by Lynne Graham
* * *
Izzy surfaced back to consciousness in a bedroom so splendid that she was disorientated. Not a hospital, not a hotel either. Still fully clothed, only her shoes removed, she was lying on a grand four-poster bed with a trio of doctors standing at the foot of it, giving names that she instantly forgot while assuring her that she was in the safest of places because she was in the royal palace.
Frozen back against the pillows by that startling information, she blinked rapidly, wishing that she could think clearly and less like a zombie. Without warning, the bedroom door opened and heads started dipping in a show of respect and Rafiq strode in, the proud lineaments of his bronzed and flawless features inhumanly calm and collected for a single man who’d had a woman announce at the airport that he was the father of her child. The airport, for goodness’ sake! Izzy could feel hot colour sweeping from her head to toes, her fury with Rafiq eclipsed entirely at that moment by the situation she was in. He had to think she was a madwoman but nothing that he might be thinking or feeling was showing on the surface.
Involuntarily, her attention lingered on him. The high cheekbones and strong hollows, the blade-straight black brows, the stunning deep-set eyes fringed by those outrageous thick lashes. Get over it, he’s gorgeous, it’s not relevant right now, she scolded herself anxiously as he sank down with fluid grace for so large a man in the chair by the bed and reached for her hand in a startlingly supportive gesture.
‘How are you feeling?’ Rafiq asked graciously, for all the world as though they had only parted as close friends in recent days, instead of the weeks that had passed since their last explosive meeting. Her fingers trembled in the light grasp of his.
‘Groggy,’ she muttered truthfully, gently removing her fingers from his hold while striving not to make a production out of the withdrawal. She was painfully aware that they were not alone, and she was keen to follow his example and behave as though everything between them were normal. ‘Think I’m just tired…’
‘You must rest, of course,’ Rafiq murmured quietly. ‘Beforehand, however, the doctors are asking if they could have your consent to carry out an ultrasound procedure…?’
In awe of his self-assurance, his ability to act as though there were nothing crazy about the situation, she nodded jerkily. ‘Yes, that would be fine, I suppose. Though it might be too early to see much…’
He was sheathed like a rapier blade in a pale grey suit teamed with a white shirt and a red silk tie. Her eyes continually tracked a path back to him, connecting with scorching gold semi-screened by his black lashes, and in the depths of his steady gaze she caught the merest glimpse of all the strong emotion and reaction he was suppressing for the sake of appearances, she assumed. He was so strong, so self-disciplined, she recognised, uncomfortable with that moment of truth and deliberately turning her head away. What on earth had got into her at the airport to say such a thing? Inside herself, she cringed at her reckless impulsive revelation, recalling the astounded response she had drawn from her audience before she fainted.
An ultrasound machine was wheeled in for the scan. A nurse rolled up Izzy’s cotton tunic top a few inches and Izzy lifted her hips to enable the stretchy waistband of her casual trousers to be rolled down a little, baring her still-flat stomach. The transponder ball rubbed over her exposed skin and goosebumps broke out on her skin as a galloping heartbeat began to thunder through the room and she gasped, peering in wonder at the screen the operator was indicating to her, breaking into a flood of words in her own language with a huge smile.
‘T-twins…’ Rafiq stammered in a hoarse undertone. ‘You are carrying twins. It is too early as yet to know the gender, but the doctor believes that they are fraternal, not identical.’
His hand had found hers again, she didn’t know when or how, was, indeed, in too much shock to notice anything beyond the screen where the operator was beaming and chattering away, outlining the two tiny vague bean shapes while their heartbeats went on thundering. Twins, she thought in wonderment, with an undernote of panic because her mother had shared what a challenge it had often been to raise two babies. And yet there they were, already part of her, she acknowledged, struggling to concentrate as Rafiq translated the information she was being given as well as the round after round of hearty congratulations delivered to them both as though they were a proper couple.
In the aftermath of all that excitement, Izzy felt drained and her head flopped back heavily on the pillow. Although their audience had melted away with the promise of pictures of the scan to be brought back later, Izzy was too exhausted to deal with Rafiq and all the many complications that their situation would unleash. Mercifully he seemed to understand that because he released her hand and stood up.
‘You should rest now. We will talk later,’ he murmured unevenly, something ragged in his voice that tugged at her, but her eyelids were too heavy to open and she drifted off to sleep on that last abstracted thought.
* * *
Rafiq had been plunged into a state of earth-shattering shock. In fact, he had to walk out of the palace into the ornamental garden that fronted it to deal with that shock because he didn’t have the slightest doubt that, when Izzy had conceived within such a time frame, he was responsible. That far, he had innate trust in her. He was going to be a father. His bodyguards waited at the edge of the garden, watching Rafiq wander around the lavender-edged paths that traversed the tranquil stretch of green grass, maintained at such huge expense of water in the Zenarian heat. Throughout that aimless wandering he was battling to adapt to the idea that he could truly have a child of his own.
And it was an enormous shock because Rafiq had long accepted that he was infertile, and that fatherhood would never be an option for him. Yet, one little contraceptive accident and Izzy had conceived. How likely was that? What had happened to that birth control she had been taking?
