Page 20 of Good As Hell

“Too bad.” She grits, determination making her even more stunning, as she steps back into the space as if she’d never moved from it. “My best friend is very upset and afraid. I want her here with me and Ayaan. He misses her too.”

On cue, my son calls out “Fi.” Kicking and squirming to be put down. As soon as I acquiesce, he rushes over to where Aliah is ushering the woman into the room.

“Oh honey,” she bends low to hug him. “Fi has to go, but I will see you real soon.”

“See, I told you,” Lyric hisses, moving to pass me.

I block her path. “She’s lucky to still breathes, as are you. Your actions determine for how long for both of you.”

Even under what I’ve heard by the models I used to date call the no makeup look she’s wearing, I see her face ashen at my words.

“You’d break Ayaan’s heart like that?” Shaking her head in disbelief, she looks aghast.

“He’s barely one. He won’t even remember either of you,” I simply shrug. “You were willing to let him go without knowing me.”

Rounding on me she skewers me with a rage filled gaze. “Then why did he know you were his daddy as soon as he saw you, dumbass dummy?” Throwing her hand up dismissively, she turns, striding over to Ayaan and Fi.

After the two women hug and one final kiss to my son from Fi, I’m left with a mad as hell woman and a sad little boy.

“Ah, is this Ayaan?” Turning to the entrance of the suite I see eager wariness etched across my parents’ faces.

The meeting was at bestawkward. Lyric shed all the Empress trappings and was just a nervous new mom meeting the parents of her child’s father. My parents, ever the diplomats, greeted her warmly, though apprehensively. Baba couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to be the monarch or the granddad.

“This is jadd, and jadda,” I tell Ayaan the names for grandparents in my language. Looking up, I see tears glistening in Umm’s eyes and Baba’s are a little glassy too.

Anger that they didn’t get to hold and rock him when he was first born eats and me. Watching Lyric look on with hesitant hope only makes that anger hotter. She denied them. She denied all of us. I should have been there to see my son born into this world. I haven’t got a good answer from her why she thought to keep my son from me or what she thought she’d accomplish doing that dumb shit. She’s going to learn that fucking with me is a mistake.

Looking away, feeling the muscle tick in my jaw, I glance down at my watch. “It’s time.”

All heads pop up at that moment. Masks fall into place to present the regal family our people have come to expect. My parents — no longer the doting grandparents but the king and queen of this country. Lyric seems to take her cues from them. She’s not the biggest star in the world right now, but the mother of a prince and she takes that mantle like she was born to it. Not sure why that makes me chuffed with pride, but it does.

Lyric falls into step behind me as previously instructed. Baba and Umm lead us. The entire household lines the corridor leading to the conference room, watching our little entourage walk to where the press assembles.

Entering the room, I shield Ayaan from the flash of cameras shooting off in rapid succession. Following a step or two behind my parents, I notice how they arranged the seats. Three in front, with one to the rear of mine.

Pausing, I nod to Fariq. “Adjust the seating, so that we are all together.”

“That is not protocol,” he murmurs the needless reminder.

“This is unprecedented and aired live around the world. Placing her behind me would be seen as backward and disrespectful. She’s not some girl from a village no-one heard of. She is the Empress. Now see to it that is done.”

Pressing his lips in a firm line, he goes to do my bidding. Walking ahead of us, he smoothly places the chair beside mine as my parents take their seats. Lyric and I follow.

Pausing, I wait as she takes hers before I sit, adjusting my son in my lap.

“Baba,” Ayaan pleads, looking to me with bright, green eyes filled with worry, then to the crowd and back to me.

“Shh, it’s okay handsome boy,” Lyric soothes, “Mommy and Baba are right here.”

The immediacy with which she calms him is like a magical balm.

My father’s press secretary steps up to a dais off to the side to speak as per palace protocol. No one stands in front of the royal family.

“Ladies and gentleman the national and international press core, thank you for assembling here today for the announcement of Prince Ayaan ben Hassan Al Rasheed, first and only son of Prince Hassan ben Kareem Al Rasheed.” The uproar from this makes Ayaan flinch. “Baba,?” Small hands grab at my lapels. Helplessly, I watch fat tears fill his eyes and roll down his cheek. He whimpers with fear at the cacophony of clicks and shouts ensuing from the assembly.

“Let me have him.” Lyric’s already reaching for him. As much as it pains me to do it, I know she is better equipped to take care of him in these types of situations.

“Quiet please,” the press secretary says over and over again, to no avail.

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