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‘But I don’t want to be a princess! I’m happy just the way I am.’
‘You are an infuriating woman,’ he growled.
‘And you just like getting your own way!’
His lips curved into a reluctant smile. ‘That much is true,’ he conceded.
He asked her again on the morning she gave birth to a beautiful baby daughter and he felt as if his heart would burst with pride and emotion. The nurse had just handed him the tiny bundle, and he held the swathed scrap and stared down at eyes which were blue and wide—shaped just like her mother’s. But she had a shock of hair which was pure black—like his. Wonderingly, he touched her perfectly tiny little hand and it closed over his finger like a starfish—a bond made in that moment which only death would break.
His eyes were wet when he looked up and the lump in his throat made speaking difficult, but he didn’t care. ‘Why won’t you marry me, Izzy?’ he questioned softly.
Slumped back against the pillows—dazed but elated—Isobel regarded her magnificent Sheikh. This powerful man who cradled their tiny baby so gently in his arms. Why, indeed? Because she was stubborn? Or because she wanted him to know that marriage wasn’t important to her? That she wasn’t one of those women who were angling for the big catch, determined to get his ring on her finger? That
she loved him for who he was and not for what he could give her?
‘Doesn’t it please you to know that I’m confident enough in your love that I don’t need the fuss of a legal ceremony?’ she questioned demurely.
‘No,’ he growled. ‘It doesn’t. I want to give our girl some security.’
And that was when their eyes met and she realised that he was offering her what her mother had never had. What she had never had. A proper hands-on father who wasn’t going anywhere. Here was a man who wasn’t being forced to commit but who genuinely wanted to. So what was stopping her?
‘I don’t want a big wedding,’ she warned.
He bit back his smile of triumph. ‘Neither do I.’ But her unexpected acquiescence had filled him with even more joy than he had thought possible, and he turned his attention to the now sleeping baby in his arms. ‘We’ll have to think about what to call her.’
‘A Khayarzah name, I think.’
‘I think so, too.’
After much consultation they named her Nawal, which meant ‘gift’—which was what she was—and when she was six months old they took her to Khayarzah, where their private visit turned into a triumphant tour. The people went out of their way to welcome this second son and his family into their midst—and Tariq at last accepted his royal status and realised that he had no wish to change it. For it was his daughter’s heritage as well as his, he realised.
It was in Khayarzah one night, when they were lying in bed in their room in the royal palace, that Tariq voiced something which had been on his mind for some time.
‘You know, we could always try to find your father,’ he said slowly. ‘It would be an easy thing to do. That’s if you want to.’
Isobel stirred. The bright moonlight from the clear desert sky flooded in through the unshuttered windows as she lifted her eyes to study her husband.
‘What on earth makes you say that?’
Expansive and comfortable, with her warm body nestling against him, Tariq shrugged. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since we had Nawal. How much of a gap there would be in my life if I didn’t have her. If I had never had the opportunity to be a father.’
‘But—’
‘I know he deserted your mother,’ he said softly. ‘And I’m not saying that you have to find him. Or that even if we do you have to forgive him. I’m just saying that the possibility is there—that’s all.’
It was his mention of the word forgive which made Isobel think carefully about his words. Because didn’t forgiveness play a big part in every human life—their own included? And once her husband had planted the seed of possibility it took root and grew. Surely she owed Nawal the chance of meeting her only surviving grandparent...?
Tariq was right. It was easy to find a man who had just ‘disappeared’ twenty-five years ago—especially when you had incalculable wealth and resources at your fingertips.
Isobel didn’t know what she had been expecting—but it certainly wasn’t a rather sad-looking man with grey hair and tawny eyes. Recently widowed, John Franklin was overjoyed to meet her and her family. His own personal regret was that he and his wife had never been able to have children of their own.
It was a strange and not altogether comfortable moment when she shook hands for the first time with the man who had given life to her over a quarter of a century ago. But then he saw the baby, and he smiled, and Isobel’s heart gave an unexpected wrench. For in it she saw something of herself—and something of her daughter, too. It was a smile which would carry on down through the generations. And there was something in that smile which wiped away all the bitterness of the past.
‘You’re very quiet,’ observed Tariq as they drove away from John Franklin’s modest house. ‘No regrets?’
Isobel shook her head. What was it they said? That you regretted the things you didn’t do, rather than the things you did? ‘None,’ she answered honestly. ‘He was good with Nawal. I think they will be good for each other in the future.’
‘Ah, Izzy,’ said Tariq. ‘You are a sweet and loving woman.’
