She tried to imagine him. Tried to imagine her own children having such a life. It didn’t sound the best.
‘Sounds lonely.’
‘I was never lonely—which was half the trouble. There was always someone there, standing in the background, waiting, watching. Once my father had forbidden me to learn midwifery I was very angry for a while, and I would often try my best to evade my guards so I could sneak out of the palace grounds and be free for a little while.’
‘Did you manage to do that often?’
He smiled. ‘I did—much to their disappointment and anger. But I really felt like I didn’t belong there.’
Neither did she belong there. Or her babies. It was part of their heritage, but did they deserve to spend their lives like that? Yearning for freedom and escape? She knew how that felt. She’d been there. Wanting to escape from four walls and having family and doctors constantly watching over her. It had been stifling.
‘But you have a wonderful brother?’
‘I do. He’s only a few years older than me, so hopefully he’ll be on the throne for a long time. Who knows? Maybe our children will be fully grown and living lives of their own before I have to return to Majidar.’
She stopped swimming as she came to the edge of the pool and leaned back against it. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it happened that way?
‘I hope so, Jamie. I do.’
He smiled, before sinking under the surface and swimming towards her, rising from the depths like a merman, his face right in front of hers. It was unnerving, having him this close. She could see him looking at her, taking in every feature of her face.
‘Tell me about your childhood, Freya.’
His dark eyes were looking into her own with such concentration. Nervous, she began to talk.
‘I’ve lived my whole life here in Chichester. I was very much a girly girl, playing with dolls and babies. I would line them all up like they were in a hospital nursery, covered with little blankets I’d made myself on my mother’s sewing machine.’
‘You can sew?’
She shrugged. ‘Moderately. Simple things—cushions, blankets, curtains.’
‘Go on.’
‘I loved to play mum. I wanted a brother or sister desperately, but I never got one.’
It had been lonely, growing up without siblings. At least her twins would have each other. Didn’t twins usually have a strong bond?
‘I loved to swim. I wanted to have horse-riding lessons, but Mum could never afford it.’
‘I have horses.’
She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, smiling. ‘You do?’
‘In Majidar, yes.’
‘Oh.’
‘Beautiful stallions. Racehorses.’
‘Do you miss them?’
‘I’m kept up to date on their progress.’
‘But only from afar. It must be hard to be kept from something you love?’
Jamie stared at her. ‘It can be.’
She could see him having a proper look now. Seeing the edges of her scars around her hairline. Tracking the damage that must have been done and had been repaired. Realising how many operations she must have gone through to look as she did today.
The intense scrutiny made her uncomfortable.
‘Love does strange things to people. Makes them act out of character. Makes them crazy. Makes them not think straight.’
Jamie’s hand reached up out of the water and she sucked in a breath as his fingers traced the edges of her face, down her cheek, along her jaw. Such a tender touch—respectful and gentle.
‘You’re beautiful, you know?’
What?
She hadn’t expected him to say that. Never in a million years had she expected to hear anyone say that to her. Not the way he had. As if he meant it. He’d not been patronising her. His voice had spoken the truth as he saw it.
Moved to strong emotion, Freya blinked back tears at his words.
‘Have I upset you?’
‘No.’ She wiped her eyes hurriedly and tried to smile bravely, to show him that she was okay. Her mum would tell her she was beautiful, but she’d always dismissed that—mums were duty-bound to say that.
‘You’re crying.’ He reached out and pulled her gently towards him.
At first she resisted. Just slightly. But then she gave in, allowing herself that moment. She rested her head against his shoulder, put her arms around his back, completely in shock that this was even happening. This, she had not expected. To be held like this…
‘I’m okay,’ she said, her face against his wet shoulder.
His hand smoothed down her hair. ‘No, you’re not. But I’ll hold you until you are.’
And he did. They both stood there, in the warmth of the pool, in each other’s arms, until the tears dried in her eyes, she stopped sniffing and the water was still, like a pond.
When everything was calm again, and her breathing had settled into a steady in and out motion, she felt him release her.
‘We should have a change of scene. Let’s go to dinner,’ he said. ‘Before you get cold.’
And she suddenly couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than to sit with him. Talk. This man had been nothing but gentlemanly and kind to her. He’d never shown her pity. Never reacted the way everyone else had.
‘I’d love to have dinner with you.’ She meant it. Smiled her thanks. And, though she tried her hardest not to look down at his mouth, at those lips that had once brushed her skin in the most intimate way, she couldn’t help herself.
She wondered what it would be like to let down her guard completely and kiss him all over again?
*
The hotel’s restaurant was dimly lit, and they were seated in a small alcove near the back, away from prying eyes, where they could pretend it was just the two of them.
From the reception area she could hear the piano being played—gentle, soothing music.
