Surgeon Prince, Cinderella Bride. Ann McIntosh
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urgent care clinic.”
Uttam’s free hand sliced through the air, cutting off Farhan’s recitation. “Does she know she could be the rightful heir to the throne of Kalyana?”
“It would be impossible for her to know.” Being on the receiving end of a quick, skeptical glare, Farhan explained, “When, as you requested, DNA was collected from Nargis’s remains the results were posted privately on a number of genealogical websites. That means any matches would be reported to me, as the administrator of that DNA sample, but not to the other parties. No matter what other familial matches Dr. Greer may make, the match with Nargis is the only one that could alert her to the royal bloodline, and she can’t see it.”
His father’s back seemed to relax fractionally, but Uttam still didn’t turn around; just stood stroking the macaw’s head through the bars, making Sophie chuckle and coo with pleasure.
Farhan exchanged a look with his brother, now seeing the same impatience he felt in Maazin’s expression. None of this was germane to the running of the country.
Farhan was compelled to say, “Father, this is all ancient history, and since Dr. Greer will never know who she is, she’s no threat. On top of that, our constitution is clear: without documentation showing the direct lineage between her and Crown Prince Bhaskar, her claim, should she make one, would be denied.
“Adoption records retrieved by the PI show Dr. Greer’s birth parents as Brian and Yasmine Haskell, residents of Fort McMurray, Canada, both deceased. Immigration records show the Haskells entering Canada in 1958 as citizens of Great Britain, although there are no records of either of their names in the British archives. Clearly Bhaskar must have had help creating a new identity, but unraveling that, at this stage, would be nigh on impossible.”
He should have known better. His father was unmovable on the subject. The near rebellion caused when Uttam’s father had taken the throne had, it seemed, made him paranoid. He was absolutely sure one day some supporters of the missing Bhaskar would rise up to try to end his reign, and endanger them all.
With a final scratch of Sophie’s head, Uttam turned to walk back to his desk.
“We will not take the chance,” he said, as he settled into his chair. “This is a matter that must be dealt with, immediately.”
Despite the return of his father’s usual stoic demeanor, Farhan was aware of an undercurrent beneath the cool declaration. Maazin shifted, as though suddenly uncomfortable, but before Farhan had a chance to react, Uttam continued.
“Farhan, you will travel to Canada and marry this Dr. Greer; produce an heir to unite the two lines.”
Once again he felt the icy fingers of disbelief run down his spine, just as they had then.
The one thing he’d decided when Ali died was never to become a parent. His father had made it clear: the throne—the country—took precedence over everything. Farhan had no interest in producing a child only to have to sacrifice it on the altar of duty. He would do what he could to carry out the first part of his father’s order, if he could, but the second part wouldn’t happen.
Ever.
The door to the suite opened, rousing Farhan from his memories, and Kavan—his bodyguard, chauffeur, and friend—came in, rubbing his hands together.
“How do people live in this weather all the time?” he grumbled. “It’s just gone four o’clock, and it’s already dark outside. Not to mention colder than normal people can bear, and the ice and slush is everywhere.”
Only then did Farhan realize the murky sunlight had faded, and the street lights had come on. It was time to find and speak to Dr. Sara Greer.
His heart stuttered, but he refused to let his trepidation show. Instead he stood and walked to the hall closet to pull out his wool coat, a warm silk scarf looped under the lapels.
“There are benefits to living everywhere,” he replied, as he pulled on his winter wear. “This wouldn’t be my first choice, but it certainly is a beautiful country.”
“In summer, perhaps,” Kavan said, pulling open the room door and holding it for Farhan to precede him out. “But ice should be in a glass, with Scotch on it, not under my feet.”
And Farhan found himself chuckling, despite the apprehension gnawing at his insides.
* * *
I have to get my life together.
The thought ran on a loop in Dr. Sara Greer’s head as she limped from the bus stop through slush and snow toward her home.
It had been one of those days, starting from when she’d got up to find her roommate’s dog, Diefenbaker, had torn the insoles out of her shoes. The right one was salvageable. The left one, not at all. And who knew there was a metal bar just above the soles? She hadn’t until she’d seen it for herself. With no time to stop and buy an insole, she’d put two socks on that foot and, planning to run out at lunchtime and buy new shoes, hoped for the best.
That idea went out the window when her sister, Mariah, turned up before the clinic even opened.
“I need your car,” she said, making it a demand, rather than a request. “I have an appointment at ten on the other side of town.”
“Use Mom’s, or Dad’s.” Yet, even as Sara tried to be firm, she knew it was probably a losing battle. “I have stuff I have to do at lunchtime.”
“Dad’s gone to Clinton to work, and Mom has some errands to run, so I need your car.”
Sara’s heart sank. Although her dad was a semi-retired farrier, “going to Clinton” usually meant more drinking beer than actual work, especially on a Friday during the London harness racing season. Not to mention the fact that Dad was notoriously horrible about getting people to settle their accounts. Even if he did work, he’d probably never see a dime.
And despite their perennial need for money, Mom didn’t have the heart to nag him about his lack of financial acumen.
Mariah turned from demanding to wheedling. “I’ll get it back to you before lunchtime. This is really important. A job interview.”
“You could take the bus, you know. There’s plenty of time.”
“Not when I have to go home and change first. I’d need to take two buses, and it looks like it’s going to rain. I’d be a mess when I get there, and it might cost me the job.”
The thought of one of her sisters being gainfully employed was a heady one, given their propensity for drifting along, doing as little as possible to get by.
“Okay.” Even as she capitulated, Sara knew she shouldn’t. “But, seriously, I need it back before lunch. I have to get new shoes, and I promised to check in on Nonni too.”
Mariah wrinkled her nose, one corner of her lip curling.
“I don’t know why you bother. Aunt Jackie is there all the time with her, and she was always so mean to you. You shouldn’t waste your time on her.”
Sara hadn’t argued the point. Mariah was right about how cruel their maternal grandmother had been to her adopted grandchild, but whatever Sara did for the now senile old woman had nothing to do with Nonni. She was helping her aunt and mother, who had given her nothing but love and acceptance her entire life.
“I promised I’d go, so make sure you bring the car back on time, okay?”
“Sure, sure,” was her sister’s response but, up until the time Sara’s shift ended at four, she still hadn’t returned it.
Then Cyndi, their younger sister, had started calling and texting at about eleven, as usual wanting Sara to intervene in one of her interminable arguments with their mother.
“She won’t listen to me, Sissie.” Sara knew there was nothing but trouble ahead when Cyndi used that particular nickname. “I can’t get into the culinary course