The Sheikh's Secret Love Child (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise 2) - Page 25

Hakan laughed heartily. “T

rupti will take care of you,” he said, gesturing to the woman behind Clarice. “She’ll help you get settled in after your long journey. Take care, now, and we’ll see you at dinner. I hope you’re hungry.”

Clarice bowed her head slightly, making final eye contact with her daughter before disappearing up a grand staircase.

Hakan bounced Zak on his hip and finally turned his attention to Rosie, whose eyes were dry and tired after the long flight. “You, my darling, look absolutely gorgeous.”

She scoffed, tossing her head back. “If this is the best I’ve looked, after a fifteen-hour flight, then I better work harder in general. I’m living in a grand palace, now. I can’t just wear scrubs all day anymore, can I?”

Hakan waved his hand. “You can wear whatever you want—they already love you. You should see how they’re reacting to you in the media. And they haven’t even received my press release yet.” He grinned, even as Zak tried to puncture his eardrum again. “Being a parent involves constantly getting hurt, doesn’t it?”

Rosie giggled. “I think you’ll get used to it. Look at you. You’re a natural.”

Hakan led them to the royal quarters, then—up a different grand staircase, through a hallway that was lined with ornately-framed paintings. One painting, of a man wearing the traditional royal garb of Zaymari, standing next to a young boy, also wearing traditional dress, caught her attention almost immediately.

Rosie pointed to the boy. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere,” she murmured. “Look at you.”

Hakan laughed. He held his son up to the portrait, gazing at the resemblance. “He does look like me. But in some ways, I think he’s got his mother’s good looks.”

Rosie’s heart swelled with pride at these words.

A moment later, Hakan opened the door of their quarters, which made the presidential suite at the Edgewater Hotel look like a dive. Rosie’s breath caught in her throat as she looked around, tapping her shoes on the cool marble. More paintings lined the walls, alongside countless bookshelves. A living room area was off to the right, complete with antique furniture and tapestries that hung from the walls.

As they continued, Rosie spotted a tiny kitchen.

“One that we can use for Zak,” Hakan explained. “Sometimes I like to use it—”

“When you want to cook for yourself?” she teased, remembering how he’d said he liked to live like regular people. “Keeps you humble I guess.”

“Sometimes, I just crave macaroni and cheese. What can I do, pretend like I didn’t live in America for ten years?” he grinned. “I want this kid to have the best of both worlds. Which means you’ll have to teach him everything you know from your past, and I can teach him everything I know from mine.”

Rosie smiled deeply, contentedly. They were going to raise their child in this palace. He was going to grow up learning two languages, two different ways of living. And for that reason, he would begin his life with so much more than she had. Her heart swelled.

Hakan opened a side door, then, and revealed a large nursery. Light from the windows shone directly on the crib in the center. The crib looked old, yet sturdy—perhaps one that had been in the family for decades. An official, royal crib.

Rosie swallowed. “Do you think I can keep his toys in here?” It didn’t seem right that his dinosaur toys could stand in this antique nursery.

But Hakan just laughed. “We can do whatever we want. This is our home. And, if I know anything about kids, I know that he rules this home. At least for the duration.”

“Well, he’ll go from ruling us, to ruling this country,” Rosie laughed.

“Do you want to see the bedroom?” Hakan asked, his voice suddenly sultry.

Her stomach flipped over at the thought. They hadn’t been intimate since he’d left the States two months before, and she’d been craving his body, his kisses, his scent.

She grinned and nodded, and Hakan opened the last door in the hallway, bringing the stunning view to light: the bedroom they would share.

The single room was twice the size of her Seattle apartment, Rosie realized, except it was completely open, without wall breaks. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, the breeze tickling the long, ruby-colored drapes. The gleaming floors were multi-leveled, leading down to the bedroom, where a massive bed stretched across that side of the room, opposite a cozy nook which featured a fireplace and several couches.

Rosie’s face broke into a massive smile. She’d never seen anything more beautiful.

As she roved around the apartment, Hakan meandered to their bed, where he lay with their son, tickling him ceaselessly. He giggled, sending tiny baby squeals to echo against the high ceilings.

Rosie watched as Hakan opened the baby’s shirt, gave him an explosive raspberry, and laughed with his son on their million-dollar bed, on sheets that were probably used once and never given life again. What kind of luxury was this?

In that moment, as Rosie watched them, she felt incredulous. She was reminded of the sleek, red Lamborghini that had nearly flattened her on that street in Seattle. God, she thought. Fate was such a strange, bizarre thing. She wondered how many cars in the history of the world had had to be destroyed so that beautiful things could grow in their place.

Rosie lay beside them, then, in the midafternoon light. The baby cooed into a nap, and she and Hakan slept beside him, their hands linked together between them. It was like they were one unit, breathing ever as one.

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