Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  She patted his head even when he pushed her aside and she strode through the grounds, staying close to the wall and ignoring the sun that was beating down over her shoulders. Until the heat made her wonder if Michael had likewise felt too much sun and was feeling sick from that?

  She moved a little, into the shade of a large walkway. She was too distressed to think clearly, or perhaps she might have gone inside. It was only five minutes at the most before a doctor moved quickly towards her, his profession distinguished by a stethoscope around his neck. He was older, with a sheen of silver hair, but a strong gait and athletic build that spoke of a healthy lifestyle.

  “Hand me the child,” he said urgently, barely looking at Abigail. She didn’t care. Calm detachment was a good quality in a doctor.

  He took Michael and walked with his crying, enraged body writhing against his hip, into the nearest doorway. The palace was nowhere near as imposing as the official building Abigail had first gone to; here, the decor was unmistakably luxurious but far more modern. The ceilings were not so high and there was not nearly as much gold.

  “There’s a room in here,” she said, belatedly remembering that there had been better places to wait than in a steaming hot walkway.

  He nodded and preceded her into the room. He walked quickly which worried her even more.

  She hovered anxiously overhead as the doctor removed Michael’s wet swimming costume. Abigail realised she was still in her bathers - though she had dressed as Lilah in a long sleeved sun shirt and a pair of shorts. She was perfectly modest, even here at the private beach, out of habit, and a desire to protect her skin from the harsh sun. Her feet were making little puddles of water and sand on the floor.

  Michael was so much darker than when they’d arrived. Even with the puce outrage that coated him she could see the dark sheen of his skin.

  “What is it?” She whispered huskily, her hands clasped to her lips. Her own heart felt as though it might give out. “What is it?”

  The doctor shook his head, and continued to move his hands deftly over Michael’s little body. It was not an easy task as the child wriggled and squirmed and continued to bellow.

  “Please tell me,” she said sharply, her eyes feverish. “Is it his heart?”

  The doctor stood smoothly and left Michael where he was, a furious little body in the middle of a large tapestried sofa.

  “In part, yes,” the doctor said, but confusingly his lips were smiling. “He is your only child?”

  She nodded. “Why? Does he need something? He’s not on an organ donor registry. I …”

  The man shook his head, his expression rueful. “I have six children. They have all had what your son has.”

  “Is it serious?” She lifted a hand to her throat and begged her blood to stop flushing so fast. Her heart rate must have been off the charts.

  “Not serious so much as exhausting,” he said honestly. “Your son is a toddler. He is a two year old boy. This,” he nodded towards the still sobbing boy, “is a sign of robust good health.” He broadened his smile to underscore his statement.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” He laughed now. “You have not had an easy time, your highness, with your son’s illness. However, there is one aspect in which other parents might almost have had cause to envy you.”

  “Yes?” She enquired archly.

  “Your son has not had a single tantrum before, has he?”

  She shook her head, comprehension dawning. The worry was turning into surprise, and amusement. He was furious with her, and he was expressing it in the only way he had at his disposal. That had been her first thought, hadn’t it? Down at the beach, she’d believed it to be a tantrum. But worry had slipped back around her out of habit.

  “True, it was because he was too weakened by his illness to mount the battle, but now he is well, you will begin seeing a lot more of this behaviour. I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”

  She burst out laughing. If she hadn’t been soaking wet, she would have hugged the man. “On the contrary, it is good news.” She turned to study her son who was sobbing disconsolately now the first steam of rage had passed. “I think.”

  “It is.” The doctor smiled kindly. “I’m Doctor R’izar. I’ve worked at the palace for a very long time. In fact,” he leaned forward a little conspiratorially, “I was your husband’s doctor in childhood.”

  “You were?” She turned back to face him, and the initial impression she’d had, that she liked this man, was strengthened by this information.

  “Indeed. And let me tell you, I have never seen anyone throw a tantrum like Sheikh Mazroui as a child. He could lift the roof off with his screams.”

  Abi laughed. “So he’s who I have to blame for this?”

  The doctor nodded. “I would definitely say this is a particularly gifted inherited ability.” He reached down and picked Michael up. The rage now gone, Michael was happy to be held and put his little head on Doctor. R’izar’s shoulder.

  “You said you have six kids? So what do I do?”

  He laughed. “I will bring you a book, or three.”

  “Doctor?” She reached out and patted Michael’s head. The little boy’s soulful eyes looked at her accusingly. “I’m new to all this and I don’t really understand how it works. Back home, in New York, we had a doctor we knew. And it gave me a huge amount of comfort having one person we could see whenever Michael was ill. Would you … when you said you were Ki’s doctor as a child, I presume you could do the same for Michael?” Her cheeks coloured as she realised she was possibly overstepping the bounds of what was within her authority.

  “Madam,” he said, his voice quiet. “I am honoured.”

  “You are?”

  He smiled. “In any profession, after forty years, there is not a single man who would not begin to feel a little like a relic. But there are younger doctors, there are people now within the royal medical team who have more recent credentials.”

