Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son

She took the AirTrain and then the subway and, following the instructions her friend had given her, found herself on a very busy street on a crisp spring day in Manhattan.

Aubrey stood for a moment soaking it all in, her head tipped back as she gazed up in awe at the tall buildings, but she was soon jolted by the sea of people walking determinedly by. Aubrey headed into a large department store and headed up a level to an in-store coffee shop and bought a well-deserved drink.

She had budgeted carefully for today.

For the last few weeks, having seen on the news that Jobe was nearing the end, she had been trying to put a little away whenever she could. It had been hard. Her ear infection had meant her balance was off, and so she’d been unable to do trapeze, and the tips were less when waiting tables. Still, she’d saved enough to buy the cheapest return flights for her and her mom to attend the funeral.

But Stella had refused to come, insisting she wanted to stay home.

Aubrey’s mom was a Vegas lifer and loved it. Or she had loved it.

Now she never went further than the porch of their trailer, and that was only after dark.

Aubrey made her coffee last then, when it was done, she popped a mint and an antibiotic pill and took the escalator down to the make-up counter. There she tried lipsticks on the back of her hand until the assistant came over and asked if she could help.

‘I hope so,’ Aubrey sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for really. I don’t usually wear make-up...’ That wasn’t true, Aubrey wore several inches of it each night when she performed, but if her friend was right then the assistant should offer a make-over. Sure enough, she was soon invited to take a seat on a high stool, except Aubrey hesitated.

It felt wrong.

‘I wear stage make-up,’ she admitted.

‘So you’re looking for a more natural look?’ the assistant asked.

‘Yes, but...’ Aubrey took a breath. The young woman was around the same age as herself, and no doubt relying on commission and hoping that Aubrey would make some purchases after the make-over. There was no chance of that and Aubrey admitted the truth. ‘I actually can’t afford to buy anything,’

Their eyes met for a moment, but then the assistant gave her a small smile. ‘At least you’re honest.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me give you a make-over anyway. Hopefully we’ll pull in a crowd and both come out winning.’

Soon she was sitting on the high stool. ‘So where are you off to?’ the make-up artist asked, glancing at Aubrey’s black attire. ‘A funeral?’

‘Yes, for a family friend.’ Aubrey nodded. ‘Though it’s going to be very well-heeled. I don’t want to stand out.’

‘It must be the day for funerals. Today’s Jobe Devereux’s—’ Her voice halted when she felt the heat sear in Aubrey’s cheeks. ‘That’s where you’re headed?’

Jobe was New York City royalty and so, when Aubrey nodded, the make-up assistant knew exactly what her customer was up against. ‘Let’s get to work, then,’ she said. ‘I’m Vanda, by the way.’

‘Aubrey.’

Vanda plugged in some flat irons and smoothed out Aubrey’s wavy blonde hair before taking a very close look at her face. ‘You have the most incredible bone structure.’

‘You should have seen my mother’s,’ Aubrey said. ‘She had the most amazing cheekbones.’

‘Had?’

Aubrey didn’t answer. Her mom insisted that her injuries were kept quiet, and even far from Vegas still she didn’t reveal how her mother’s looks had been ravaged in a fire.

‘So...’ Vanda asked another question as she worked. ‘If you wear stage make-up, what do you do?’

‘All sorts,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘I dance in some shows and do a bit of trapeze...’

‘Get out!’

‘Nothing too glamorous,’ Aubrey was honest. ‘Anything and everything really...’

Anything and everything to avoid going into the oldest profession in the world.

It beckoned to Aubrey, of course it did. When the rent was overdue, when the shifts at work dried up...when her mother, disfigured in a fire, needed her meds. But Aubrey had found other ways to make ends meet.

Jobe Devereux’s money hit her account each and every month.

And each and every month the very generous sum had been spent.

Aubrey had let him think that she was studying music and Jobe, estranged from her mother and a busy man, had never checked.

He’d trusted her, Aubrey guessed, yet instead of education the money had gone on surgery, doctors’ bills, medication, rehabilitation, more surgery...

More medication.

Even her mom thought that she was on the game. It was never said outright, of course, but it was Aubrey who took care of the bills and Stella never asked where the money came from.

Aubrey had had serious offers—and some rather glamorous ones too—but she’d declined them all. In truth, she mistrusted men. Her mother had been an escort, that was how Aubrey had come about. Her mom had, for a brief time, been a showgirl, but when parts in the big Vegas shows had got fewer her mom had done what she’d had to to make ends meet.

Until Jobe had come into her mom’s life there had been a parade of men through their home, and it had left Aubrey both cynical and scared of sex. Despite the skimpy outfits and provocative moves, she had never been so much as kissed, let alone anything else.

‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

And it really was a transformation.

Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’

‘You’re going to blend right in,’ Vanda said, and then glanced down at Aubrey’s rather cheap dress, but decided there was nothing that she could do about that. ‘I’ll give you a sample size of the lipstick so you can top up before the service.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Have you seen how many customers I now have?’ Vanda said. ‘I really hope today goes as well as it can for you.’

So did Aubrey.

She might appear streetwise, but she was terrified.

* * *

Crowds were gathered and the security was tight, with the street cordoned off, but it did not deter Aubrey. She walked towards the barrier and spoke to a uniformed security guard. ‘My driver took me to the wrong drop-off,’ she attempted, but was immediately cut off with a question.

‘Name?’

‘Aubrey,’ she mumbled. ‘Aubrey Johnson.’

‘Wait there.’

There was no chance of getting in, Aubrey knew that. She certainly wouldn’t be on the guest list. Still, she was used to slipping into concerts and things and had hoped to find a chink in security’s armour, a group to tag onto, or even a less-than-vigilant security guard.

No such luck.

He was talking into his mouthpiece and, knowing that she wouldn’t be on the private guest list, Aubrey’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a vantage point that might give her at least a view of the casket. She wanted to say goodbye, she really did, not just on behalf of her mother but for herself.

‘This way, Miss Johnson.’

She turned around at the sound of her name and blinked in surprise as the black velvet rope was pulled back and she realised that she’d been allowed through.

It was a mistake.

Of that she was certain.

Johnson was a common surname after all, but Aubrey took good news when it came.

‘Follow that group,’ the security guard told her.

Aubrey did so, climbing the stone stairs and then standing in line to sign the book of condolences before heading in. She kept her head down, worried that security might realise their mistake, because she was rather certain that she shouldn’t have been allowed in.

And that was how Khalid first saw her.

Alerted that one of the mystery women was here and about to sign the book of condolences, Khalid scanned the line.

His eyes drifted past her twice, but then a gentleman stepped back and he saw her.

From the way she had been painted, from the photos he had seen, Khalid had rather expected a less demure figure.

She was tiny.

A mere wisp.

Her blonde head was bowed down and around her slender shoulders there was a lace shawl that she clutched with one hand.

Khalid made his way over to the line-up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the people who stood behind her, and promptly stepped in. They didn’t argue, and not just because it was a funeral. Despite the fact he was today clean-shaven and wearing a black suit, there was still a commanding air to Khalid that had people instinctively defer to him.

In his country they would, of course, have knelt.

Aubrey was far too worked up to notice the movement in the queue behind her.

It was his scent that reached her first.

Khalid always smelled divine—al-lubān, or frankincense as it was known here, had been subtly blended with oil of guaiac wood from a palo santo tree that had been gifted to the palace. To that there was added a note of bergamot, cardamom and saffron, all blended in the Al-Zahan desert by a mystic, exclusively for Khalid.

It was subtle yet captivating.

So much so that when it reached Aubrey her head rose like a meerkat’s and she turned to its source. A man towered over her, so she had to look up from the black tie she first glimpsed. Up to the thick white collar of his shirt and to his throat and strong jaw.

And when Aubrey first met his burning gaze, everything she knew she forgot.

She forgot not to make eye contact.

And she forgot that she generally did not trust men.

In the moment that their eyes met, she simply forgot.

Khalid’s features remained impassive, yet despite his calm demeanour he instantly felt her allure. From the china blue of her unblinking eyes to lush, full lips, she was captivating. She wore far less make-up than she had in the tasteless photos. Well, a touch too much blusher perhaps, but Aubrey really was exceptionally beautiful; there was no doubting that. Khalid could see how a man could be beguiled.

He refused to be.

‘I believe,’ Khalid said, ‘that it is your turn to sign.’

His voice was rich, deep and accented, and to Aubrey, for a second, his words made no sense, but then she remembered. Oh, yes, the condolence book. She turned from the assault to her senses and picked up a heavy silver pen. Her hand was shaking as she wrote her name.

Aubrey Johnson.

For her address... Well, she left out the trailer park and just put Las Vegas, then she forgot the beautiful stranger behind her and pondered over her message.

What could she say?

Thank you for making Mom feel like a queen and for the trips and the fun times...

Of course she could not put that; his long affair with her mom had been a faithfully kept secret.

Thank you for believing in me...

Aubrey would have liked to write that, but knew she could not. Or...?

Sorry I lied.

Jobe had insisted that she take this chance, and not follow a more familiar, familial career path, for her mother and Aunt Carmel had both made their living on the game. Would Jobe have forgiven her if he’d found out that she’d used her scholarship money for her mom’s medical care?

Aubrey would never know now.

And so she wrote a short line and then put down the pen, and Khalid watched as she moved on before reading her words.

Dearest Jobe, thank you for everything. You were wonderful. Xxx

The thought of her with Jobe revolted him.

