The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘I know,’ he said finally. ‘But it wasn’t the first time, Saskia. Not the first time you turned up and demanded attention no matter what I had planned, no matter what I was doing. No, you had never been drunk before, never hysterical—but you were impulsive and wanted me to be impulsive too.’ Spontaneous, she had called it when she cajoled him to miss a tutorial, take the weekend off, jump on a train and head off who knew where. He hated spontaneity, had grown up with it. What was wrong with order and a planned existence?

  Saskia twisted her water glass around and around. ‘Did you ever wonder where I was? Why I dropped out? Did you ever ask Maya about me?’

  The honest truth was he’d been relieved. Relieved she wasn’t there to distract him any more. Relieved he would no longer be tempted and could bury himself in his work. Relieved that, in the end, he hadn’t allowed emotion to weaken him. ‘Saskia, you knew so many people, had so many invitations—to parties, to ski resorts, to country houses. There were so many men waiting in line for you to notice them. You talked of studying abroad, of travelling. It didn’t seem like you needed Oxford the way others did. I just assumed you’d flitted on to another university, another place. Maya didn’t mention you to me once. I didn’t ask.’

  His assumptions had strengthened his resolve. If she could drop out that easily then at heart she was the party girl he had first met, not the scholar agonising over her Marlowe essay. If she could just flit away from one life then she was a butterfly like his mother, never settling. His assumptions had made it clear he had done the right thing. His assumptions had been wrong.

  ‘She didn’t know where I was. I bumped into her on Bond Street a couple of years ago but that was the first time I had seen her since I left Oxford. I didn’t mean to cut ties so completely. I went home to try and salvage what I could with every intention of returning, but one week later there was Jack. And, honestly, I couldn’t face people’s pity—your pity—I couldn’t bear the shame, for people to know how far I had fallen. From then on it was a battle. A battle to keep Jack fed and clothed and warm. Oxford was a lifetime ago.’

  ‘You were never tempted to walk away from him?’

  ‘We’re all allowed to be weak for a moment, Idris. We’re all allowed to be tempted. It’s how we proceed from there that counts. But yes, there were times.’ Her voice dropped and she stared into her water glass as if it held the answers. ‘Times when we were hungry, times when Jack was ill. Times when it was all so bleak and so hard that I didn’t know how I was going to get up the next day and start again when I wished for someone to rescue me.’ Had she hoped that he would find her and make it all better—or did she know he was no knight in shining armour for all his inherited military titles?

  ‘So when Maya found you and asked you to have the baby you said yes.’ He’d judged her with such contempt when he’d seen the contract, but in the end what choice had she had? None, just as he had given her no choice over this marriage.

  ‘Not at first. Her terms were very, very generous but they drove a hard bargain. Three months of a special diet and exercise to make sure I was healthy. Fertility drugs, which are not pleasant, believe me. Then as soon as it was confirmed I was pregnant I was flown here, to live in seclusion. Yes, it’s beautiful here and I have everything I could need but I wasn’t allowed to leave. No deviating from the prescribed exercise or diet. No seeing Jack’s school or meeting his friends. No sightseeing. And you know the rest. I was locked in for life. If the baby needed anything I could give then I would be legally bound to. I would never be truly free of my responsibilities. I had to weigh all that up against the benefits.’

  ‘And it was worth it?’

  She turned her hand, staring at her glossily painted nails. ‘I thought so then. I can’t wish the baby away but I can wish we could turn the clock back three days and avert that accident.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t just jump at the money. I thought about it long and hard. But Jack and I needed a real home. And he deserved to have things other kids his age had, to be able to go to clubs and swimming and on holiday. To have the adult in his life around before school and in the evenings, not spend his time in a jigsaw of breakfast clubs and childminders’ and friends’ houses until I got back from work. And I deserved the chance to take my degree. To try and be something more than a glossy smile and a bright manner. But it wasn’t an easy choice. And if I’d known the outcome...’ Her voice trailed off but he understood.

