The Sheikh’s Pregnant Fake Wife: Sheikh’s Meddling Sisters Book Three

by North, Leslie

  It figured she was now in the biggest con of her life and in too deep to get out.

  “Would you like to know the baby’s sex?” the ultrasound tech asked.

  Isabella opened her mouth then realized she had no idea. She glanced over her shoulder at Feraz, not realizing he was so close. Their lips were mere centimeters apart, his warm minty breath ghosting over her face. This close, she could see the tiny flecks of green and gold in his warm brown eyes, smell his spicy cologne, feel his heat surrounding her. His gaze flicked to her mouth before returning to her eyes, and for a moment she almost believed he wanted her. Then he cleared his throat and moved back a tad to smile over at the tech.

  “Yes, please. We would very much like to know,” he said.

  She’d forgotten the rough, deep timbre of his voice, how it made her knees tingle and her core clench with feminine need. And how pathetic was that? She was heart-eyes in love with her dead sister’s husband and the guy had no idea. Would never have any idea because she could never tell him. The plan was to carry out the guise of this pregnancy as Roxanne, have the baby, then file for divorce shortly thereafter, leaving with a tidy settlement along the way. Her mother had assured her it would be perfect. There’d be enough cash to pay for the expensive cancer treatments that promised to extend her life and a tidy amount left over for Isabella. She’d leave the baby with Feraz. He was the biological father after all and the child belonged with him.

  Still, she couldn’t help placing a protective hand over her stomach, feeling the baby kick. Funny, she’d never expected to become so attached, so quickly. The thought of leaving her baby after it was born turned her stomach, but what choice did she have? Her mother was depending on her to get that money and Isabella was nothing if not steadfast and reliable. A rock in times of trouble. Only problem was, who could she turn to when she needed help?

  No one.

  Feraz squeezed her arm and smiled, and she gave him a tentative half-grin back.

  This was such a bad idea and her instincts said it wouldn’t turn out well at all.

  “Looks like…” the ultrasound tech said. “You’re having a baby boy. Congratulations!”

  The tech printed off several pictures and handed them to Isabella, then wiped the cold gel off her belly while Dr. Phillips clicked on the lights. Feraz stayed by Isabella’s side instead of returning to his chair, a strange expression on his face and his hand on her shoulder, protective and reassuring at the same time.

  “Excellent.” Dr. Phillips jotted some notes in the chart while the tech finished up then left the room. “I’ve got a new script here for you for prenatal vitamins, Ms. Nazrani, and we’ll see you back here in another four weeks. Any questions?”

  Isabella stared at the ultrasound pictures in her hand while Feraz discussed things with the doctor, but she didn’t pay much attention. She was too fixated on the tiny face staring back at her from the photos. Her son looked like he was giving her a thumbs-up sign.

  A joker already, just like Roxanne had been.

  She smiled and blinked back fresh tears, vowing to make sure the little guy always knew what a wonderful woman his mother had been, despite her flaws.

  “I’ll see you next time, Ms. Nazrani,” Dr. Philips said, raising a hand at the door before walking out. “Please don’t hesitate to call the office if you have any questions or concerns.”

  That left Isabella alone with Feraz in the small exam room. The air seemed to thicken and things felt awkward as hell. She attempted to climb off the table by herself, but with her center of gravity becoming more cumbersome every day, she wasn’t exactly graceful.

  Feraz, ever the gentleman, rushed to help her, his touch on her skin sending jolts of awareness through her. Heat prickled Isabella’s cheeks and she looked away fast, stepping back away from him, away from temptation. This was so not good.

  At twenty-six, she should’ve been able to control her reactions better, but she’d never been able to with Feraz. One more reason she never should’ve agreed to do this, but it was too late now.

  “So?” she said, waddling over to grab her jacket off the hook on the wall. “Guess I’ll see you around then, huh?”

  “Yes, you will,” Feraz said, coming over to help her on with her coat. “Because I think it’s time you come home with me to Djeva, Roxanne.”

  2

  His wife said very little as they left the doctor’s office and even less once they were back in the limo, heading for the penthouse he kept in Manhattan for when he was here on business. He hadn’t visited in some time, given the busy nature of his work getting his new government up and running back home. But now that he’d confirmed Roxanne was truly pregnant and he’d seen his son—my son—things would be different going forward.

  Feraz’s own father had been a kind, affable man, if a bit lax when it came to the raising of his children, or the running of his country. Not that Feraz had lacked for anything growing up. He’d attended the most expensive and exclusive private schools in the States, gone to elite summer camps for leadership training, and even traveled the world to gain life experience and practical people skills. That was all thanks to his mother, Zuhra, who’d loved her husband deeply but also knew his flaws. She’d wanted more for her eldest son, wanted to groom him to be the leader his father never was, the leader Djeva needed to move them into their rightful spot on the world stage.

  Having a son of his own and finally settling down in his homeland to raise his family was the logical next step in that process. Feraz was confident in his decision. Roxanne? Perhaps not. Though she’d never said so directly, prior to this pregnancy, Feraz had gotten the distinct impression they were on the road to divorce. Hell, there’d been many a time after one of her outrageous shopping sprees or sexual indiscretions, Feraz had considered filing the paperwork himself in Djeva. In his home country, a man could divorce his wife without her consent. Not the ideal solution to the problem, but a desperate measure he would have taken if necessary.