But he genuinely didn’t care. He was so grateful, so ecstatic that it was possible for him to father a child that he could barely catch a breath. Such a development lifted all the weighty responsibility from his little brother’s shoulders because Zayn would no longer be expected to marry to provide an heir to the Zenarian throne. Zayn would be left free as Rafiq had once dreamt of being and, in being free, he would set Rafiq free of guilt and concern.
In fact, Izzy’s pregnancy totally changed everything Rafiq had once taken for granted. A child, two children indeed, he recalled almost dizzily. The palace staff had automatically assumed that Izzy was his wife, married abroad, it being the default position of a conservative culture to believe that a man of his background could only have achieved parenthood within conventional boundaries.
But she wasn’t his wife, this amazing woman who had contrived to conceive his children. Children, he savoured, child in the plural. Nobody else could possibly understand what that single word meant to Rafiq, long accustomed to viewing himself as the inadequate husband who had denied his wife her basic, desperate need to have a child. It transformed his entire view of life in a way that only he could understand. He had to marry Izzy, as soon as it could possibly be arranged. There was no other choice.
But even as he came to terms with the wonderful change Izzy had brought to his life, stark fear underlined that new knowledge. As a boy, Rafiq had seen his mother die in the aftermath of his brother’s birth. In the panic of rushing, fearful staff, struggling to deal with an emergency they were not medically equipped to handle, the presence of the quiet boy hovering at the back of the room had been overlooked. He remembered every moment of that experience and it had chilled him that the arrival of new life could bring death in its wake. Pregnancy and delivery could still be dangerous for a woman. Concern for Izzy gripped him, but it was not a concern he would share with her because the last thing a first-time expectant mother needed was a nervous partner even more fearful than she was.
* * *
‘What time is it?’ Izzy asked of the friendly f
emale face that came into view as she lifted her head, registering that she felt truly rested for the first time in days. Of course, the stress she had been under meant that she hadn’t been sleeping and hadn’t been eating very sensibly either.
‘Early evening, Your Royal Highness. Would you like a shower or a bath?’ she was asked.
‘I would love one and a change of clothes,’ Izzy responded pleasantly, reluctant to enquire about that strange appellation. Why would anyone anywhere think that she was royal?
But even as she slid her legs slowly out of the bed, she remembered afresh that startling announcement of hers at the airport. It had erupted from her as panic took a hold. She had told them that Rafiq was the father of her child and she suspected that official label, that assumption that they could only be married if that were the case, was linked to that and she almost cringed in mortification, wondering what had come over her and why she had had to finally give way to her overload of stress in front of an audience. That was why she had been brought to the palace and a trio of doctors had arrived to attend to her. Airports and palaces, full of gossiping, chattering employees, were very public places. That was why Rafiq had felt constrained to act as though her arrival and everything that had happened since were normal. Move on by, nothing to stare at here, she paraphrased numbly.
The maid showed her into a reassuringly modern bathroom. Her suitcase already sat in readiness for her on a stand and she dug into it to extract a clean outfit and headed for the shower, stripping off her badly creased clothing and letting the garments fall to the floor. She freshened up in record time, keen to see Rafiq again and get things sorted out, say what she had to say while hopefully remaining civil if he planned to have a relationship with their children. That was the problem, she acknowledged ruefully—everything she said and did now would have repercussions that could impact on the happiness of the babies she carried. It would be unwise to be as unpleasant as she had originally intended. Yet, sadly, she was still so angry with him that just the thought of him enraged her.
Walking back into the bedroom to find a small table set with food by the window would have been most welcome, because she was really hungry, had Rafiq not been seated on the other side of the table awaiting her appearance. He flew upright, a very tall well-groomed and powerful figure in a designer suit that fitted his impressive physique to perfection. And then he made the very great mistake of smiling at her.
‘Don’t you dare smile at me, you…you creep!’ Izzy launched at him in disbelief at that smile. ‘You lied to me. You told me you couldn’t father children! You are also engaged to another woman! I don’t want to even think about how she feels about this mess!’
In the face of that attack, Rafiq breathed in deep and slow. She looked amazing, a glow in her pale cheeks, bright eyes like sapphire stars contrasting with those glossy copper curls that glinted in the sunlight. She wore a strappy vest top with trousers, a top that only hinted at the bounty of her lush breasts and the shadowy cleft between but that thought was all it took for his groin to tighten and the throb of arousal to set in.
‘It was my genuine belief that I was infertile,’ Rafiq murmured and he spread his lean brown hands in a graceful gesture that emphasised his acceptance of that conviction. ‘Although nothing was ever found wrong with me or my wife, we were together for ten years and we were unable to conceive a child.’
‘Ten years? You must’ve got married very young,’ Izzy heard herself comment without having meant to.
‘I was sixteen. Fadith was seventeen. We were far too young, but our guardians chose to believe otherwise,’ Rafiq countered levelly.
‘What happened to her? Are you divorced?’ Izzy pressed.
‘She caught a chest infection that turned into pneumonia and died. It happened very fast,’ he clarified.
‘I’m sorry…’ Izzy whispered awkwardly, disconcerted by his explanation.
