by Lucy Monroe
“I’ve got a lot of planning to do. I can’t afford to be sleepy all day.”
“Your health is of utmost importance.” Zahir’s tone brooked no argument.
Angele smiled at him. “Thank you for your concern.” She turned back to the doctor. “I’d really prefer to try the other options first.”
Right then, her stomach roiled and she had to turn away and swallow convulsively. Sometime soon would be good.
“I doubt it’s much of a stretch to assume it’s been a pretty hectic day for you,” Dr. Shirley said. “I’d actually recommend you take the sleep aid tonight, and be grateful for the extra rest if it helps you nap tomorrow, too. From what you told me in my office at your last appointment, you haven’t been getting much rest lately.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Considering who the father of your child is, I’m not surprised.” The older woman reached out and squeezed Angele’s shoulder comfortingly. “It isn’t every day a woman finds herself making a family with an honest-to-goodness future king.”
“I’m very honored.” And she was, but overwhelmed was a word that fit as well.
“I’m sure you are, but you’re also tired. And that’s not good for you or baby.”
“I had a nap earlier.”
“You’ve still got a full set of luggage under those eyes,” the doctor unapologetically pronounced.
Angele frowned at Zahir. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like a fright?”
“You do not look a fright, but I do recall telling you that you did not look rested.”
Oh, right. “So, bags, huh?” she asked the doctor with a wince.
“Steamer trunks.”
She gave a short laugh and sighed. “In the arm or the bum?”
“Let’s go into the other room.”
A stick in the bum then.
For the first time in weeks, Angele woke up feeling pretty good. No flulike symptoms, no urgent need to rush to the bathroom and throw up. She was still a little tired, but Angele would take that feeling over extreme nausea any day.
The bed beside her was empty. However, the rumpled pillow on the other side gave testament to the fact she hadn’t spent the night alone.
Considering her ambivalent feelings toward their upcoming marriage, she should not enjoy that knowledge so much. But she did. Even though they had not woken together, knowing she and Zahir had spent the night in the same bed felt right.
Too right.
She’d been deluding herself to think she could really walk away from Zahir if he was determined to marry her. The baby made giving in easier, but the truth was, he would have eventually worn down her resistance. Because he had made it clear, he’d had no intention of giving up the future they planned together.
She just hoped neither of them would learn to regret that stubbornness.
Angele followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen and found Zahir and a dapperly dressed elderly gentleman with kind eyes sitting at the small table.
Both men rose as she came in.
Feeling better than she had in days, even with the smell of coffee and freshly cooked bacon in the air, she smiled. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Zahir introduced the older man as Dr. bin Habib, the physician to the royal family of Zohra.
“My O.B. was just here last night.” She looked at Zahir. “How many doctors do I need?”
“Technically Dr. bin Habib is acting on behalf of the baby at this point. Though he will coordinate care with your obstetrician both here and when we return to Zohra.”
“Please tell me you haven’t tried to strong-arm Dr. Shirley into traveling to Zohra with me. I’m not her only patient.”
“I have made no attempt to strong arm the honorable doctor.”
There was something in his tone that made Angele look at Zahir askance.
The Crown Sheikh shrugged, doing a pretty poor job at casual regardless. “If I perhaps offered her a very persuasive remuneration package for doing so, that cannot be considered an attempt at coercion.”
“Zahir!”
“What? You expect me to ignore your needs in favor of strangers.”
“I’m sure there are perfectly competent O.B.s in Zohra.” Though a small part of her was more than a little relieved she wouldn’t be changing doctors.
“It is best to maintain continuity of care.”
“She passed your background checks, then?” Angele couldn’t help teasing.
She had no doubts that if Zahir had not considered Dr. Shirley the best of the best, no generous remuneration would have been offered.
“She is without equal.”
“Did she accept your offer?”
“She did. She will travel with us to Zohra and then, barring any unforeseen complications, return monthly until your seventh month, at which time she will make her temporary home in the palace for the remaining duration of your pregnancy.”
“You promise you did nothing to force her decision?”
“Such as?”
“Such as having the White House call her…again. Or her congressman or anything like that at all.”
“I did not.”
Angele nodded. As long as the choice had been Dr. Shirley’s, Angele wasn’t about to complain about something she wanted. “Any decaffeinated coffee on hand?”
“Naturally.” Zahir poured her a cup from the carafe on the counter rather than the one on the table.
Dr. bin Habib bowed slightly. “I will remove to the living room while the princess partakes of her breakfast.”
Angele didn’t bother to argue that she wasn’t actually in fact a princess. Yet. Instead she said, “I won’t be long. I don’t eat much in the mornings right now.”
“I am sure you will find the nutritionally balanced menu to your liking,” Zahir interjected.
She refrained from rolling her eyes and gave him a tight smile. “I’ll do my best.”