She’d got out of the pool and gone back to the changing room to get dressed on very shaky legs, unsure as to what was happening between the two of them. She wanted to let him in—but just a little bit. To let him know that they could talk about things, discuss the future. But something else seemed to have happened. An anticipation of so much more.
Hope.
Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought she would be in this position—pregnant, about to become a mother, but also having a man tell her that she was beautiful.
It was a word she’d never thought would be used to describe her again. Brave got used an awful lot. Courageous. Stubborn, maybe.
But beautiful?
She’d stared at the mirror as she blow-dried her hair, focusing intently on her own face, gazing at the façade that it had taken her years to get used to. Inside, she still felt that she looked the way she had before the accident, so every time she looked in the mirror it was a stark reminder that she was different.
She’d tried to embrace that and look forward. Never allowing the melancholy and disappointment to overwhelm her. Never letting what Mike had done beat her down, because then he would have done what he’d set out to do. Never allowing the depression to set in, as it had with so many others affected in a similar way.
She was living the best way that she could. Under her rules. Her control. And now she was handing some of that control over to him.
She was different now. Not just in looks, but in character. She cared more for the underdogs in society; she listened, empathised, and she worked damned hard to make sure her patients felt empowered and brave and strong. She was their cheerleader. Their support. She knew she could coach women through the scariest moments of their lives, even as they felt they were being split in two, and she knew they all had the strength within them to get through it. She gave them everything they needed and asked for nothing in return.
But now Jamie was here and he wanted to pay her attention. He wasn’t family, but he was trying to give her everything she needed and a whole lot more besides. He was able, it
seemed, to see past the prickly exterior that she had first presented to him. He had pushed it to one side, had powered through, because he was invested in her well-being. Her thoughts and feelings. Her health. Her happiness.
And that felt odd. Disconcerting.
Good, but strange.
It had happened at university, too. During her training. Her teachers and lecturers had seen past her face and made sure she qualified, made sure she became the midwife she’d always wanted to be.
Perhaps she needed to give more people the benefit of the doubt?
‘I’ll have the Caesar salad to start, please, and I think I’ll have the pan-seared chicken for my main, thank you,’ she said to the waiter from behind her menu card.
‘Smoked salmon and the pheasant for me, thanks.’
The waiter disappeared, having removed the menu cards with him.
Freya took a sip of her water. ‘You must be used to English food now. Is there anything you miss from back home that you can’t get here?’
‘You don’t serve as much goat as there was back home.’ He smiled. ‘Or luqmat al-qadi.’
She frowned, having never heard of that before. ‘What is that?’
‘They’re like your pastries. A leavened dough that has been deep-fried, then soaked in a very sweet syrup.’
‘Like a doughnut?’
‘Not quite. My mother made them. Sometimes she would add cinnamon or sweet spices to them. They were out of this world.’
‘Your mother cooked?’
‘Occasionally. Not as often as she would have liked.’
‘My mum likes to cook. She likes to feed people. There’s always something on at her house.’
‘It was the same at mine.’
She smiled. ‘But, to be fair, your house was a palace, so…’
He laughed, good-naturedly. ‘True.’
She took another sip of water. ‘Is your mother still alive?’
His eyes darkened. ‘No. She passed away a few months after my father did. It was a huge shock to lose them both so quickly like that. But I believe she died of a broken heart, after losing my father so suddenly.’
‘She must have loved him very much.’
He nodded. ‘Al Bakharis love deeply.’
Her breath caught in her throat as she imagined that sort of passion. The depth of love that one person could have for another. It was the type of love she had once imagined for herself. The type of love she had thought she had found with Mike, in the way he had so quickly and deeply fallen for her.
That kind of love was scary. Terrifying. It could totally condemn you to a future filled with pain, misery and grief. Case in point: Jamie’s mother dying of a broken heart. Perhaps love was more dangerous than people realised and they were fools to seek it out? It was best to keep things light. Casual. Even if it did leave you wanting…
‘Have you ever felt that way about someone?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. That kind of love is the kind that stays for eternity. You will always be together, until the end of your days. If I had already found that, then you and I would not be in the situation we now find ourselves in.’
It was a stark reminder of exactly what this was between them.
A situation.
That was all. There was no point in reading anything else into it—even if he had told her she was beautiful. Even though he had cradled her in his arms until she’d stopped crying. Even if they had shared that one magical night together.
They’d been caught out by Mother Nature and now they were having to deal with the consequences.
That was all this was. Nothing more, nothing less.
So, despite the fact that they were sitting together in a restaurant, having only just a few minutes before shared a most intimate connection as she was wrapped in his embrace, Freya had to remind herself not to get carried away with hope. With possibility.
But she’d always been a dreamer and it was hard to switch that part of her brain off.
