by Holly Rayner
The moment the kiss broke, one of the boy babies’ eyes opened wide, showing bright blues, like Lisa’s.
Lisa’s smile stretched wide. “What should we name them?”
“We haven’t had time to think about it, have we?” Francesco laughed. “We haven’t had time to talk about anything.”
“But we can’t let them live without names for so long,” Lisa said, sighing. “They need identities in this mad world.”
“But good identities,” he affirmed. “Identities that will stand up in the Kingdom of Aluzzi, which also link to your world, back in Detroit.”
The couple thought for a moment. Lisa eyed the baby whose bright blues scanned the room’s horizon, searching for some sign of the world, but finding nothing but plastic and plaster.
“Oscar,” she said then, nodding her head toward him. “I think he looks like an Oscar.”
“Prince Oscar,” Francesco said, tilting his head toward the cooing baby. “I think that has a ring to it. Don’t you?”
“Of course,” Lisa said, smiling. “The world is his, now.”
“And it’s also Fiona’s world,” Francesco said, nodding toward the little girl.
“Fiona?” Lisa breathed. “I love that. I can’t tell you how much I do.”
“And what about this little guy?” Francesco asked, looking stumped. A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “Something of the caliber of Fiona and Oscar. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Something from your world,” Lisa said, her eyelashes fluttering. “Something Aluzzian. Something strong.”
Francesco nodded, pausing for several long moments, during which he seemed to race through every name he’d ever known, growing up.
“Something with a bit of personality from both of us,” he decided, then. “Eduardo. It was my uncle’s name—a man with incredible bravery, who died in battle. And we can call him Eddie. Which suits your world rather well, now, doesn’t it?”
Lisa agreed, beaming. She slipped her fingers across her babies’ cheeks, inhaling their warm smells, and then kissed them all goodnight as they drifted back to sleep. “Fiona. Oscar. And Eduardo,” she said, scarcely able to believe it. “Two princes, and a princess. They’re already spoiled.”
“Don’t forget about yourself,” the Prince said then, his eyebrows high.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll be a princess, too, you know.”
“How’s that?” Lisa asked, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I’m no princess. I’m from blue-collar Detroit.”
“And you will be my wife,” Francesco said, his gaze intense. “If you’ll have me.”
Lisa’s breath caught in her throat. She nodded quickly, tears forming in her eyes, until he kissed her, sealing her yes. She leaned heavily into the pillow, watching as Francesco planted each baby into his or her cradle, before joining beside her on the white sheets and cuddling her until she fell asleep.
The world was a raucous, strange place. But there, tucked away in the Upper West Side hospital, surrounded by her new family, Lisa felt utterly serene. For the first time in her entire life, she felt peace.
The End
The Sheikh’s Twin Baby Surprise
Time for a tease!
Up next I’ve included the first few chapters of The Sheikh’s Twin Baby Surprise, the first in my series, More Than He Bargained For
Happy reading!
Copyright 2018 by Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
2nd Edition.
Chapter 1
I let out a deep sigh and looked out the limo window. Evening was falling on the desert city like elegant drapery, lights flickering on in buildings and street shops, but the streets were no less bustling than usual.
The culture of Al-Thakri was a lively, social one, and it showed in every inch of its capital city. Beautiful women clapped along the sidewalks in stiletto heels and smart skirts, while men in fine, tailored suits bid them good evening, phones plastered to their ears.
Dotted in between the modern skyscrapers and high-rises, the buildings of old Al-Thakri remained, sand and limestone facades that had survived centuries of wear and war and desert heat to stand as testaments of a glorious past. The sphinx—the symbol of Al-Thakri—was everywhere, used as decoration on buildings new and old alike.
The place was a wonderland; a fairy tale I never would have thought I’d be able to experience.
And yet, even so soon after arriving, I was considering leaving it all behind. It had only been six months since I had been scooped up by the royal family of this beautiful nation to serve as a private doctor to the eldest son, but it felt like much longer.
The limo came to a smooth stop at a traffic light, and at the edge of my attention I heard a soft but insistent voice.
“Dr. Green? What are you thinking?”
It was Omar—or, more properly, the Sheikh of Al-Thakri, next in line to the throne, and my employer.
I turned at the sound of his voice, and saw his dark, handsome face staring back at me with some anticipation. His deep brown eyes glittered. In front of him, he was holding up two velvet boxes, each of which contained a pair of cufflinks.
“Diamond or ruby?” he asked me earnestly.
I took a thoughtful glance at each of the options and let my eyes wander over Omar’s face, and his perfectly tailored tuxedo. Something bright was shining in his eyes tonight.
“Ruby,” I said, pointing a freshly manicured finger at the velvet box on the right.
Omar smiled, as if he had been hoping for that answer. He snapped the box holding the diamond cufflinks shut. “Good choice.”
“I’m not really qualified to make decisions like that, you know,” I said back to him with just a hint of teasing in my voice. “My stylist at the palace would agree. She almost fainted when she saw the wardrobe I brought with me. So my apologies if you happen to get any comments about your cufflinks tonight.”
