“The national address?” Zarina repeated, aghast. “He got you a press pass?”

“It was the best plan he could think of,” Tiffany said. They were perched over their lunch, speaking conspiratorially in an empty restaurant.

“You have no idea how the Sheikh is going to react to this news,” Zarina said, hanging her head. “What if he reacts poorly? Or has you thrown out?”

Tiffany’s smile fell. “When faced with the mother of his child?”

“You don’t have any real proof that he’s the father,” Zarina reminded her.

“I haven’t slept with anyone else,” Tiffany affirmed.

“I know that. You know that. But that’s not how the Sheikh’s world works, and you know that.”

“Stop,” Tiffany whispered. She drew her hands over her ears and shook her head. “Do you have a better idea?”

Zarina dropped her fork into her salad. Her bottom lip quivered with anger. “I just don’t want him to mess around with you anymore, is all.”

“I know. I know.” Tiffany wrapped her hand around Zarina’s, holding it tight. “You saying that means more than you could ever know. But right now—”

“You have to. I get it.” Zarina’s jaw was set, determined. “But so help me God, if he does anything rude to you after you tell him…”

“What? You’re going to hurt the Sheikh?” Tiffany laughed.

Near the register, the server glanced at them, giving them a burning look. Tiffany smacked her hand on the table, trying to play it off as a joke. “Of course, if only we could meet him just once. What great work he’s doing with this country.”

“Right. Great work,” Zarina muttered. She stabbed her fork back into her salad and began to crunch hungrily, allowing bits of spinach to fall to the table.

“You’re eating like an animal,” Tiffany said, eyeing her. “It’s going to be fine.”

“If you say so,” Zarina sighed.

But honestly, Tiffany wasn’t so sure. She felt apprehensive during the days leading up to the grand event. She kept the press pass on the kitchen counter, touching it every time she passed it. It was a reminder to stay focused. This was her ticket to telling the Sheikh the truth.

The day of the national address, Tiffany took the afternoon off work. Slipping the press pass lanyard over her head, she walked from her office building and hailed a cab. “The palace,” she told the driver, flipping her long locks over her shoulder.

“It’s going to be tough getting anywhere near,” the driver said. “There’s that national address today. Tons of security.”

“Just get me as close as you can,” Tiffany said. She kept her hands on her stomach and stretched her fingers wide. Her nausea had been flaring up all morning, making her lock her jaw tightly closed. She refused to vomit in this taxi. Her body just had to obey her.

The taxi stopped about five blocks away from the palace in thick traffic. Cars around them honked their horns, and drivers cried out at one another. Traffic was at a standstill, and after ten minutes, it was clear that a better path wouldn’t open up any time soon.

Tiffany reached for her wallet, paid the driver and got out of the car to walk through the gridlock. She felt out of place, wearing a sleek black dress under her blazer, and a wide belt covered the small swell of her stomach. She looked crisp, businesslike and definitely not pregnant. This was what she wanted. She wanted the Sheikh to look at her warmly and to remember the pleasure they’d given one another.

The press area was a complete mess, with people skirting in and out, clinging to microphones, their eyes flashing with excitement. Walking alongside the other journalists, Tiffany tried not to feel like a complete imposter. For clues to how she should behave, she listened in.

“He’s having a press-only talk in about ten minutes,” one of them whispered to another, her eyebrows high. “If we don’t get this recorder up and running…”

“Can’t you just use your phone?”

“It’s dead.”

Ten minutes. Tiffany watched as journalists began to swarm toward the right of the stage, which was suddenly illuminated by spotlights. The podium glowed. She headed toward the stage, glancing toward the back of it, where a red curtain fluttered between this world and the backstage one.

With a sudden jolt, she realized that the Sheikh was standing a mere ten feet away, positioned directly in the gap between the curtain and the wall. Shocked, her breath caught in her throat. He was speaking in low tones with an advisor, a man with a thick red shawl wrapped around his shoulders. Despite his somber expression, Tiffany recognized how completely bored Kazra was. He was no longer the witty playboy, blasting through the city with pretty models by his side. He was an unwilling ruler preparing to address the nation. And he was horribly alone.

As the minutes ticked by, Tiffany realized that this might be her only chance. Lifting her press pass high, she bounded up the steps of the stage and toward the gap in the curtain. As she swept forward, the advisor held up his hands, his eyes growing wide.

“Miss! You’re not allowed up here. I’m terribly sorry. But stay back!”

But Tiffany had gone too far already. She pushed forward, making direct eye contact with the Sheikh. As she grew closer, her smile widened. And when she was just a few feet away, she saw that twinkle in the Sheikh’s eyes. He recognized her, too.

“It’s quite all right,” Kazra told his advisor. “This is an old friend.”

“We’ve discussed your need to limit your interaction with old friends,” the advisor snapped, his eyes sharp and eagle-like. “Your father would not approve… It is unhealthy to dwell…”

At this point, Tiffany was directly in front of both of them. The excitement had caused her to lose her breath. She gasped slightly, but still wore a smile, reserved only for the Sheikh. She was surprised that, despite having held contempt for him the past few months, she was still attracted to him. Her ears perked up at the sound of his voice. Her heart quickened, and she licked her lips, wondering if she should shake his hand or not.

