Hassan’s face tightened. “Who is this woman? How old is she?”
“Her name is Zara Paxton. She’s twenty-eight.”
Hassan gasped as if he’d been shot. He held out his hands for the letters, and as Rafe passed them over he already had his answer. Hassan looked both elated and stunned. Both the name and the age had been significant to him.
While the king was distracted with the pages, he took the opportunity to set the cat on the ground and brush the hair from his lap.
Hassan opened each letter slowly and read it, then put it back in the envelope. Color drained from his face. When he’d finished, Rafe gave him the diamond ring. The king took it and closed his fingers around the stones.
“Fiona,” he breathed, then looked at Rafe. “The daughter. Where is she?”
“Zara is staying at a hotel in the city. Her mother died some years ago. Apparently, she had kept these letters with a lawyer. Zara only found out about them a few months ago. She thinks you could be her father.”
Hassan rose, with Rafe quickly doing the same. “Of course she is my daughter. Fiona and I were together for over two years. After all this time her daughter is here. My daughter.” He shook his head. “You say she looks like Sabrina?”
“They have the same coloring, the same general build. Zara is taller and thinner. She wears glasses.”
Hassan smiled sadly, obviously caught up in a memory. “My sweet Fiona was as blind as a bat, but vain. She would never wear her glasses. I used to have to lead her everywhere.” He headed for the door. “Come. I must meet Zara at once.”
Rafe grabbed the letters—Hassan still had the ring. “Your Highness, we need to talk about this first.”
The king turned to face him. “Why?”
“For one thing, you can’t know if she’s really your daughter.”
“True enough, although I suspect she is.”
He wanted her to be. Rafe read that truth in the longing in Hassan’s dark eyes. Rafe felt oddly protective of the woman he’d left back in the hotel.
“Zara is a little nervous about the situation. She’s not prepared to have her long-lost father be the king of a sizable country. There’s also the problem of the media. Until we know who she is, it’s best if we keep this information private.”
“I see your point.” Hassan nodded slowly. “What do you suggest?”
“A meeting in a neutral location. One of the big hotels, maybe. We can use one of the suites. Your security people can get you into the building quietly. I’ll bring Zara.”
Hassan glanced at his watch. “Have this arranged by four o’clock. I won’t wait any longer.”
Which gave Rafe less than two hours. Great. “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I’m going to throw up,” Zara announced as she stood in the center of the massive living room of the presidential suite at the Bahanian Resort Hotel.
To her left were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the incredible Arabian Ocean. She’d already tried concentrating on the view as a way to calm herself, but the height made her head swim…and not in a good way.
The furniture in the suite was enough to make her uneasy. The living room held five sofas—five!—and a baby grand piano. There were also coffee tables and sofa tables. All this furniture, and there was still enough floor space to hold an aerobics class.
She and Cleo had yet to find their way through the entire suite. They’d gotten lost twice then had given up exploring, fearing that the king would arrive and find them trapped in a bedroom closet or bathroom.
“Don’t throw up,” Cleo advised. “It never makes a good first impression.”
“Thanks for the share.” Zara tried for a smile, but her face felt frozen and tight. Like she’d had too much Novocain at the dentist. “What are we doing here? Are we crazy?”
Cleo rubbed her hand along the back of one of the sofas. “I don’t know, Zara. I mean, I didn’t really connect this whole king-father thing before. But now it’s real and it’s scary.”
“Tell me about it.” Zara forced herself to sit. She chose a sofa that faced away from the windows. “At least Rafe arranged for us to meet the king here rather than at our hotel.”