Omar laughed richly, and a happy bloom spread out in my chest as I laughed with him.
I didn’t add that it was nice to be of some use around him lately. As a physician who had spent two years treating patients in war-torn countries with Doctors Without Borders, the current environment was giving me more than a touch of the doldrums. It wasn’t something I had admitted to the Sheikh—I was having a hard enough time admitting it to myself.
The luxurious living that came with being included in the royal entourage was amazing. The fact that I had earned enough money in six months not only to deal with the angry letters regarding my overdue student loan payments, but also to put away a sizable nest egg for the next journey in my life, were benefits for which I was extremely grateful. But there wasn’t much use for a trauma physician in the entourage of a healthy, young, handsome Sheikh who never got more than the occasional scrape from playing tennis. He hadn’t even caught a cold once the entire six months I had been in his employment. Frankly, I was bored out of my mind, and more than a little upset at the implications my boredom made about me as a person.
Maybe I was a terrible person, but the dullness of my employment here made me long for the dust and heat of the field hospitals where my hands actually felt like they were making a difference in the world. I saved countless lives in those two years—and lost a few, to be sure, ghosts that follow every doctor, nurse and midwife in the world. But there was no question that I was making a difference. There was no question that I was loved and appreciated by the people I helped.
&n
bsp; But here? In the air-conditioned, oil-rich cities of Al-Thakri, living alongside some of the richest rulers in the world, I wasn’t so sure I was making a difference at all, and it was starting to grate on me.
At least I knew how to pick out a pair of cufflinks, I thought bitterly.
“Almost arrived, sir,” the driver, Abdul, called from the front of the limo.
“Wonderful,” said Omar. He finished putting on the cufflinks and gave me a big, beaming smile.
It made my stomach flutter. I did my best to keep from blushing as I smiled back.
The smile—and the butterflies—died quickly when Omar spoke. “I hope Jada is wearing something with a fiery tint to it. It will match the rubies.”
I nodded quickly and turned back to look through the window. “Yes, it would,” I said quietly.
I didn’t want to talk about his date—not this one, nor any of the others he’d had lately. In the past six months, an endless parade of heiresses and princesses had rotated in and out of the Sheikh’s life, all vying for his favor. He’d been set to take the throne ever since the death of his father, some months before I arrived, but he would need a queen alongside him to make it proper—a queen who would give him an heir to continue the royal bloodline.
I couldn’t quite admit to myself just how much it was beginning to hurt to watch the courtships from afar.
I’d long ago stopped resenting the girls personally, and I expected that Jada would be no different. Most of them were too vapid and shallow to hate properly; instead, they had become a faceless mass of competition for a man who didn’t even realize I felt anything for him.
Somehow, that made it all worse.
The car glided to a halt on the curb next to a glittering, high-rise building. Smartly-dressed shoppers glanced curiously at the tinted windows, but didn’t slow their pace down the landscaped sidewalk.
We’d barely waited a moment before the doors of the high-rise were opened by a doorman in a maroon uniform, and out from behind him came the woman who must have been Jada.
I felt a pit form in my stomach; she was a goddess with tanned skin, black hair, and a body like a supermodel. Her plump lips were stained a beautiful shade of red, and her black eyeliner was painted in a perfect cat’s eye that would have taken me weeks to apply on my own. I said a silent prayer for the stylists in the palace that I was able to access.
Of course, she was wearing red.
As she approached the car, I moved to sit next to Rafiq, Omar’s most trusted bodyguard who never left his side. Jada stepped into the car, moving carefully in her stiletto heels, and sat down next to Omar, smiling beautifully as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. She gushed over him until she noticed the rest of the entourage in the limo—myself and Rafiq—and her face squished like she smelled something rotten.
“This is my physician, Dr. Carrie Green,” Omar said, with a hand extended my direction. “She and Rafiq are my constant companions.”
“Constant?” repeated Jada suspiciously. “Why do you need a doctor everywhere you go? Are you ill?”
“No, no,” laughed Omar, sliding an arm around the back of the seat and her thin shoulders. “But a man in my position can’t afford to take any risks with my health. If someone were to make an attempt on my life, Dr. Green here could be the one to save me.” He looked at me with a glint in his eye. I smiled back.
“Someone is trying to assassinate you?” Jada’s voice sounded like she couldn’t decide if she was afraid or impressed—maybe a little of both.
Omar shrugged. “One never knows where the streets of his journey will take him.”
Jada said nothing in reply as the royal motorcade pulled back onto the streets, and I couldn’t help assuming that she was wondering if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
Chapter 2
Omar had hired out the grand ballroom of the city’s most exquisite hotel to serve as the venue for the party. I’d been by Omar’s side for plenty of black tie affairs, but none of them compared to the opulence of this one—the birthday party for his mother, Mirah, Queen Regent of Al-Thakri.