“It won’t take long,” the Sheikh told his advisor, still holding her gaze. “I’m assuming it won’t?”

“If I could just steal you for two minutes,” Tiffany said, her voice light and unrushed.

Kazra led her toward the far end of a dressing room. He motioned toward the advisor, whom they left tittering near the stage. “He’s just anxious about this first national address,” he sighed. “Doesn’t trust me, I’m afraid.”

“Should he?” Tiffany asked, her tone light.

“I suppose not,” Kazra laughed. “Although I must admit, I’m a different man than I was when I knew you, Tiffany.”

Her heart leapt at the sound of her name on his lips, and she forced herself to stay composed.

After a pause, the Sheikh stopped and leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes falling. “I don’t just remember your name. I was always going to remember that, anyway. I also remember what I did to you.”

Tiffany waited, feeling apprehensive. What did he mean?

“I remember that I wronged you,” the Sheikh continued. “I was an arrogant boy, with arrogant ideas about the world. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Tiffany glanced past him, feeling that the moment was too intense to hold his gaze. She swallowed, feeling the tightness in her throat. “You’re becoming more like your father, aren’t you?”

The Sheikh’s smile broke. “I like to think so.”

Tiffany felt the moment approaching. She couldn’t allow him to escape before he learned the news. Bringing her fingers through her hair, she stuttered slightly, feeling terribly small.

“Kazra, the thing is…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip. “The thing is…something happened the night we were together.”

The Sheikh tilted his head, assessing her. His eyes shone with curiosity.

“I guess I’ll just say it. I’ll just come out and say it. I’m pregnant,” Tiffany said, her voice cracking. “And it’s definitely yours. It can be no one else’s.”

The Sheikh’s lips parted. The next few moments were horribly silent. Tiffany’s heart quaked with fear in her chest. But before the Sheikh could respond, could even smile, could tell her his thoughts—the advisor appeared in the doorway. He grimaced, and gave Tiffany a sour look.

“They’re ready for you, Your Highness,” he said.

“Just a minute,” the Sheikh said, clearing his throat.

“No. Not just a minute.” The advisor burst forward, gripping the Sheikh’s shoulder, and yanked him back toward the stage. Suddenly, Tiffany found herself completely alone, the secret out. As she stood, shocked, her eyes stung, and she felt tears begin to course down her cheeks.

It was over.

She remained frozen in place for several minutes as her heart grew heavy in her chest. She heard the speech begin in the next room, for press only, and she felt, all at once, that she couldn’t bear to be in the same vicinity as the Sheikh; not for a moment longer. Finding a side door, she burst from the press area and into the sunshine, unable to catch her breath. Inside, she heard the fake titters of the journalists, trying to create a rapport with their new leader. His fake laughter followed. God, nothing was real. Nothing except the child growing inside her.

Minutes crept on. She couldn’t find the strength to leave, not without hearing word from the Sheikh. She leaned heavily against the palace wall, listening as the Sheikh fielded questions from the journalists. He bid them goodbye, saying, “And wish me luck on that national address. As many of you know, I’m not terribly used to this yet.”

The journalists chuckled in return, as if they were sharing a joke. Tiffany realized that they were probably the men and women who had clamored for paparazzi photos and written about the Sheikh when he’d been a party animal, racing from one rooftop party to the next and scandalizing the entire country with his antics.

Several members of the press joined her outside, then, lifting cigarettes into their lips and speaking in dull tones. Not wanting to inhale the smoke, Tiffany returned inside. In place of the pulpit, a large screen had been drawn, and a live broadcast of the main event flashed across it. Thousands of people surrounded the main stage, roaring for their new leader. Tiffany remained in the center of the room, her chin high. She couldn’t look away.

The Sheikh appeared on stage. He raised his hands, making his robes ripple through the air. The crowd roared louder, making him pump his arms up and down with excitement. Perhaps he was the rock star Sheikh they wanted. Perhaps he was one they deserved, after years of stuffiness. After years of living in the past.

“Hello!” the Sheikh cried out over the microphone, greeting his people. The camera flipped downward, meeting him at eye level. “It’s so wonderful to be here for my first national address.”

The crowd roared back.

“I must tell you,” he said, reaching up to rub his carefully sculpted stubble. “I must tell you that I’m going to be going off script with this speech. My advisor is going to be terribly upset with me. But that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”

The crowd giggled, loving his fresh, humorous patter. It fell unnaturally from the Sheikh’s lips. Tiffany’s heart hammered, suddenly fearful. Why was he going off script?

“I’ve just learned something rather remarkable,” he continued. “Something that will dramatically change my future, and the future of this country.”

No. He wouldn’t. Would he? Tiffany crossed her arms over her chest, feeling every cell within her quaking with fear.