‘Come and sit down now and have something to eat…’
‘I have a lot to shout at you about,’ Izzy argued, struggling to recapture her nerve.
‘You can shout after you have eaten,’ Rafiq pointed out smoothly. ‘I promise not to deprive you of the opportunity.’
A laugh almost bubbled out of Izzy’s throat but she swallowed it back, determined not to be manipulated or charmed or fooled or anything she didn’t choose to be. ‘I am very, very angry with you,’ she confided as she sank down in the chair he had yanked out for her. ‘But I’m also very hungry, so we’ll take a rain check on the shouting for now. Aren’t you joining me?’ Izzy prompted as he too sat down but there was no food at his place, only a cup of coffee.
‘I have already eaten.’ And it had not been an enjoyable meal with his uncle, the Regent, Rafiq reflected, his mind sliding back to that uncomfortable experience.
‘Twins!’ Jalil had pronounced, rubbing his hands together with incredulous glee. ‘This is a very special young woman you have brought to us.’
Rafiq had dug deep to extract his innate honesty and had said what he knew would cause distress. ‘This is a young decent woman, with whom I spent one night…’
His uncle surveyed him with tolerance. ‘But Allah saw more clearly and saved you,’ he breathed with genuine emotion, glossing over his nephew’s sinful encounter. ‘This woman is meant to be your wife.’
A little less naïve, Rafiq nodded, accepting that necessity. He was a crown prince and he wasn’t stupid. He knew that the next generation was as important to the stability and popularity of the monarchy as he was. All those years wed to Fadith he had known he was a failure in providing that necessity, in fulfilling that occasionally despairing need a woman could have when it came to conceiving a child. He still could not quite accept that he could have unborn children on the way because, on his terms, it was a miracle…with difficulty, he dragged himself back into the present.
Izzy spared Rafiq a single glance but his lean, darkly handsome features stayed stamped on her brain like the ultimate blueprint of perfection. Her hands a little unsteady, she picked up her knife and fork.
‘So tell me about the fiancée,’ she invited, sweetly sarcastic.
‘There isn’t one. I’m not engaged. I did not contradict your misapprehension in Oxford because I was not in a position to explain that I had, however, recently agreed to remarry and why. As future King I am expected to take a wife. But no particular woman has yet been put forward for the role.’
While relieved that no other woman was involved in their plight to be hurt by her pregnancy, Izzy still made a stabbing motion with her knife in his direction. ‘You didn’t tell me who you were! You left me with no way of contacting you,’ she condemned thinly. ‘I had to go and talk to the receptionist at the rental agency to discover your identity. Why weren’t you honest?’
In a powerful surge of energy, Rafiq rose from his chair and strode across the room, wheeling round before swinging back to face her again. Already, he was fighting the sensation of feeling trapped. ‘Honesty would’ve changed everything between us. Pretending that I was an ordinary businessman kept it relaxed.’
Unimpressed, Izzy lifted her chin. ‘The truth is always preferable,’ she told him.
‘I also liked the fact that you treated me as an equal and that you would have no reason to go and report your night with a prince to the tabloid newspapers who deal in such sleaze.’
‘I didn’t get a night. I got an hour in bed,’ Izzy breathed tightly, wondering if he had been subjected to tabloid exposure of that nature at some stage, resolving right there and then to look it up and devour every word of sleazy revelation. She lifted cool hands to her hot cheeks, wondering what was wrong with her brain, why she would even think of doing such a crazy thing.
‘And it was a wonderful hour,’ Rafiq sliced back at her provocatively, his resolve to be calming taxed by her prickliness and the wall of distrust etched in her once clear eyes.
�
��It was an hour that destroyed all my future plans,’ Izzy told him, furious that he was wriggling adeptly out of all her accusations. He had more lives than a cat, she decided resentfully. ‘I love children but I wasn’t planning to have any until I was much older. I wanted to finish my education and get my career started before I even thought of settling down. Now that I’m pregnant my ability to follow those plans has been seriously compromised.’
‘I agree. Children will certainly limit your freedom, which is why I have every intention of ensuring that that accident of fate does not destroy your future,’ Rafiq intoned silkily. ‘This is not a development which either of us foresaw but we must make the best of it.’
‘I doubt that a royal prince knows very much about making the best of anything!’ Izzy parried angrily.
‘I didn’t choose this life, Izzy,’ Rafiq fielded almost harshly. ‘I was born into it and it imposed frustrating limits even when I was a little boy. Couldn’t do this, couldn’t do that, couldn’t be seen to do many things as future King, couldn’t be allowed to do anything that might seem too bold or different or aggressive or dangerous. There was an endless list of prohibitions and rules to follow, so, yes, I do know a great deal about making the best of a situation.’
Disconcerted by that flood of blunt explanation, Izzy lost colour and dropped her head. ‘I’m in a snippy mood…but look on the bright side, at least I’m not shouting.’
Rafiq moved closer, his extraordinary eyes a mesmeric pure gold fringed by well-defined inky lashes. ‘Must we dispute? Cannot we…even for one short minute…celebrate the conception of our children?’
‘C-celebrate?’ Izzy stammered and stared back at him in stark disbelief.