But she wasn’t going to risk the debilitating nausea returning by eating too much, or something that might trigger it—no matter how good it was for her.
Zahir pulled out her chair and she sat down with a quiet, “Thank you,” as the older doctor left the room.
Breakfast was, in fact both palatable and not overwhelming. Zahir kept the conversation light while she ate, waiting until she was finished to broach the subject of the wedding again. “I have arranged a conference call with our mothers and the queen of Jawhar, as well as the event coordinator for the royal palace.”
Angele bit her tongue on the slightly sarcastic retort that first popped into her mind and said, “Great. What time?”
“Eleven this morning.”
“Won’t the event coordinator have gone home for the day at that point?”
“He will make himself available.”
She supposed that for a man who considered himself on call to his position 24/7, asking an employee to stay late of an evening did not seem like an unreasonable request. “Okay. Mom will be over in about an hour.”
She’d called her parents the night before, after getting the shot of Vitamin B6 and before taking the safe-for-pregnancy sleeping pill. Lou-Belia had been uncharacteristically calm when faced with the news of impending grandparenthood and the upcoming royal wedding. She’d agreed to come over in the morning, suggesting Angele get a good night’s rest.
Angele couldn’t help thinking that Zahir had somehow managed to contact her parents ahead of time and apprise them of his wishes to encourage her to get more sleep.
“Is your father coming also?”
“He is.”
“It will be a busy day for you.”
Angele didn’t argue, but wondered if busy was a code for challenging, because she knew that was exactly what her day was shaping up to be. Not that Zahir’s would not be equally difficult. He had to come up with a definitive plan to announce what many would say was scandalous news. He would be questioned and criticized.
The media was going to have a field day with the
situation; the perfect prince had fallen from grace.
And it was her fault.
Knowing he had anticipated her being on the pill or some equally effective form of birth control added to her sense of guilt. Not that he couldn’t have at least asked, but she’d known for a fact they weren’t using anything.
“What is that look?” he asked, his brows drawn together in a concerned frown. “Do you wish to postpone these meetings?”
“That’s hardly an option.”
“I will make it an option if that is what you need.”
“How can you be so nice to me right now?”
“How can I not?”
“It’s my fault we’re in this situation.”
“Assigning blame is useless, but if you must do so, then assign me my portion. I was the one who waited too long to act on the intentions in the contract between our two families.”
“I knew we weren’t using birth control.”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you angry with me? You were furious yesterday.”
“Yesterday is best left in the past.”
And she knew he meant both literally the day before and their ill conceived night together.
“You’re going to be a figure of public speculation and gossip for months because of this.” And she knew how much that had to bother him.
“Highly doubtful. It will be a nine day’s wonder. And I refuse to forget that had Elsa been more vindictive and less greedy, I would already be so.”
The knowledge obviously weighed heavily on him. Angele could see it in the rigid tension of his shoulders and the haunted shadows in his gray eyes.
“That’s in the past too.”
He shrugged, but she knew he was too much of a perfectionist to extend the same acceptance for mistakes to himself that he seemed determined to offer her.
“My own idiocy is not something I will forget anytime soon,” he said, confirming her thoughts.
“So, we’ve both been idiots. It’s time to move forward.”
He laughed, the sound as surprising as it was surprised. “I do not believe anyone has called me an idiot in all my adult years.”
“Not to your face anyway,” she said, tongue in cheek.
His dark brows rose. “Not behind my back, either.”
“Your arrogance is showing again.”
“It is never very far below the surface, I assure you.”
“What happened to the humble servant to your people?”
“The two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Not in your world, anyway, right?”
“My world is your world.”
“It is now.”
“I could wish you were happier about that fact.”
“It is what it is,” she said, using the American vernacular for one of his favorite Arabic proverbs.
His jaw went taut, though nothing else gave away the fact her reply had not made him happy. “There was a time when you were nothing but pleased to be my intended.”
“It’s going to sound trite, but I grew up.” She smiled, hoping to take any sting the words might have for him.
She wasn’t trying to slight him, merely tell him the truth.
“Those words should be bitter, but from your mouth they are not.”
Good. She was determined to live by her decision to accept her fate and stop whining, even internally. “I’m not bitter.”
“Then there is great hope for our future.”
“Yes, I suppose there is.” They would never have the happy families fantasy she’d always dreamed of, but they could have a solid marriage and good life together.
She could do nothing but hope.
CHAPTER NINE
ANGELE’S HOPE FOR THE future seemed to prove true over the following weeks.
Often running interference with her family and his, Zahir willingly stayed in the States with Angele long enough for her to finalize preparations for her permanent move to Zohra. While she had to give up her apartment, he promised to buy a home with proper security for their trips back to U.S. in the future.
Announcement of their forthcoming wedding and the advent of their first child was met with a surprisingly positive response in both Zohra and Jawhar. The scandal rags didn’t have much to report because the legitimate press had been given all the details along with photos of the “happy” couple together in both the United States and Zohra after she had officially relocated.