“I have just learned,” Kazra continued, “That I am going to be a father.”

In the wake of his words, the world seemed to explode. Tiffany fell to her knees, aghast that he would have revealed such a secret to the world without consulting her first. Around her, the journalists shrieked. This was huge news. And they were learning it alongside everyone else.

“Why hadn’t that leaked?” one journalist asked another, her eyes wide.

“Surely he’s making it up.”

“Who do you think the mother is?” another asked, his voice high-pitched and strained.

“We have to find her for comment. Immediately. Before anyone else.”

“No, no, no,” Tiffany whispered.

She began to back away from the rest of the journalists, suddenly feeling like the target of a witch hunt. Ripping her hands through her hair, she listened as the Sheikh tried to go ahead with his regular address. But he found it difficult, with the crowd screaming his name. An heir to the throne! This was huge! Tiffany knew it to be true. But what the entire world didn’t know was that she held that heir in her belly. It was private. It kept her awake at night. It wasn’t their business. Not yet.

Finally, Kazra gave up. He lifted his hand in a final wave and walked off the stage. He looked proud, confident, his chin held high.

Tiffany’s forehead creased in anger. With a jolt of energy, she burst onto the side stage and went toward the dressing room. Her hands were tight fists. As she approached, she saw the Sheikh, followed closely by his advisor. The advisor was trying to reason with him. “Highness. You know you have to go back out there. The people deserve to hear what you have to say…”

“I’ll go back in a few moments,” the Sheikh said, his voice deep. “Right now, I need to collect my thoughts. I’m going to be a father.”

In that moment, he glanced up and saw Tiffany, poised in the doorway. He pointed down the hall, telling his advisor, “Please, give me a moment of peace.”

“But Your Highness…” the advisor mumbled. He directed an evil glare at Tiffany. She had ruined everything.

“Give us time,” the Sheikh boomed with finality.

The advisor allowed it. He skirted away, like a rat heading for the sewers, leaving Tiffany and the Sheikh alone. Their breath was heavy. Their eyes connected, and she realized that the Sheikh’s dark gaze was glowing with light and excitement. He reached for Tiffany’s hands, and looked shocked when she pulled away.

“Darling, what is it?” he asked her.

Tiffany’s breath felt hot on her tongue. “How could you just tell the world like that?”

“I was so excited about the news…” The Sheikh trailed off. “And I wanted to give this nation hope. Hope that I’m planning for a better future for all of us. And this child will be a huge part of that…”

“But you know that my father is the U.S. Ambassador,” Tiffany cried. “You must know what that means.”

The Sheikh paused. His white teeth bit down on his lip, showing his confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I do.”

“Now that you’ve revealed the pregnancy, there’s going to be a nationwide hunt to figure out the identity of the mother,” Tiffany continued. “And if they discover it’s me—as they’re bound to, sooner or later—then this will severely complicate my father’s position before he has a chance to retire gracefully. To top it all off, we’re not married! Now my father is going to have to step down in shame!” She pressed her nails into her palms. “And that probably means I’ll have to move back to the States with him! I can’t force him away from the country he’s called his home for years, just to abandon him!”

“You’re going to make yourself ill,” the Sheikh whispered, seeing how upset she was. He reached for her shoulder and clung to it. “It can’t be good for the baby.”

“What do you know what’s good for the baby?” Tiffany whispered, still outraged. She moved away from him, pushing his hand away.

“I don’t think you should move to the States,” the Sheikh said, his voice soft.

“You’re the one who’s made this my only option,” Tiffany scoffed.

“But you haven’t seen the real me yet,” Kazra continued, spreading his hands wide as he tried to reason with her. “The real me was too excited about the prospect of raising a child with you, that I just had to shout it out to the world. I was too excited to think about how this would affect you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Tiffany’s nostrils flared. He was too excited to think about how this would affect her, huh? Well, wasn’t that the same excuse he’d used before? He’d been too excited about owning that sleek sports car to bother considering her feelings? Her shoulders shook with outrage and pain. She began to shake her head, coming to terms with reality of it all. She’d been a fool to think that the Sheikh could be a part of it.

“No. I’ve heard that all before,” she sighed.

She took a step to the side, glancing toward the bright light from the window. She needed to run. To flee. She couldn’t be in his shadow a moment more.

“I’m sorry, Kazra. But I’m afraid having you in my baby’s life—a person without foresight, a person who cannot consider other people’s opinions and feelings, someone who has no thought for consequences—is no longer an option for me.”

“What do you mean?” the Sheikh whispered, his eyes growing wide with fear. “You wouldn’t—”

“I would.”

Tiffany turned swiftly toward the far end of the hall, taking quick steps. She brought her hands across her stomach, trying to keep her face firm and free of fear. She knew the moment she got into the taxi and was hidden from the public eye, the tears would fall. But just then, she was a simple journalist, with a simple job to do. She couldn’t let on that she was anything else.

Give him a chance? Ha!

She’d never heard anything more ridiculous in her life.