  She would have chosen to remain in poverty rather than be trapped into marrying him. He couldn’t blame her.

  ‘Would you really have done it?’

  He looked over at her. ‘Done what?’

  ‘Turned your back on Fayaz’s baby?’

  He paused, lifting up his brandy glass and examining the amber depths. ‘I told myself yes, but in reality?’ He shrugged. ‘I hoped I would not have to make a decision either way.’ He glanced at her curiously. ‘How about you? What if I’d simply cancelled the contract and told you that you could leave the baby here, take Jack and go home?’ Would the woman who had given up her whole life for her small brother have turned her back on her baby?

  She was silent for a long time. ‘I don’t know either. My pride wants me to say that of course I would have gone, head held high. But in reality?’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I would still be here. Probably I would still be here.’ Her hand stole to her stomach. ‘He or she is my responsibility. Not because a contract says so but because it’s half me. I’ve nurtured it and loved it and looked after it. I could have handed it over to Maya gladly because I knew she wanted it so much. But how could I have walked away and left it with you when you had so much else thrust upon you?’

  Idris pushed his chair back and hauled himself to his feet, suddenly exhausted mind, body and soul. He held a hand out to Saskia. She stared at it for a long moment before laying her cool hand on his, allowing him to help her up. She made to pull away once she was on her feet but he kept her hand imprisoned in his. ‘Truce?’

  ‘Truce? In what way?’

  ‘You’re right. We are married now. We have a child to raise. Two children,’ he amended and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Neither of us chose this but here we are. We both have things to regret from back then, but that shouldn’t stop us from doing the best we can now with the cards we’ve been dealt. Let’s make a pact.’

  ‘A pact?’

  ‘To respect each other. Honesty.’ Idris closed his eyes and thought of his parents’ marriage. About the profligacy, the constant drama. Of the extravagance. Respect and honesty seemed a good antidote to that. So it was best not to dwell on how soft her hand was under his. Or to remember the way she was back then. Fearless and so full of passion it shone out of her. Better not to remember the way she’d made him feel. Because down that path lay a madness he had no intention of ever returning to.

  Respect and honesty. They were worthy goals. They were all they could possibly ever have.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE MOURNING PERIOD was over at last—officially at least. Idris wasn’t sure when he’d actually stop grieving although, with a sharp stab of guilt, he knew he was grieving for his lost life as much as for his lost cousin.

  With the end of the mourning period came a lightening of mood throughout both the palace and the country and Idris’s advisors were beginning to discuss an official Coronation date. He’d attended Fayaz’s Coronation and knew what the day entailed: ceremonies, speeches, inspections of the guard, feasts; an interminably long, unbearably hot day under scrutiny for every single second. Thankfully Saskia would need to be by his side for the whole time, which meant an imminent date was impossible.

  She had elected not to return to the royal palace with him after their wedding, preferring the cooler sea air to the stultifying city heat—and the truth was adjusting to his new life, to his new role was easier for him without her. The distance gave them both the opport
unity to ease into this marriage, into this truce, slowly. Time to adjust to the truths unearthed on their wedding night.

  Idris headed over to the villa twice a week, but there were no more confidences, no more heart-to-hearts. No moments when memories swirled around them thick with regrets, with remembered intimacies. It was best that way. Nothing had really changed; he still had a path to follow, a duty to fulfil. It was best he walked that path alone. Besides, he was still coming to terms with the knowledge that he had wronged her all those years ago. He had been so sure of himself back then. But he had lacked compassion. Lacked honour. The truth burned into him. No wonder she could barely meet his eye, ensured they were never alone.

  His PR department had waited until the wedding ceremony was completed before sending out a brief press release introducing His Highness Sheikh Idris Delacour to the world as the prospective King Idris Delacour Al Osman. The press release had dwelled on his loving relationship with his grandfather and Fayaz, and his successful business empire before briefly mentioning that he was recently married and his first child would be born imminently. It wasn’t a lie even if the intention was to mislead the public into thinking the marriage of greater duration than it really was.

