Page 44 of Good As Hell

Umm, as she insists I call her, says he’s been busy rooting out those responsible. Still, I can’t help but think if he really cared, he’d have come seen about me once.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Hassan, has requested Prince Ayaan be brought to him for an audience.” She steps towards me and my arm instinctively tightens around my son. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I do. What I don’t trust or like is how Hassan is carving out time with my son away from me, as though he is conditioning Ayaan to being with us separately. He’s been divvying up the time between us and though I noticed it earlier, I thought it was because of how hectic his schedule was and him still being angry over what he believed I had done. Now, I see how wrong I was. This is a deliberate move on his part.

My only other question is, if he’s doing it so that we maintain separate residences or he intends to take my child from me? An icky feeling tells me it is the later.

“I’ll take him to his father.” I cooly inform her.

“Mistress—”

“I said what I said, Aliah. Please lead the way.” Giving her a determined smile, I nod for her to take us to Hassan.

“Thank you,”I say as we enter the suite we all share. He must have really not expected me to leave Fi’s side if he chose the rooms he’s all but fled to spend time with our son.

“Baba,” Ayaan singsongs squirming to get down so he can toddle over to his dad.

“Abn. My sweet precious boy.” Hassan gets down on his haunches with his arms spread wide so Ayaan can run into them.

Sweeping him up, he kisses his cheek, closing his eyes, as he hugs him. I can’t take my eyes off them. I haven’t seen this display since before the horrible fight we had. My nose stings from the emotions that threaten to break me as I watch the unfiltered display of love.

I never see him soften. Not even when he is with his parents, though I know they love him. He always seems to be aware of the expectation of his position and never allows himself to be seen as weak. He’s not even been vulnerable when we’ve been intimate. The closest he came was that first time. After the debacle that followed, I couldn’t allow myself to be unguarded either, or at least tried not to. I still cringe, thinking I could trust him even a little with my heart.

Startled, I have to stop myself from taking a step back, when somber eyes open and reach mine.

“It’s almost time for prayer. You’ve taken him from his lessons all day.” The accusation is like a slap to my face.

“He’s not even two, Hassan,” I try to keep my tone calm and not cuss his ass out, in front of our son.

“He will be king.” His voice is firm though he smiles, standing Ayaan on his feet. An opportunity our son uses to run around the room at a breakneck pace. How he misses the tables and ottomans, I’ll never know.

“Son,” he calls to Ayaan, stopping him in his little tracks. “It is time to pray.”

I sit amongst the cushions watching them prepare and then step out onto the veranda, since they don’t have time to make it to the palace mosque.

Time got away from me as I visited with Indigo and Fi. I know how important teaching Ayaan to be observant is to him. Still, he could have sent for him earlier, knowing I’m consumed with worry for my friends.

No sooner than they come back is food brought in and set up for us. The aromas remind me none too gently that I’ve not eaten, not that I’ve had an appetite for anything other than coffee since the waking up and discovering my best-friend is in a coma.

After giving thanks, we dig into the sumptuous fare of roasted turkey, veggies, honey glazed rolls and various other dishes. The olives are my favorite, along with the olive oil drizzled hummus.

“Yummy, Umm?” Ayaan little voice has me smiling despite my worry. Children have a way of making all the troubles plaguing you a little less consequential for a while.

“Yes, hunnie. Is yours yummy?” he nods vigorously then goes about naming the dishes in Arabic and English like he’s been taught.

Hassan watches the interplay between us and I can’t help but notice the look of longing in his eyes. Seeing me watch him, hisgaze shutters, then clearing his throat, he wipes his full lips. “I’d like to speak with you later.”

“Okay,” I shrug, communicating that I’ve been here the entire time.

“Play?” Ayaan asks, his cheeks flushed from eating and hope in his jade eyes.

“Yeah, let’s get some of that energy out.” I sweep him up before Hassan answers. This is the new routine since he decided to stay away nights following the earthquake. We have a very active and inquisitive son who wanted to know where his Baba was and why he wasn’t here. Letting him roam the gardens at night did wonders to distract him.

We are already outside chasing bubbles when he joins us.

Chapter Fifteen

DADDY’S HOME

LYRIC

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