  Today, though, Roxanne was acting more subdued than he’d ever seen her. Maybe the pregnancy would be good for them on several fronts. Bring them closer together in a way their marriage vows had not. Finally put an end to all his wife’s rebellious immature ways and force her to settle down, with him. Speaking of wild ways, he’d not been proud to do it, but he’d had to be sure. While his wife had been checking out at the doctor’s office, Feraz had pulled Dr. Phillips aside to confirm the paternity tests results.

  The baby was his, no doubt.

  An unexpected pride swelled inside him.

  My son. He planned to spend every free moment he could with the child, show him all the wonders of his homeland, teach him their family’s traditions and instill a pride of name in him that Feraz’s own father had lacked. He would be the kind of father he’d always wanted, but never had—strong, steadfast, idealistic, and respected.

  Roxanne shifted beside him on the black leather seat of the limo, her arm brushing against his and creating that same rush of awareness he’d felt back in the exam room when he’d touched her shoulder. He and his wife had been apart for more time than they’d been together and Feraz had remained faithful to his vows even if his wife had not. It was simple loneliness and lust stirring inside him now, that had to be it. Any attraction he’d had for Roxanne had died a long time ago. Hadn’t it?

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, pulling even more into herself, if that were possible. The Roxanne Feraz was familiar with had no qualms about pushing aside anyone to get where or what she wanted. This new wife beside him seemed nearly mousy by comparison. Still, he wasn’t complaining. He’d take good manners and compassion any day over boorish behavior.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice quiet in the interior of the car. She’d not looked at him once since they’d left the doctor’s office. “I really need to get back to my apartment. I’ve got—”

  “We’re going to my penthouse first. To talk.” While alpha to his core because of his job and his upbringin
g, Feraz didn’t enjoy bossing other people around. He much preferred collaboration. But Roxanne had always been too strong-willed for her own good, even if she was acting like a wounded puppy today. Someone had to take charge of this mess of a marriage they had between them and since he’d been the only one who apparently gave a shit over the last two years, it looked like it would be him. “There are urgent matters we need to discuss. If there are things you need from your apartment, I will have the car take you there later to pack.”

  “But I can’t just leave—” Roxanne faced him at last, her green eyes huge in her pale face.

  “You can and you will.” Feraz flinched inwardly at his harsh tone, but he’d put up with too much over the years to give an inch now. “You are my wife, Roxanne. You are carrying my child. It’s high time you returned home with me and began fulfilling your wifely duties. At least until after our baby is born.”

  “And then?” She crossed her arms, dots of pink highlighting her high cheekbones.

  “And then we shall see.” Feraz stared out the window beside him at the passing, rainy scenery. The foul weather matched his mood. Happy as he was to see his child at last, all the baggage that came along with its mother put a damper on his enthusiasm. “I do not want to fight with you right now, Roxanne. You are in a delicate condition and I refuse to do anything to risk our child’s life. It’s the most precious thing right now, the only thing that matters. Understand?”

  His wife swallowed hard, her eyes going bright with unshed tears, and now Feraz felt like even more of an ass than he already did. Dammit. Was he forever doomed to make a mess of everything with her?

  “I want to say goodbye to my mom before we go,” she said, an edge underlying her soft tone. “I won’t leave without doing that.”

  “Fine.” Feraz shrugged, still not looking at her. Because if he did look at Roxanne right now, and saw those teary emerald eyes of hers again, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from dragging her over into his arms and reassuring her that everything would be all right, even if he damned well knew that it very well might not be. Allah above, how in the world was he going to get through the next few hours with her, let alone the next four months until she delivered? He sent up a silent prayer for patience and fortitude as the limo pulled up to the curb outside the high-rise apartment building on Park Avenue where his penthouse overlooked Central Park.

  * * *

  Isabella stared up at the towering building before her, her stomach sinking to her toes. After the doctor’s appointment, she wasn’t really sure what she’d expected to happen, but it definitely wasn’t this. She’d thought maybe they’d go their separate ways again and she’d have time to go home and discuss everything with her mother. This was her game and Isabella was just a reluctant player in the whole charade.

  Still, as Feraz escorted her inside the luxurious white and gold lobby and over to the elevators, Isabella had to admit it was a far cry from her usual trudge up the stairs to her second floor walk-up in Queens. Roxanne always did like to live high on the horse and Feraz had the means to do it.

  They rode up in tense silence once more. Feraz inserted a special gold key into the slot next to the button marked “P” and they soon emerged into a private hallway foyer done in black marble and shining glass and steel. At the center of the space was a huge round table with the most beautiful and enormous tropical flower arrangement Isabella had ever seen. She couldn’t help stopping to sniff the delicate jasmine blooms and trace her fingers over an elegant Bird of Paradise.

  Feraz waited at the double entry doors to his penthouse, frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, approaching him with wariness. It wasn’t that she thought he’d hurt her, although he was a big man—tall and broad and muscular. No. It was just that she felt completely adrift around him and wanted to avoid giving him any reason to doubt she was who she said she was.