Khalid picked up the pen she had just held and wrote exactly what he would have before his eyes had held Aubrey’s.

Allah yerhamo.

May God have mercy on him.

Those words felt more pertinent now.

‘Your Highness.’ One of Khalid’s security detail was at his side and discreetly told him that another guest on the watch-list had arrived. And then more news must have come into his earpiece, for he added, ‘And another.’

CHAPTER THREE

AUBREY WAS GUIDED to a pew and she smiled at a rather overly made-up woman and took a seat beside her, then sat silently looking at the dark oak coffin covered in a huge spray of deep red roses.

Tears sparkled in Aubrey’s eyes as she thought of a man who really had been one of a kind and very loved. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Aubrey had never seen anything like the turnout for Jobe’s funeral. She looked around at the congregation gathered to say farewell to him. They were an eclectic bunch. From kippahs to hijabs. From military uniforms to medical staff, and alongside New York City’s elite were cops and, she was sure, a few mobsters too.

And then her eyes were drawn to the latest arrival. Well, how could they not be? All eyes were drawn to the woman walking in.

She had legs right up to her neck and wore black, although not an awful lot of it, and there was rather a lot of crêpe décolletage on display. Her bottle-blonde hair was backcombed, and around her shoulders she wore a rather tired feather boa that, like its owner, looked as if it might have seen better days.

Aubrey was rather certain she knew her and tried to place her name. Brandy. That was it. Aubrey couldn’t think of the rest of her name, but knew that she was a bit of a Vegas legend. She didn’t know her directly—Brandy was from before her mom’s time and had been a true ex-Vegas showgirl and ran a dance school now.

The congregation seemed to suck in its collective breath, but it didn’t seem to bother Brandy. She just swanked her way in on those endless legs as she was directed to the pew behind Aubrey, not remotely concerned by the air of disapproval.

As Aubrey glanced behind she blinked, as she recognised another of the women, and then she looked again at the made-up woman next to her.

Was she perhaps another of Jobe’s exes? It dawned on Aubrey that she had been guided to this pew for a reason.

Oh, my, what happened in Vegas wasn’t staying there today!

Aubrey actually had to smother a burst of laughter, but as she put her hand up to cover her mouth, she realised she was being watched, and found herself looking into the narrowed eyes of that stunning stranger.

He really was terribly beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone she had ever seen.

He stood in the pews reserved for family. Exquisitely suited, his glossy dark hair was brushed back from his forehead and Aubrey’s eyes roamed his face, taking in the details.

Just this morning, when Vanda had complimented her on her bone structure, Aubrey had immediately referenced her mother. For the rest of her life, Aubrey knew, she would now reference him, for the blend of his features was unsurpassed. Caramel-skinned with an aquiline nose, his prominent cheekbones were somehow countered by sensual full lips that were not smiling. If anything, the look he gave her was less than friendly, yet Aubrey found that she could not tear her gaze away.

He did.

As someone spoke to him, he looked abruptly away, yet Aubrey remained entranced and could not stop watching him as the family arrived.

Ethan and Abe were accompanied by their gorgeous wives. Aubrey had kept up to date, via the tabloids, on Jobe’s sons.

Aubrey could not though work out the family’s relationship with the handsome stranger. And it wasn’t to do with his dark skin, more that he did not shake hands with the brothers or kiss their wives, he did not greet them warmly and yet they all seemed relieved to see him.

Jobe’s partner, Chantelle, seemed to follow his guidance and slipped into the seat he gestured to and then gave him a nod of thanks. She gleamed with diamonds. Her neat black coat was the perfect canvas for the most amazing golden blonde hair that was so completely perfect that, to Aubrey’s trained eye, it just had to be a wig.

Yes, Aubrey knew rather more about Chantelle than the rest of the Devereux clan.

She had been the reason Jobe had ended things with her mother.

The service soon started and it really was incredibly moving. The readings were beautiful and the eulogy, which was delivered by Abe and followed with a verse from Ethan, had tears welling up in Aubrey’s eyes.

She must not cry here! Aubrey did not want to draw attention to herself and so she swallowed her tears down and watched as the stunning stranger rose.

He was going to speak.

Aubrey glanced down at her order of service.

Thoughts and Poem

Khalid

She turned the page, wondering if his surname was on the next one, but, no, there was nothing more to indicate who he was.

Aubrey watched as he walked up to the lectern. Gosh, he was tall. And his black suit, among hundreds of black suits, stood out—it was just so superbly cut, and sat so well on his broad shoulders. As he moved the microphone up to accommodate his height she saw that he wore cufflinks, and Aubrey wasn’t used to that.

He was just so groomed and polished and, for a short moment, so silent that even a crying baby fell quiet.

Khalid held no notes.

