Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son. Carol Marinelli

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?’

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ Aubrey responded. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

      He blustered for a moment and then went back to his wife and Aubrey again stood alone.

      Chantelle worked the room, thanking the guests for their attendance, presumably accepting condolences while sharing small anecdotes, but she gave Aubrey a wide berth.

      Aubrey again declined a drink from a passing waiter and was wondering if it might just be simpler to leave. She was already seriously questioning the wisdom of coming back for the wake when a very elegant woman came over and proffered a kind smile before reducing Aubrey with words—‘I think you’ll find your friends are all at the bar.’

      It was the final straw. With her mind