mostly,” she said, hating the plan even more as she spoke it out loud.

Silence stretched between them. Zarina reached up and pushed at a hanging plush toy with her finger, thinking. Then she shrugged and gestured towards the door. “I don’t know about you,” she said, changing the subject. Tears glittering in her eyes. “But if I don’t get something to eat, I’m going to pass out.”

Tiffany giggled, grateful for the lighter tone. As they walked back through the door, she clung to Zarina’s hand.

“Let me just ask you one thing,” Zarina said then, her voice a whisper. She turned her dark eyes toward Tiffany’s. “Do you ever think about reconsidering your decision? Would you ever let the Sheikh into your life?”

Tiffany felt her heart jolt. This was the very question she had been asking herself, over and over again. Had she gone too far? Was it really for the best?

“No,” Tiffany said, giving Zarina a false smile. “I don’t think about reconsidering, because I know it’s the right thing for all of us. For me. And for the baby. Baby Jackson.”

“Jackson?” Zarina said, her eyes lighting up. “You found out the sex!”

“Just yesterday,” Tiffany sighed, giving her first natural smile in a while. “A boy!”

“The next ruler of Al Barait, if you want him to be,” Zarina whispered.

“The world has enough rulers,” Tiffany said, her eyes glittering. “Men who are willing to destroy anyone else’s lives, on the path to getting what they want. My baby won’t be like that.”

She said this with unshakeable finality. The Sheikh would not be a part of their lives; this baby would know no other land than America. She shrugged slightly, feeling another stab of pain in her heart.

Sometimes, wanting just wasn’t enough.

Tiffany and Zarina went back to her father’s that night, where the girls enjoyed a dinner, giggling along with Mike as he told the last of his U.S. Ambassador stories. Apparently, his secretary was a wild-eyed crazy woman, whose folders were never organized. “I swear, every time I go into a meeting, she gives me the wrong folder. Yesterday, I had a meeting with the ambassador from Japan—and she gave me a menu for a pizza place!”

Zarina left the Ashworths a few hours later, giving Tiffany a final, firm hug before darting into the night. Tiffany helped her father bring the plates to the sink. She grimaced at the ache in her back.

“My flight is next week. You’re going to be all right here by yourself, aren’t you?” her dad asked, swiping his hand across her head.

“I’m just pregnant, Dad. I’m not dying,” Tiffany sighed. She leaned heavily against the wall. “And you won’t be gone for very long. A week?”

“I’m going to have my neighbors come over and check in on you,” her father continued, his eyes sharp. “And Zarina. She says she can stop by often, right?”

“Oh, Dad. She has her own work to do. I can’t ask her to put her life on hold just because of me,” Tiffany said.

Mike turned off the water in the sink, and swirled the soap bubbles around in the warm liquid. “It’s going to be strange, going back I mean.”

“How much time do you think we have to get out, after you resign?” Tiffany asked him.

“Probably no more than a month or two,” her father affirmed. “They won’t sponsor my visa after that. Of course, your job has your visa covered…”

“We’ve already discussed this,” Tiffany said. “I’m coming home with you. We’re going to build something back in the States. Together.”

“I know, honey. I know.” He glanced toward the window, lost in thought. “And your mother will have a part in your life too. I think it will mean more than you could possibly understand, right now. Having your mother in your life.”

Tiffany doubted it, but didn’t say so. Her mother had abandoned them years ago, without a single thought for how that might affect Tiffany’s life. In some ways, she wanted to make sure her mother knew just how much pain she’d caused.

* * *

Days later, when her father left for the States, Tiffany moved from his apartment to her own, making sure to tend to his plants every other day. But after only a few days, she was exhausted. Walking belly-first through the city, she felt crumpled and achy, and above all, starving.

Standing at a nearby grocery store, she balanced a basket of fruit on her hip and glanced down at the magazine rack. There he was again: the Sheikh, glaring up at her. His smile was brighter, but more forced than before. The headline announced Kazra’s incredible donation to the city’s children’s center. “A sheikh has never done more for the children of this country,” the statement read, written in bold on the shiny page. “The Sheikh, who has always wanted to be a father, is putting forth his efforts to better the nation’s children.”

Tiffany felt herself shiver at the words. “Always wanted to be a father.” Was that a secret jab at her? Was he trying to communicate, through the press? If so, it was a low blow.

Tiffany hadn’t paid much attention to the tabloids since the Sheikh’s “big announcement.” Zarina had told her that there had been a dramatic, countrywide search for the mother of the Sheikh’s child. When the press had come up dry, they had questioned Kazra intensively. The Sheikh had held back, looking morose, leaving many to believe that the aforementioned pregnancy had ended in tragedy. Once the speculation had died down, it seemed as though the press had forgotten all about it and Tiffany was grateful that the gears had stopped turning, at least for a while. It gave her mind some much-needed peace. It gave her time to focus on herself, and on her growing boy.