‘Jobe first welcomed me into his home one Thanksgiving,’ Khalid said. ‘I was at school with Ethan, who told me that his father insisted I not spend Thanksgiving alone. We all know the power of Jobe’s warm welcome. He was generous and thoughtful in so many ways, and from the smiles I have seen here today, he brought a lot of happiness to many. Yet Jobe would not forgive me if I failed to mention that he was also cutting, ruthless, arrogant...’

The congregation started to laugh as the mild insults continued and his words were both well delivered and accepted.

Aubrey was more than grateful for the chance to watch this intriguing man.

Khalid made the congregation laugh, yet he, himself, did not smile.

He was completely steady, utterly composed. Detached even? Yet his words felt like a necessary caress at the end of an exhausting day, something to lean on as you fell apart.

‘Jobe helped many people find their light and shine,’ Khalid said, and Aubrey welled up as memories rained down.

Holidays.

Mom, happy and laughing.

The violin that he had bought Aubrey was still her most treasured possession.

Aubrey had been so certain she would not cry that she hadn’t even brought a tissue, but when Khalid read a poem in Arabic she crumpled. She had never meant to draw attention to herself. Had just wanted to pay her last respects to Jobe. But the flowers, the people, the memories of better days... Before Chantelle. Before the fire that had ravaged her mom’s looks. Before, when she’d had dreams.

Before...

And as Khalid translated the poem into English, his eyes drifted to Aubrey.

Her head was down again but there was a frantic edge to her as she used her shawl to wipe her tears, and Khalid found that he wanted to check in on her. To walk over after his reading and see that she was okay. Ridiculous, of course, and not an impulse he would be acting on, but seeing her sitting so alone and distraught, in that moment it was how he felt. Thankfully, one of the women from the Vegas contingent took from her vast cleavage a handkerchief and, having tapped Aubrey on the shoulder, handed it to her and then rested her hand on Aubrey’s shoulder.

As Jobe had once done for him.

Yet his voice did not become husky, neither did it waver as he translated the poem to perfection.

Khalid was, after all, a man of thirty. A man who had, at the age of sixteen, faultlessly delivered a full eulogy at his mother’s funeral in front of world leaders. He had been trained for this sort of thing from the cradle and it came as second nature now.

Stepping back from the lectern, he nodded to the casket and retook his seat with the family.

Seamless.

Faultless.

Closed.

* * *

Khalid was staying at the same hotel where the wake was being held and arriving there after the service he took the elevator up to his suite.

Soon he would head back down and greet the guests, and keep an eye out, as he had promised Ethan he would, but for now he took a moment alone and gazed out at the view.

It was the end of an era.

Not just Jobe’s passing, but his time spent in this amazing city.

It had always galled his father that he’d come here, but his mother had insisted. Khalid used his jet like others might take a cab, yet the time he spent here was already becoming less. He and the Devereux brothers were building a hotel in Al-Zahan, which was consuming. And with Khalid soon to marry and assume more royal duties, there would be fewer trips.

These days he was rarely maudlin but the loss of his mother he felt again as he looked out on New York City in spring. ‘Oh, Khalid,’ his mother had said long ago, ‘there is nothing better than walking through Central Park, holding hands, kissing in the sun...’

‘You held hands and kissed?’ He had been fifteen and stunned by his mother’s revelations. ‘With a man other than my father?’

‘Khalid...’ She’d laughed. ‘I have never held hands with your father, neither do we kiss. Oh, abnay alhabib...’ she implored. ‘Oh, beloved son, I have fought for you to walk in the sun and laugh as I did when I was a young princess. One day you will be King but for now, promise me you will have fun.’

Khalid had tried to.

There was another heir, and two more had been on the way.

He could breathe, his mother had told him, before duty called him home for ever. His cold heart had just started to thaw under the hazy New York sun when she had died.

Khalid missed her very much today.

His phone buzzed and for once it wasn’t the palace but Ethan, asking where he was. Remembering his duties, Khalid peeled some money from a clip to tip the drivers and bar staff and then headed down to the wake.

* * *

In the main, it was a very Upper East Side crowd that had been invited back, but to her great surprise Aubrey had found herself being guided into a black car and driven to a hotel, and now she stood in a plush room labelled ‘Private Function’.

Brandy and the others had commandeered the hotel bar and Aubrey was wondering if it might be better to head out there and join them.

Waiters were doing the rounds with trays of drinks and delectable food, but, though hungry, Aubrey declined to accept as her stomach was too knotted up to accept and her hands were too unsteady to be around glass.

Aubrey could feel the daggers being shot in her direction and felt her cheeks burn amidst curious stares. She had done her absolute best not to stand out, but amongst the elite, of course, she did. Her friend’s dress was just a little too polyester and a little too big, and the same friend’s shoes a touch too long and wide. There were low, polite conversations going on all around but Aubrey stood alone until one portly gentleman came over. He didn’t mince his words. ‘You knew Jobe how?’