If the accident hadn’t happened she would never have been at that charity ball. She would never have had that night with Jamie. She wouldn’t be pregnant with twins. But they still would have met at work, and she would still have been attracted to him. The way she was now.
It was hard to tell herself that he probably didn’t feel the same way. No matter what he’d said.
Reality hurt when she thought about that. She might have defied the odds and got pregnant, but Jamie was not going to be her knight in shining armour and she would do well to remember that.
‘Please excuse me a moment.’
She stood, needing to escape to the bathroom for a minute alone—because she could feel tears threatening to fall down her face, and if she cried again he would comfort her again. He would touch her. Hold her. Try to make her feel better. And, despite her best instincts, she realised she wanted that.
Even though she shouldn’t.
And she couldn’t have that.
She stared at her tear-stained reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Why was life testing her so harshly?
Chapter Five
JAMIE WAS VERY pleased with the way their relationship was progressing. Freya’s walls were starting to come down, and now she was letting him sit and talk to her at work. They socialised together sometimes, getting to know one another, and when they went to her check-ups and other appointments with her consultant they asked questions as if they were a real couple.
He’d sat by her side when she’d had her twenty-one-week scan, gripping her hand tightly in his, and they’d both been over the moon when the scan had confirmed that they were going to have non-identical twin boys.
Sons!
That was a big deal for Jamie. He’d always dreamed of having sons and raising them to be good, strong men. Sons to be proud of…sons he would support in their desire to do anything. He would not restrict their lives the way his had been, and if they wanted to become pilots or nurses, whatever their dreams could possibly be, he vowed to himself that he would help them achieve them in any way that he could.
His sons would be his heirs. Heirs to the throne. It was their destiny, but what would they know of it? What would they know of Majidar? With its rolling dunes, its intense heat and its beautiful people. He himself had yearned to leave and live a life he couldn’t get there. Should he be the one to tell them that they must follow that path when he didn’t want it for himself? Who was he to decide what they should do? He was their father, so shouldn’t he want them to be happy more than anything else?
He’d sent news of the babies to his brother Ilias and younger sister Zahra. Both had responded with joy and delight, but both had asked him when he was coming home. With Freya at his side.
It was an awkward question to which he had no answer.
Zahra was already gushing about their wedding and all the things they’d need to organise. How could he tell her that it was probably never going to happen?
So he’d kept silent, swearing them to secrecy in his last email, until he knew what the next few months would bring. He’d used work as his main excuse. Said he was still under contract for another six months, with the possibility of a permanent post, and that he would not let people down when they were depending upon him.
Zahra had emailed back.
Six months? But the babies will be born by then!
It was all so difficult. So confusing. If he’d had his way then he and Freya would already be married. No need for a big ceremony in Majidar…no need to be driven down the streets in an open-topped car, waving to adoring crowds. He would present his marriage as a fait accompli. Everyone would just have to accept it.
If only Freya would accept it!
That would be easier, wouldn’t it?
He hadn’t mentioned it to her for a while, not wanting to raise such a difficult subject again when things between them seemed to be going so well.
When he’d first mentioned marriage he’d done it out of duty. Done it because of the mora
l code that told him it was the right thing to do. Not for him, or for her, but for their children. Whether Freya liked it or not, her babies carried royal blood and he would not have them being illegitimate. He hadn’t thought too much about whether a marriage between them would work out or not. It just had to be. Details, emotions, feelings—all those could be worked out later, as time allowed them to know each other more.
But now…?
Life was even more complicated.
He liked Freya a lot. He cared for her. And the more he got to know her, the more he realised that if they were to get married then he would have a happy life with her, a happy marriage. He felt it in his bones. She was strong and loving and kind, the bravest woman he had ever known, and he felt proud that a woman like that was carrying his children. What a role model she would be! How much she would love them!
His feelings for her were deepening every day. Each time she laughed or smiled his heart expanded a little bit more. Each time she trusted him with a hint of intimacy—a confession, a secret, a story from her past—his feelings for her grew.
It was confusing. The line between emotion and duty was blending, merging. How could he get her to understand how he felt if he didn’t even understand it, himself?
*
It was the end of November, and at seven months pregnant Freya felt huge. It had been many weeks since she had last been able to reach her own feet, and she thanked the Lord that Jamie, at least, seemed quite happy to lift her feet up onto his lap and massage them for her when they had a break at work.
Her body was protesting. She was knocking back strawberry milkshakes as if they were going out of fashion, and she dreaded to think about how much extra weight she was putting on. But it was all for a good cause, so she was trying to be relaxed about it.
There wasn’t long left, and this probably wouldn’t happen again, so she was trying to enjoy her pregnancy for as long as she could.
Pregnant with His Royal Twins Page 9