  Luckily the docile and reverential Dalmayan press didn’t look for any more details. As expected the European—and especially the British, frothing with excitement at the new Queen’s nationality—press were a lot more interested in the newly royal couple and had published several exposés of their student affair, digging up Saskia’s father’s suicide and subsequent disgrace in gleeful detail and reliving every one of his mother’s scandals. But they didn’t seem to suspect that the baby wasn’t Idris’s nor that the marriage wasn’t real. As long as it stayed that way let them dig.

  He pushed his laptop to one side and swivelled his chair to look out of the office window. The palace gardens were internationally renowned, an oasis in the desert interior of his coastal country. Long terraces, each planted to a different theme, led down to the extensive lawns, palms fluttering overhead, and the garden was famous for its many fountains providing a cool comfort for those who worked inside the palace walls. Further out, beyond the lawns and just out of view, were the stables, home to over one hundred thoroughbreds, many past or present racing champions. The stables had been one of his favourite places to visit during his long holidays in Dalmaya. A place where Idris and his grandfather had bonded, where he had felt as if he belonged. He hadn’t had time to visit once in the month he had been back in the country.

  Saskia used to ride, he remembered. She’d said all the horses were sold after her father’s death and she hadn’t ridden since. Maybe he should give her a horse, as a wedding gift. It would make for some nice PR photos after all...

  A buzz from his personal mobile phone interrupted his thoughts and he turned back to the paperwork-laden desk to look for it, apprehension hammering through him. Not many people had that number. His chest tightened when he saw the name on the screen. Saskia. Usually she preferred to contact him through their assistants, just as he contacted her in the same distant way.

  He pressed answer. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Idris?’ She sounded breathless. Frightened. He pushed his chair back, jumping to his feet.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The baby. Idris. I think it’s on its way. Come quickly. I can’t do this alone. Please, please come now.’

  * * *

  Idris didn’t think he had ever moved so fast, not even thirty-two days ago when he had received the phone call from Dalmaya telling him of his cousin’s death. He wasn’t sure what compelled him most—the fear in Saskia’s voice or the knowledge she had called him, begged him to help. Of course, there was no one else. First Maya and Fayaz, then Idris himself had made sure of that. Saskia had no friends, no family. She was as alone as he was. More so. He still had his parents, little though he saw them.

  It usually took an hour to drive from Jayah, the capital city, to the villa but today Idris made the journey in less than forty-five minutes, his security detail barely able to keep up with his bike. He knew that his guards disliked his motorcycle, thinking it a risk, hard to guard and dangerous to ride. Idris had given up too much when he took on the throne. There was no way he was relinquishing his beloved, carefully restored vintage Triumph as well.

  He got to the villa to see Saskia, her midwife and the doula, a woman trained to be her birth partner, walking towards a waiting car. He pulled the bike up to a stop and swung off it, removing his helmet as he intercepted the small group. Saskia was pale, her freckles standing out in stark relief, leaning on the two women as they escorted her to the car. Idris tucked his helmet under his arm as he reached her side. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Only when people said it hurts I didn’t realise it hurts this much. Oh, no...here we go again,’ and Idris could only stand there helpless while she gripped the hands holding her up, her face contorted with pain as she was reminded to ‘Breathe, Saskia, breathe.’

  ‘Her contractions are quicker and longer than I would expect at this stage,’ the midwife told him as Saskia sagged against her. ‘It’s imperative we get her to hospital as quickly as possible. Are you coming with us? Are you planning to attend the birth?’

