Sheikh’s Pregnant Fake Fiancée: The Sheikh’s Wedding Series, #3

By Leslie North

Deception and temptation go hand in hand…

 

Sheikh Zev Sava has no intention of following his cousins down the aisle to matrimonial bliss. Zev is about to take over as ruler of his province, and he's determined to defy the archaic prophecy that states he's required to marry. After all, he's certain his progressive subjects don't expect him to fulfill such a ridiculous belief… Do they?

 

Zev never leaves anything to chance, so he convinces Meredith, his best-friend-with-benefits back in the States, to agree to a fake engagement. She'll get a free vacation to the Middle East, and he'll get some respite. What could go wrong? But Zev quickly learns that when it comes to romance, nothing is ever that easy…

 

Meredith is a bit skeptical about Zev's idea, but she just can't pass up the chance to escape her hometown. Besides, she's happy to help Zev out as long as he understands she's not looking for a long-term relationship. But soon after they announce their engagement, Meredith finds herself feeling a bit queasy…

 

Surely, she can't be pregnant. And if she is, can this fake romance become real, before they both end up with broken hearts?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relay Publishing
• Release date: Jul 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201262884

Book preview

1

It should’ve been depressing, Good News Unitarian’s fellowship hall decked out in tinsel, its old tube TV tuned to WGBH’s burning Yule log. The flames danced on the punch bowl, which, aside from a huge plate of cookies, seemed to be it by way of refreshments. A red-and-green foil banner hung over the door—METRO AUTO GLASS SECRET SANTA . It should’ve been the saddest thing ever—bleak venue, no snacks, wrong banner—but the effect was somehow cozy.

Meredith shrugged off her coat and, seeing nowhere else to leave it, slung it over a chair. She hurried to join her friends by the punch bowl.

Metro Auto Glass Secret Santa?

Serena groaned. "Seriously? Everyone’s got to mention it? Where’s your Christmas charity?"

It’s supposed to say ‘Merry Christmas,’ said Kate. But it came folded up. All we saw was M-E, and we thought it was ours. She grabbed the ladle from the punch bowl and filled a red cup for Meredith. Here, try this. I don’t know what’s in it, but once you get to the bottom, that sign’ll be a blur.

Meredith took a cautious sip and felt her eyes water. What is this, paint thinner?

Christmas cheer, Serena said, and swigged from her cup. Speaking of which, look who showed up.

Meredith peeked behind her, and her heart skipped a beat. There he was, her campus crush, holding court by the TV. He could’ve stepped off the cover of Esquire, effortlessly dashing in his deep maroon turtleneck and crisp tailored pants. His lush black curls tumbled to his shoulders, and what wouldn’t she give to tangle her fingers in their depths? To feel for herself if they were coarse or silky. Was that shine pomade or his natural glory?

Drool much? Kate nudged her. It’s not nice to stare.

Meredith blinked. I thought he was faculty. What’s he doing here?

Who, His Royal Hotness? Serena lowered her voice. He’s part of some research team. Something boring—ancient contract law? She flapped her hand, dismissive. But that’s not the fun part. I heard he’s a prince.

A prince? Meredith stole another glance. His Royal Hotness was laughing, his head thrown back. He laughed like a kid, without reservation, and Meredith had to bite her lip to keep from joining in. His good spirits were catching, even from across the room. Where’s he a prince of? Or do you mean he’s a ‘prince,’ like he’s a good guy?

Why don’t you go over and find out for yourself? Serena smirked into her punch. If you ask him real nice, maybe he’ll show you his scepter.

How much of that stuff have you had? Meredith grabbed for Serena’s cup, laughing as her friend danced out of reach.

I’m not drunk. Yet, she said. Just pleasantly buzzed. And I’m completely serious about the prince part. She waved her fingers in a ‘go’ motion. You should go say hello.

You’ve only been checking him out all semester. Kate nudged her again, this time with some force. Go on. Introduce yourself. What’s the worst that could happen?

I could trip over an invisible reindeer. Spill my drink down his crotch.

Then he’d take off his pants. Mission accomplished. Kate bumped her elbow. We’ve got you, I promise. Now shoo, before I push you.

Meredith shooed. The room felt small and airless, too crowded by far. Her friends giggled behind her—if she did louse this up, she’d never hear the end of it.

Oh, here we go. An objective third party. One of the prince’s friends beckoned her over. I’m Matt, that’s Jake, and our ridiculously attractive friend is Zev. He nodded at the prince. Settle a debate for us: is Santa Claus real?

Is—what? Meredith shook her head. Was this really what they were talking about?

Define ‘real,’ Jake said. Meredith knew him by reputation, a grad student like herself, finishing his doctorate while teaching the intro to philosophy classes to incoming freshman. He gulped punch, coughed, and scrubbed at his mouth. He exists in the same sense God exists. He’s a sort of moral cudgel—be good and get presents, be bad and get coal. Heaven and Hell for the preschool set.

"He could exist in the literal sense, Matt said. If you accept God as real, and the existence of miracles. St. Nick did wield some power over life and death. Who’s to say he’s not out there, two thousand years old and still working the malls?"

You’re ridiculous, Zev said. He turned to Meredith, eyes twinkling with merriment. Literal Santa Claus—I mean, let’s say he’s alive. Let’s say he’s invented some sort of flying sleigh, and he’s out with his reindeer, dropping off gifts. How are half the nosy neighbors in Christendom not calling the cops? He’s breaking in, flying without a flight plan and possibly in protected airspace, leaving litter under trees, stealing cookies and milk. St. Nick would have lawsuits up to his ears.