  “I don’t care,” she said stubbornly. “I like you. Michael likes you. And besides, he is well now. I expect we won’t need to bother you often, but when he has a cold or a tummy bug, I want you to be the one who comes.”

  “If you are sure, then it will be done.”

  “I’m sure.” Power zinged through her. It was her first royal command and it felt fantastic! “Oh!” Only a thought occurred to her that undermined her confidence. “Only you have a wife and children. Will it be convenient?”

  His expression flashed with surprise. “You are as considerate and thoughtful as your husband, I see.” And for a moment Abigail thought she saw a hint of a tear sparkle in the doctor’s eyes. “I am glad for him.” He handed Michael over. “My children are grown. My wife is always ready for adventure, so long as we are together.”

  “Wonderful; I’m so pleased.”

  “Excuse me, madam, for being forward, however: are you well?”

  “Well? I’m fine. Just a little hot from the beach, and recovering from having thought my son was about to have a heart attack,” she said honestly.

  He smiled, but he lifted a hand to feel her forehead. “Nonetheless, I would like to give you an examination to be sure. It has been a taxing time for you, and a mother’s health is often neglected.” She was obviously about to brush away his request and so R’izar continued, “I know Kiral would wish me to do so.”

  And then, what could Abigail do but nod?

  By the time Lilah returned to the palace, only a little while later, normality had returned. Michael had been placated with three renditions of his favourite story, his most-loved dinner and had been settled into bed for the night. Abi had changed into a simple tunic style dress — one of the many that had been installed in her suite at the palace.

  Abi was able to explain the events of the evening, laughing at her own paranoias in the process, to an amused Lilah. “But this just demonstrates what a wonderful mother you are, Abigail. Even when you were terrified, you kept a
calm head and made the right decisions.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Abi demurred with a shake of her head. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen me. I felt like I was the one who was about to pass out.”

  “But you didn’t,” Lilah insisted. “I am glad my nephew has had your influence in his life.”

  “Are you?” Abi repeated, her cheeks flushed with pleased surprise at the compliment.

  “Of course. Now, let us put this matter behind us and enjoy the evening. The sun is setting. Shall we take tea and watch it disappear?”

  Abi nodded, hiding a smile. The turns of phrase that both Lilah and Kiral employed were mesmerisingly beautiful. A sharp pain in her stomach caught her by surprise, for she recognised it well.

  It was longing.

  She missed Kiral.

  Not just his beautiful body and the way he could make her feel in bed. She missed him. His stories, his voice, his eyes that seemed to look into her soul.

  The world had made her a match and though they were married, he was far away. None of it made sense.

  Two days later, and distant from his wife and son, Kiral awoke in a foul mood. His temperament had become, in fact, what could best be described as glowering. He was angry much of the time, hiding it only because his role required him to at least appear level-headed.

  Had he known what lay in store he might have considered returning to bed.

  A knock on the door to the study came early, while Kiral was enjoying his first coffee of the day. He had it in the traditional way — thick, dark and spiced with nutmeg.

  “What?” He barked when the knock sounded.

  Alain entered first, followed by Will. “Good morning.”

  Kiral scowled as he took in the sight of his American friend standing alongside his most loyal servant. “Yes?”

  “How are you?” Alain’s manner was strange. Something was wrong.

  “Fine.” Kiral snapped. He looked from one to the other again and his frown deepened. “What is it?”

  Will moved further into the office and shut the door gingerly behind him. Kiral frowned when he saw the iPad the man held.

  “I need to speak to you,” Will said without answering the question. “It’s important.”

  “What is it?” His heart turned over in his chest as immediately he thought of his wife and son. Faraway from him, as he deserved. He hadn’t received his daily update from the palace yet. How he’d come to rely on the small reports that were sent through to him. Her Highness took His Highness to the pool. He ate banana and mango for lunch and then napped for two hours. Her Highness read for most of the afternoon. From such small snippets he built entire fantasies of how they spent their days. It was vivid; he felt he could almost smile with them, so clear and real was the imagery.

  The last time Will had confronted Kiral with ‘something important’ it had turned out to be a sinister matter of life and death. He had learned not to disregard anything Will deemed important.

  “Some of the foreign papers are running a story…”

  “Oh?” If anything, Kiral’s impatience grew.

  “It’s about Abigail and Michael,” Will murmured gently, taking the seat opposite Kiral. Alain stood behind him, silently preparing for the fury Kiral would surely feel.

  Kiral straightened in his chair. “What is it?”

  Will handed the iPad across the table; Kiral opened the screen and stared at the e-copy of a well-known European newspaper.

  “American Princess Already In Disgrace,” the title read. Kiral stood up, and turned his back on the two men, so that he could read the piece without being observed.

  “The hasty marriage of His Royal Highness Sheikh Kiral Mazroui is already on the rocks with several reports claiming he has had his new bride removed from the palace. So too the child that many hesitate to believe is truly his heir. The princess can be seen here arguing heatedly with the Sheikh’s sister, Her Royal Highness Jalilah Mazroui. The child watches on in tears.”