Paparazzi flash bulbs strobed against the tinted windows of the car as the limo circled the driveway and headed up toward the gilded front doors. Photographers crushed against each other to try and get as close as they could, while the black-suited security detail worked just as hard to form a chain and keep the vultures at a safe distance.
My nerves lit up, as they always did when I had to step out in public as part of Omar’s entourage. I still hadn’t got used to all the glitz, all the noise, all the attention poured on the Sheikh and his family. It wasn’t something a girl like me was used to dealing with, and I wasn’t sure it ever would be.
But Jada was clearly not a girl like me. Her thin, delicate hand, glittering with jewelry, reached over to clutch at Omar’s hand, and my stomach jumbled in a wave of nausea.
“Sir, we’re ready when you are. Security is in position,” said the driver. He put the car in park but did not kill the ignition—in the blazing, Middle-Eastern sun, every heartbeat without the air-conditioning was unbearable.
“Thank you, Abdul,” replied Omar. He leaned closely to Jada. “My dear, would you do me the honor of stepping out first so the crowd can see what a divine woman I’ve been graced with this evening?”
I couldn’t look at them anymore. I opened up the sequined clutch purse that matched the hue of my midnight blue dress and dug out the lipstick and compact mirror I had stuffed in there. Rafiq was responsible for carrying my triage bag; all I had to do tonight was look like I belonged at this glamorous party and try to have a good time.
Ignoring the canoodling happening on the seat beside me, I reapplied my lipstick with care, despite the fact that it looked as perfect as it had when we left. The stylists at the palace had done my light blond hair into a sophisticated up-do, and borrowed diamond earrings dangled from my ears—dripping waterfalls of sparkling gems that matched the necklace on my chest.
I almost didn’t recognize myself, and couldn’t think of a single instance in my life where I’d been so gussied up before. I tried to enjoy it instead of focusing on the heartache—or comparing myself to Jada. Her tall, lithe form was goddess-like in comparison to mine. I was average height, with curves and a flat stomach, and while I had never had trouble attracting men, there also weren’t a lot of women of Jada’s caliber in the dusty towns of Ohio.
Not comparing myself to her was easier said than done, particularly when Omar leaned in to whisper something in her ear, making her giggle as she nuzzled against his clean-shaven face. My stomach tensed as my imagination went wild.
After a few excruciating moments, the valet outside received the signal from the driver and opened the rear of the limo. A furnace of heat rolled into the car, despite the sun setting stubbornly behind the cityscape, and the sounds of the crowd and photographers became loud and unsettling.
Like a practiced starlet, Jada stepped out of the limo and onto the soft red carpet with a beaming smile. Omar followed suit, and as I waited to follow them out, I could see one of his strong hands resting on the small of her back as he walked her into the building.
Rafiq was staring at me when I looked over at him.
“What?” I asked curiously.
He nodded towards the hotel. “Tonight will be the night, yes?”
“The night for what?”
“The night you tell His Highness about the truth of what is in your heart.”
Cheeks flushing, I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No need to lie to me, Doctor. I won’t be the one to share this secret.”
“There is no secret,” I replied with a little hiss in my voice, and Rafiq only shrugged and didn’t press the point.
Carefully, I made my way towards the limo door to step out and follow the Sheikh with Rafiq close behind. The paparazzi didn’t give a damn about the two of us, thankfully; we were just the help. We trailed a few steps behind Om
ar and Jada as they made a show of their approach to the hotel.
Inside, the ballroom had been turned into an exquisite banquet hall, large enough to hold the hundreds of guests invited by the royal family. Debutantes, kings, ambassadors, and even a few journalists mingled in the huge and well-dressed crowd.
As my eyes scanned the room, I realized that well-dressed was an understatement. I had never been in a room full of so much decadence—and that was saying a lot after this job. Giant chandeliers studded the dark ceiling, dripping with crystals that shuddered when the hall doors closed. Round tables with crisp white linens had been arranged throughout, with gilded table settings surrounding exquisite centerpieces bursting with colorful blooms and feathers. Guests mingled, moving around the tables like shoals of fish, their feet sinking into the plush maroon carpet.
The women in the room looked like they could have been drawn to life by animators of some fairy tale movie, moving with grace and poise in dresses that ran five and six figures, at a conservative guess. Rhinestones and diamonds glittered under the lights, making shining stars of the beautiful women flashing around the room. While most of the men were dressed much more uniformly, there was no denying the attractiveness of their tailored suits, fresh-cut hair, and pampered skin.
My stylist had selected my gown for the evening, something from a designer I’d never heard of, but which she assured me was top quality. Nonetheless, it was hard not to feel insecure in a room full of rich, beautiful, high-class women, even if you were masquerading as one of them.
Fortunately, no one was worried about looking at me. I was just a shadow trailing behind Omar and Jada as they soaked up the attention. Watching Jada cling to his arm tightly, comfortably, I suddenly realized why my stylist had picked out a dark blue dress for me to wear: the color helped me fade out behind the Sheikh’s party—behind his actual date.