Zahir offered to handle the official press conference with his father, but Angele insisted on standing by his side. Begin as you mean to go on. That’s what Lou-Belia had taught her and Angele had no intention of being a shrinking violet who spent her time hiding in the royal palace. They gave an interview to a leading personality reporter and Zahir made it very clear that he considered the “miscommunications” during their “courtship” to be his fault entirely.
His hero status was growing by the minute and not just with the public. Angele found herself falling more deeply in love with the man she was about marry than she’d ever been.
Crown Sheikh Zahir bin Faruq al Zohra was everything she had ever wanted in a husband and his behavior over the weeks leading to the wedding only reinforced that truth. He continued with what she privately termed his unnecessary courtship. After all, they were already headed for the altar with no chance at either of them backing out.
Nevertheless, he’d taken her to dinner both in Zohra’s capital and such romantic hotspots like Paris—a high speed helicopter was an amazing form of transportation. Apparently it was good to be sheikh.
In addition to his attention, he showered her with gifts and more flowers, warning her he would be less than pleased to discover she’d been giving them away to the domestic staff as she had his first offerings.
She’d kept them all, pressing the loveliest for safekeeping. More the fool her.
It grew increasingly difficult to maintain her emotional distance, but she wasn’t about to wear her heart on her sleeve like she had her whole life. Not when his was still so firmly encased behind a brick wall.
Angele saw no evidence that Zahir’s feelings toward her had grown romantically. She didn’t consider his courtship in that light. It was a politically expedient tactic that might be working, but wasn’t fooling her where it counted.
In regard to his feelings.
In fact, with his absolute refusal to touch her with anything more than the briefest buss of his lips over hers in greeting or parting, she was fairly certain even the passion he’d briefly exhibited for her was long gone. While he’d shared her bed at the apartment, he always went to sleep long after her and was up before she opened her eyes in the morning.
Sure as certain, he never touched her intimately.
That didn’t stop him from having more opinions regarding their wedding than even Lou-Belia could lay claim to. Angele didn’t care what color of linens decorated the formal dining room, or how the royal crests of the Zohra and Jawhar were displayed.
Zahir cared about both and so much more. He’d even given Lou-Belia some advice concerning Angele’s trousseau. Angele had no idea what that advice was, only that Lou-Belia was beside herself that he’d offered it.
“As if I do not know exactly what fashions would best suit my own daughter,” her mother fumed as they traversed the high fashion district of Paris.
“I suppose it hasn’t occurred to either of you that I’ve been choosing my own clothing for years now?” She’d been an editorial assistant on a fashion magazine, for heaven’s sake.
Not that anyone seemed to remember that salient fact.
“You don’t want my help shopping?” Lou-Belia asked, managing to sound both hurt and patently shocked.
“Of course, I want your company.” Which was not the same thing, but she was hoping her mother would not notice.
Not that it mattered. By the end of the day, Angele had had her fill of both her mother and Zahir’s advice. Not only had he taken her mother aside, but he’d called two of
the couture shops they had appointments with and made recommendations for particular outfits for her try on.
His choices were rather sexy for a man who was back to treating her like a favored cousin.
When she muttered something to that effect, Lou-Belia said, “Nonsense. He’s treating you with respect.”
“I’d rather he treated me like a woman.”
“Apparently he’s already done that, or I wouldn’t be looking forward to becoming a grandmother before the year is out.”
Angele gave her mother a speaking glance, but shut up about Zahir’s lack of interest in the physical side of their relationship.
She didn’t stop thinking about it though. Every day he treated her like an ice princess instead of his princess brought back the pain of the years he’d ignored her for other pursuits. He’d promised her that he would not take a lover, but in the darkest hours of the night, Angele lay in her lonely bed and wondered.
Zahir helped Angele from the limousine, his bodyguards holding foreign reporters back. Their own people maintained a respectful distance, though their interest was just as avid.
It was not the first time he had brought his soon-to-be bride to one of the top restaurants in their capital for a romantic dinner. He was used to being stared at and talked about when he went into public. He was their future king. Naturally they would find him of interest.
And Angele handled the interest with aplomb, making him proud and not a little surprised by her perfected public persona.
Regardless, he usually preferred to keep his public profile to well-managed levels, but a ten-year-in-the-making courtship required extra efforts.
Not that they seemed to be making any impact on the woman who carried his child and would soon carry his name as well. She had retreated behind a smiling facade that irritated him beyond reason, because it was so different from the Angele he was accustomed to.
For as long as he could remember, Angele had looked at him with a big dose of hero worship and not a small dose of want. He’d done his best to ignore the want because for too many years, she’d been all too young. Still, it had been there. And he had grown used to it. Had in fact, no idea how much he enjoyed that state of affairs until it was gone.