  “You usually avoid the flowers,” he said, his dark gaze narrowed. “Won’t they bother your allergies?”

  Damn. She’d forgotten about Roxanne’s allergies. They weren’t identical in every way, as most people thought. Mainly in the looks department. Otherwise they were as different as sun and shadow.

  “Oh, well.” She twisted the end of her long brown ponytail and stared at her toes. “I took some medication before my doctor’s appointment, so it shouldn’t bother me.”

  “Right.” He opened the door to the penthouse and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. “Let’s hope that was safe for the baby.”

  Considering the stress she was under and the pregnancy hormones raging through her system, his condescending tone pissed her off. “I’m not an idiot, thanks very much. I checked with Dr. Phillips first.”

  Isabella walked into the living room and stopped short, gaping at the floor-to-ceiling view of Central Park out his windows. Holy crap, this place was amazing! Lips parted and eyes wide, she moved closer to press her fingertips against the cool glass. “Wow.”

  His somber expression slowly morphed into a grin. “Don’t act so surprised. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been here, Roxanne, but things haven’t changed that much.”

  Ugh. Heat prickled Isabella cheeks as she turned around again fast. Of course, Roxanne wouldn’t have been impressed with this. She’d have taken it all in stride. She was used to the best in everything, from clothes to wine to food to men. She’d run off as soon as she’d graduated high school, leaving Isabella on her own and stuck in her boring, menial life. And she’d had to quit her job months ago anyway, at Roxanne’s insistence. She’d given her half the money Feraz paid her each month in exchange for carrying the baby for her—one-hundred-twenty-five-thousand. Roxanne hadn’t needed it, given that whatever playboy she’d been currently sleeping with had taken care of all her expenses for her. But to Isabella it had been a miracle. After she’d undergone the IVF, Isabella had been able to pay off all her debts, move to a better apartment in a nice neighborhood, afford a few luxuries like new clothes that fit and fresh food from the farmers’ market, and buy all those books she’s always wanted to read but could never afford before. Best of all, she’d been able to pay for the first in a series of cutting-edge treatments for her mother. Once, her mother had even said she’d always known she could count on Isabella to save the day.

  The thought should’ve made her happy. Instead it made her so sad that tears stung the backs of her eyes until she blinked them away. Roxanne should have been here. Roxanne would never see her baby. Roxanne was dead and what a complete mess she’d left behind.

  Feraz tossed his keys onto a side table, the loud clack jarring Isabella from her grief. She glanced over as he walked into the open-style chef’s kitchen then turned to ask her, “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? Tea?”

  “No. No thank you.” Isabella exhaled slowly, not realizing she’d been holding her breath when he’d been near. Truth be told, the secret crush she’d always harbored for him had flared back into life the minute he’d walked into that exam room and as she watched him shrug off his gray suit jacket to reveal the white silk shirt beneath, her pulse thudded a bit harder. Why in the world Roxanne would go outside of her marriage for pleasure when she had this hot hunk of man waiting for her at home in her bed was unimaginable to Isabella.

  Still, she tamped down her inappropriate lust for a man she could never have, under any circumstances and took a seat on the edge of the plush cream-colored suede sofa. Feraz returned with a bottled water and cracked it open, chugging down half the contents before taking a seat in a matching arm chair across from her, a glass and stainless-steel coffee table in between them.

  “So,” Feraz said at last, toying with his bottle on the table. “Our son looks healthy.”

  “Yes,” Isabella said, the word emerging as more of a croak from her dry throat. Maybe she should’ve asked for a water after all. Her hands trembled slightly from adrenaline and she clasped them tight in her lap to hide the shake. The baby was kicking like mad too, mos
t likely picking up on her agitation. “I think he’s going to be quite the athlete when he grows up.”

  “Why?” Feraz met her gaze and her chest squeezed a little from the avid interest in his warm brown eyes. He’d always struck her as a decent man—smart, kind, caring—even with all his enormous responsibilities. It couldn’t have been easy for him to take over rule of his country after his father’s death, especially when the government and infrastructure had been in such a shambles. Not that she could ask him about that. Roxanne wouldn’t have known a parliament from a prancing pony. “Do you feel him move a lot?”

  “Sometimes.” She allowed her tense shoulders to relax a tad. This conversation seemed harmless enough. “He’s bouncing around in there like crazy right now.”

  “May I feel?” Feraz was on his feet and around the coffee table before Isabella could respond. She stared up at him, aware of his heat and the scent of his cologne. He sat on the cushions beside her, the question still in his eyes. In the end, what could she say? This was her husband—or at least she was pretending he was anyway—and it would’ve been weird if she didn’t let him feel his baby move, right? Plus, Roxanne would never have shied away from having a handsome man’s hands on her. Isabella took a deep breath and gave a brief nod.

  Feraz stared at her rounded belly as he gently laid his large warm palm against her, the touch searing her through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. Sure enough, the baby gave a firm nudge right beneath where his hand was and Feraz gave a child-like gasp of delight. The wonder in his eyes was too much and soon Isabella found herself smiling right along with him.