  Idris froze. Maya had intended to be with Saskia, he knew. Now, although she had two paid personal attendants with her and a whole team waiting for her at the hospital, she didn’t have anyone on her side, anyone who chose to be there, for whom it wasn’t a job. They had called a truce. Had many years of marriage ahead. But did that mean he should attend the birth? It would be one thing if Saskia and he had married for love and if the baby were really his; this felt as if he would be intruding into a world he was not meant to see.

  ‘No,’ Saskia gasped. ‘Jack. He’s scared. He needs...’ She bit her lip as another tremor ran through her body and the midwife and doula exchanged concerned glances.

  Idris jumped at the opportunity to be helpful in a way that didn’t involve witnessing childbirth. ‘D’accord. Don’t worry, you just get yourself to hospital. Jack and I will be absolutely fine.’

  They were brave words, but as Idris watched the car pull out of the gates he realised he had barely exchanged a word with his small brother-in-law beyond asking how school was. He didn’t know any children, didn’t know how to interact with them. That was going to have to change with not one but two children in the royal nurseries.

  There was no sign of Jack as he entered the villa. The whole house was unusually quiet and still; the airy villa had a family air, all the staff on first-name terms with Saskia and her brother. It was usually a welcome release from the formality of the palace; today it just felt empty.

  Idris wandered fruitlessly through room after room before thinking to check the terrace, where he found Jack slumped on a lounge chair, a huge umbrella providing shade from the late-morning sun. A handheld games console lay on his knee but it was switched off and his thin face had the kind of determined set to it Idris recognised as a way to hold back threatened tears. Idris perched on the lounge chair next to him. ‘Hey.’

  Jack barely looked over. ‘Hello.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  A shrug.

  Idris blew out a breath. Was there a book he could buy—How To Communicate with Pre-teens for Dummies maybe? He’d met Jack maybe eight times now but struggled to think what to say to the boy—especially as it was clear Jack was confused by Idris’s new status in his life and more than a little wary of him. ‘Saskia is on her way to the hospital now. I’m sure we’ll hear as soon as there is any news.’ He wasn’t sure who he was trying to comfort most: Jack or himself.

  ‘Will she die?’

  Idris stared over at the small boy. ‘What?’

  ‘Saskia. Will she die? She sounded like she might. She was crying and saying it hurt.’

  ‘That�
�s how it is, Jack. Having a baby hurts and there’s nothing you and I can do but wait. But non,’ he said, hoping fervently that he wasn’t lying to the tense child. ‘She isn’t going to die. She has the best doctors and midwives in the country helping her.’

  ‘Maya died.’

  ‘Yes, yes, she did. But that was an accident, not because she had a baby.’

  ‘She was supposed to have the baby. Saskia was growing the baby for Maya. That’s a secret and no one but you, me and Saskia must ever know.’

  It was a big secret for the boy to keep. ‘No. Do you know why it’s so important?’

  ‘Because you are the King and the baby will be the next King if it’s a boy.’

  ‘That’s right. I know it seems odd but if you have any questions or worries then just come to me, any time.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Saskia says we are staying in Dalmaya, that we won’t be going back to London.’

  ‘Once the baby is born you’ll be living in the palace at Jayah. But you’ll go to the same school you’re at now. Does that sound okay?’

  ‘Will my friends be able to visit? Will there be room for me to ride my bike?’

  Idris suppressed a smile as he thought of the hundreds of rooms and hundreds of acres in the palace grounds. ‘Plenty of room for friends and bikes.’

  ‘That’s good. I didn’t have a bike in London and the flat was too small for friends to come over. And will...?’ He hesitated. ‘Saskia said once the baby was born and we went home we would have our own bedrooms.’

  Idris blinked. ‘You didn’t before?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Saskia slept on the sofa only it turned into a bed and we had to share the wardrobe and things.’

  For the last seven years Idris had been the only occupant of a chateau with enough bedrooms for him to choose a new one every night of the week if he chose while Saskia bunked down in the living room. His chest tightened. ‘You’ll definitely have your own room with plenty of space for all your things. No sharing required.’