  He stared at the picture and felt as though his heart had been knifed. There she was. Abigail. His finger hovered over her face, and he wished, more than anything in the world, that he could grip her cheeks and pull her towards him. How he wanted to kiss her. To hold her. To remember just how her body fitted to his. And indeed, it did look as though she and Lilah were arguing; their expressions were serious. Another photograph showed Abigail walking away, with Lilah shouting something at her as she did so. The caption beneath it read: The Unwanted Princess.

  Fear was a torrent in his bloodstream. What had happened to put them at odds? And why had he kept Abigail away for so long?

  “If the marriage has already become a decision the powerful ruler regrets, it would not be difficult to understand why. Abigail McClean is the daughter of divorced parents who was raised in relative poverty. She dropped out of college when she discovered herself to be pregnant and is now infamous for having caused the Sheikh to put aside a long-planned engagement to a woman many felt was eminently suited to a man such as him. It is even rumoured that the Emir’s ex-fiance has become a frequent visitor at the palace, in the Princess’s absence, leading many to speculate that a reunion is on the cards.”

  He cast the iPad aside with disdain. “None of that is true,” he spat, turning to his friend and the journalist with an expression of desperation. “None of it.”

  Will ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “It is not necessarily a lie, either.”

  The nature of the reports had unsettled Kiral. He wasn’t even remotely offended by the other man’s bold observation. “I have not seen Melania since the night I told her about Abi,” he retorted fiercely. “I have not ever had any interest in her beyond the political. You know this to be true, Alain.”

  “Yes,” his servant nodded thoughtfully. “I do.”

  “What the hell has got into my sister? I asked her to take care of Abi. To help her ease into life here while I …”

  “While you what?” Alain prompted, their friendship giving him the confidence to speak honestly to his ruler.

  Kiral shook his head. It was too late for that. Too late for anything. “Has she seen it?”

  It was Will who nodded jerkily. “Yes. I happened to call this morning to check some facts with Lilah for my piece. She couldn’t speak for long, though. She’d just found Abigail … crying over the article.”

  Kiral swore angrily in his own language. It all seemed so far away. His wife was miserable, and it was all his fault. “I need to go to her.”

  “Yes.” Will responded with the kind of frustration that was totally at odds with how someone in his position should have behaved. “You probably needed to go to her a week ago.”

  Kiral was already moving out of his office. “Come with me. I want to give you one last interview and then I want you to publish your piece. When can you have it ready?”

  “I checked the final draft this morning. It’s ready to send.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  There were hardly any waves; just the gentle relaxation and encroachment of the swelling ocean. It glistened like silver, and every now and again, far beyond the reaches of the private cove, Abigail saw a bobbing of something; perhaps a buoy or a small boat.

  Or perhaps it was another photographer desperate to catch sight of The Unwanted Princess.

  It was a cruel moniker, but Abi couldn’t really object. Not given the veracity and accuracy of the title. She was an unwanted princess. The article had simply made public the fears that had been dogging her for weeks now.

  Oh, part of it was a useless fabrication. She adored Lilah and knew it to be mutual. The argument the lens had captured was no such thing. But for the rest? How easy it was for Abi to believe that her husband had returned to Melania. The woman he had chosen for his bride, even after meeting Abigail. The woman he would have married had Abi not needed to trouble him.

  She sucked in a deep, shaking breath and angled her head away. The sun was warm; she knew she o
ught to move into the shade, but the pain brought pleasure in that it almost drowned out the breaking feeling in her heart.

  Somewhere in the distance there was a droning noise — a buzzing. She listened to it for a moment and then returned to her silent contemplation of the ocean. What stories it would have to share, if only it could speak. What mysteries were buried in her depths, caressed by the determined secrecy of the sand? How many souls had perished on ships that had run aground over the centuries? How many hearts had stared at its waters seeking solace as she was?

  It was in such a contemplative state that Kiral discovered his wife. He entered the room quietly, and had a moment to observe her through the open balcony doors. She was as beautiful as he remembered; something strong hammered through him. She looked frail and tired — he would have blamed the article except that it had only appeared that morning. But the careless report was definitely responsible for the look of hurt and betrayal that was all over her face.

  Kiral might have sworn, but he didn’t want to alert her to his presence. He moved quickly, but softly, and it was only when he crossed the threshold of the balcony that she heard something and turned her head toward him. Surprise flickered briefly in her eyes but she concealed it quickly.

  “Hello,” she said, her word just a breathy sound after hours of not speaking. She looked back at the ocean, and hoped he would not be able to hear her blood pounding through her veins. For her body recognised its master’s return and wanted what she could never ask for again.

  “Abigail,” his own words were thick with feeling. “I came as soon as I discovered that foul piece of writing.”

  She stared down at her lap. Her hands were knotted together; her knuckles white from how tightly she was gripping. He crouched before her and placed his own strong, tanned hands on top of hers.

  “You didn’t need to,” she said simply. “I mean, I know it was embarrassing — for both of us — but it was just a trashy tabloid piece. It will blow over.”

  Her response surprised him. It was mature beyond her years, and certainly beyond her experience with such matters. In part, it also angered him. For her not to care could only mean that she truly didn’t care — for him, or what was said about their marriage.