As she walked back toward her apartment, she held the brown sack of her groceries tightly. She felt her arms strain with their weight. Sweat ran down her spine, and soaked into the fabric of her dress. Without warning, the bottom of the paper sack tore—scattering fruit and vegetables across the sidewalk. Tiffany cried out in surprise.

It was a scorching hot day and no one else was on the sidewalk; no one else could help. She knelt and gathered up a few pre-packaged items and some undamaged fruit and began to trudge the rest of the way home with her purchases clutched tightly against her chest, cursing herself for not double-bagging. As she walked, a black car pulled alongside her, slowing down. She grew apprehensive, wondering if it was following her. She tried to increase her pace, but she was laden awkwardly, and her advancing pregnancy didn’t make it easier. Still, the car drove alongside her, clearly watching her.

With a sudden burst of anger, she turned toward the car and threw an apple at the window. “If you’re going to follow me, at least let me know who you are!” she cried.

As the window pane swept down, it revealed a dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger wearing an immaculate suit. He flashed that smile, then began to chuckle. His laugh was not unkind. It brought back waves of beautiful memories, forcing Tiffany to frown in disbelief.

Of course. It was Kazra. Why on earth would it be anyone else? She curled her fingers around another apple, ready to throw it at his head.

“I didn’t expect that you’d stoop to stalking me.”

“Nonsense. I thought I’d drive out this way.” He paused, “I heard that you’re on your own this week. Your father is out of the country.”

“He’s gone back to D.C to hand in his resignation. No thanks to us,” Tiffany said. After a brief pause, she said, “You really came out here to check on me?” Her heart hammered in her chest. After months of not allowing him to contact her, he’d still been worried about her wellbeing. Even still, he’d pushed aside all of his duties to ensure that she was safe.

“I saw a pile of groceries back there,” he said, pointing. His smile didn’t falter. “Don’t suppose those were yours?”

They held each other’s gaze for a long time. Slowly, Tiffany smiled in return and shrugged her shoulders, dropping the rest of her food to the baking concrete. “Are you going to drive me the rest of the way, or do I have to walk next to your car?” she joked.

The Sheikh bolted from the back seat, opening the door for Tiffany without a moment’s hesitation. He watched as she slid into the leather seat, clamping the seatbelt around her chest.

“You look…well,” he said, his voice choked, his eyes fixed on her stomach.

Tiffany’s cheeks burned. She readjusted in the seat as he slid in beside her, reaching for her hand. He squeezed it briefly, before letting it go. The squeeze was a reminder, not a question. He wasn’t demanding anything of her. He was there to help.

Once back at her apartment, the Sheikh opened the trunk and drew out several large bags of groceries: exotic fruit, vegetables, bread, and cheeses. Tiffany stared at him, incredulous, unable to find the words to thank him.

He followed her up to her apartment, just as he had all those months before. Dropping the bags on the kitchen counter, he got to work immediately, carving up the fruit and placing it all in a large mixing bowl. He ordered Tiffany to sit down and put her feet up.

“All that walking around this city, taking care of your place and your father’s…” He trailed off. “Let me help you. Let me be there for you. And for the baby.”

Tiffany stuttered, feeling taken aback by his kindness. Faced with a long week alone, she found herself nodding. “Maybe just for a little while,” she whispered.

She ripped into the fruit salad he had made her. A fruit salad made by a sheikh, no less. She had never tasted anything more delicious in her life.

“I had a cousin who was pregnant last year,” Kazra told her. He passed her a napkin, watching as she wiped her mouth. “She was starving all the time. Always eating the food right off my plate.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll eat you,” Tiffany teased him, giving him a broad smile.

For a moment, she felt it again. That electricity that had existed between the two of them so many months ago. The way their conversation had eased from one thing to the next, without faltering. The way she’d felt they were two souls, colliding in the dark.

During the silence, the Sheikh stepped forward. He placed his hand on her stomach, and, for a long moment, she didn’t think to push his hand away. She felt his eyes on her, and could sense that he was admiring her face, her hair. Even her breasts, which had grown round since the pregnancy.

“It’s a boy,” she whispered, then. She wasn’t sure why she wanted him to know. Did he even deserve it?

“A boy,” the Sheikh echoed. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her gently into his chest. It wasn’t meant to be a romantic hug. It wasn’t meant to overstep. It was simply meant as an embrace of support, comfort, and understanding.

Tiffany didn’t have to be alone. Not then. And not ever, if she didn’t want to be.

The hug broke moments later, making Tiffany unsure if it had ever really happened. Giving him a small smile, she told the Sheikh she was going to lie down for a bit. The Sheikh escorted her into her bedroom, watching as she removed her shoes, and then tucked her beneath the covers. He slipped his hand through her hair, spreading it over the pillow.

“I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready,” he told her, his voice filled with warmth. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”