Meredith burst out laughing. You three are missing the point. She sipped her punch for courage trying not to cough at its harshness, and when she looked up, Zev was smiling.

Are we? What’s the point?

I should think that’s obvious. Meredith took a deep breath, gathering her wits. Zev was distracting in any context, but up close he was intoxicating. She felt drunk, lightheaded, though she’d barely touched her punch. His eyes were black and sharp, his smile beguiling. A faint dusting of stubble roughened his chin. Meredith looked away, flustered. Well, the kids, she managed. "Santa’s real because his effect is real. He brings kids a little magic, and not just the rich ones. That guy in the church hall in his old Santa suit, passing out presents from the Christmas toy drive—you think he’d be there without Santa Claus? Santa inspires. He brings out the best in us, our kindness, our generosity, and just for a little while, even our poorest kids—even foster kids, orphans—get to taste a little magic. If that’s not real, what is?"

Matt and Jake exchanged glances, then Jake gave a snort.

And there’s your Hallmark answer. You see the effect, but the cause isn’t Santa. It’s capitalism, marketing—Christmas isn’t Christmas without shopping and presents.

Amen to that. Matt drained his drink. The answer’s theological or historical, no place for sentiment in today’s society.

Hold on a minute. Zev held up his hand. Our new friend is onto something, even if she’s wrong.

How am I wrong? Meredith bristled, but Zev turned his smile on her, and she felt her knees go weak. A thrill crackled through her like lightning down her spine.

You’re not all the way wrong, he said. Santa might bring kids a bit of magic, but he does it once a year. He doles out kindness in morsels, like tiny wartime rations, but its limited. The problem with Santa is, he doesn’t go far enough. Zev had drawn himself up, back straight, shoulders squared. His eyes blazed with passion verging on fury. Kindness shouldn’t be a fairy tale. It shouldn’t be magic. It should be something we can rely on, no matter who we are. Something baked into our DNA so deep it’s instinctive. No kid should need Santa to feel five minutes of warmth.

You’re an idealist, Jake said. He chuckled into his cup. That’s not the society we live in.

It could be, Zev said. He was still looking at Meredith, pinning her with his gaze. "Look where we are. Look at who we are. Why’d we come to Harvard, if not to change the world?"

I’m a legacy. I was predestined by my father to come here, Matt said, but Meredith barely heard him. The way Zev was looking at her, all fire and challenge, made her chest swell with pride. She felt both seen and heard, like he’d rummaged through her heart and drawn out that deepest part of her—her own hidden dreamer secretly yearning to have felt that warmth and kindness from a family, normally silent for fear of disappointment or worse.

I want to change the world, she said, then she laughed, self-consciously. She didn’t like to sound naïve. People took advantage.

I didn’t catch your name, Zev said. He’d turned his back on his friends, interposing himself between them and Meredith.

I’m Meredith, she said. Finishing up my doctorate in social work.

Zev. Came here for law school, stuck around to—how’d he put it? He gestured at Matt. ‘Make friends with the silverfish,’ I think. I’m on the team studying...no. Let’s not talk shop. Especially considering we work in different shops. Zev tipped her a wink. His lashes were long and thick, lending his eyes a sultry depth. Meredith looked away.

Your use of idioms is strong, as is your understanding of Santa. It’s not something I’d expect to be taught when learning English. Meredith froze when she saw the look of surprise on his face. She wanted to slink away as quickly as possible but then he chuckled, filling her with warmth.

Good catch. My English language tutor growing up was from Colorado and he was passionate about idioms and insisted that I learn how to use them. As to Santa. He shrugged. I will admit to a childhood fascination with the jolly man, as we didn’t have anything like him.

Meredith needed to change the subject before her face began to burn. I’ve seen you around campus, she said, to hide her embarrassment.

And you’ve never said hi? Zev frowned. I’m wounded. He clasped his hand over his heart and staggered back a step making her smile.

I thought you were faculty.

I look that old? He chuckled. But I’ve seen you too. Weren’t you at Noch’s two Fridays ago? The night of the snowstorm?

Meredith’s brows shot up. "I’m always at Noch’s. Can’t resist a good slice. But I’ve never seen you there."

I was outside, he said. More specifically, in my car. I’d just picked up my pie, but I got yours instead, small thin crust, peppers and artichokes. It had your name on it, but I didn’t know you were you. Still, I saw you run in, and I thought—oh! Look out!

Meredith spun around just in time to catch a staggering partygoer in her arms. Her drink slipped her grip and splattered at Zev’s feet.

Oh, god! I’m so sorry! The girl bumbled past her and sank to her knees, dabbing at Zev’s shoes with a corner of her skirt. I swear I didn’t see you. Let me get you a new drink, or I could—I know a great dry cleaner. Give me your number and I’ll text the address.

That’s okay, Zev said. He stepped back quickly as she went for his pants. Really, I’m fine. No—no, get up. He helped her to her feet and into a chair. Stay where you are. I’ll get you some water. His brows drew together as he caught sight of Meredith. You okay? Were you splashed?

Meredith looked down at herself and sighed with relief. The white dress she’d borrowed was mercifully unsullied. Replacing it would’ve taken a