The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘And will Saskia stop crying?’

  Idris stilled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In London she used to cry when she thought I was asleep. When things broke or there was a school trip or when my shoes got holes. When we moved here she stopped crying until Maya died. Now she cries every night. She thinks I don’t hear her but I do. I don’t want her to cry any more.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Idris said softly, the weight of his responsibilities bearing down on him. It had been too easy to forget about Jack, but the boy wasn’t just Saskia’s charge, he was Idris’s too. And, like his big sister, he had been carrying burdens that were far too heavy for him. Idris knew what it was like to be young and helpless and yet feel that the weight of the whole family rested on your shoulders. He could at least relieve Jack of his load. ‘Let me worry about Saskia, okay? You worry about school and homework. Deal?’

  Jack didn’t move but some of the tension left his body. ‘Then I guess I don’t mind staying. Dan’s dad is going to teach us to ride and to sail and that will be cool.’

  Idris made a mental note to get Dan and his family checked out. ‘We have horses and boats at the palace.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘We do,’ he corrected the boy. ‘I married Saskia and that makes us family.’

  ‘The baby too? Saskia has to be its mum now Maya isn’t here to take care of it.’ The big brown eyes turned their disconcertingly direct gaze on Idris. ‘And you are going to be its dad.’

  A dad. Idris stared back at the small boy as the word echoed round and round in his head. He’d known he would be the baby’s father and that was fine; father was a more formal word, a more formal role. It called to mind school reports and admonishments. Guiding and helping. But a dad? A dad was a whole other being. A dad loved and played. A dad stood on the sidelines at a match and cheered. A dad held hands during first footsteps and carried small people on broad shoulders. A dad read stories and checked under the bed for monsters. He could be a father but could he be a dad? A good dad?

  He was aware that Jack was waiting for a response and tried a smile. ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Saskia says it makes no difference, that I’m still her boy. She says that’s the amazing thing about love, that it just keeps expanding to fit all the people you need it to fit. She says I’ll love the baby too but I don’t know. My friend Dan has a baby sister and he says she does nothing but cry and get messy and he can’t play with her. I don’t think that sounds like a lot of fun.’

  ‘Babies aren’t that much fun at first,’ Idris agreed. ‘But I think they grow on you. I don’t have much experience of them myself.’ He suppressed the urge to look at his phone. He’d hear if there was a call and he didn’t want to worry Jack any further. ‘What do you want to do? We could sit around here and worry or we could do something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘What do you like to do?’

  ‘Well,’ Jack confided. ‘In London we mostly went to museums and parks because they’re free but it’s a bit hot for parks and I don’t know where the museums are.’

  Idris’s mind flew to the stables. To how he and his grandfather seemed to strengthen their bond every time they went there. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the palace and you can check out your rooms—and then we can see about your first riding lesson.’

  * * *

  ‘Saskia!’

  All she wanted to do was sink into the firm, cool pillows and float away, but Saskia forced herself to sit up and smile as Jack ran into the room. ‘Hey there, my boy. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’ve been to the palace and I have not one, not two, but three rooms all to myself. And a bathroom! And there’s a staircase which takes me to your courtyard so I’m not far away. And Idris gave me a riding lesson and says I have a very good seat.’

  Saskia blinked at the torrent of words. ‘Goodness. Sounds like you’ve been busy.’

  ‘Idris says I can have a horse all of my own when I show I’m ready to take care of him, if you say it’s okay. It is okay, isn’t it?’

  She looked over Jack’s head and met Idris’s eyes. He was lounging against the far wall of her hospital room—a room much more luxurious than many five-star hotels could boast. He didn’t look bored or strained; he looked amused. A quiver of hope ran through her. Jack needed a father figure; she was well aware of that. If Idris took a liking to him it would make such a difference to the boy’s life. He’d never complained about not having the time and money to do the things his school friends took for granted but she knew their straitened, cramped existence wasn’t much fun for a growing and active boy. At least money and space were no longer issues, although myriad other problems had cropped up in their place like some kind of hydra; she sorted one obstacle only to find another three in its place.

  ‘I’m sure it is. A horse is a big responsibility though so make sure it’s what you really want. Now, are you ready to meet...?’ She paused. ‘Well, technically he’s your nephew. Do you want to be Uncle Jack or shall we go with brothers? Up to you.’

  ‘I’m the oldest either way but I don’t feel ready to be an uncle yet,’ her brother confided and Saskia suppressed a smile at the solemn note in his voice.

  ‘How about you, Idris?’ She swallowed. The marriage was about to begin in earnest; there would be no going back once Idris acknowledged the baby as his. ‘Do you want to meet your son?’

  He nodded, those dark eyes still fixed on her, and Saskia smiled an instruction at the nurse. ‘They put him in another room so I could get some sleep,’ she said. It had physically hurt her when they took him away, even though she knew he was warm and safe and looked after. She could have sat and looked at him for an eternity and never got bored. For the first time she wondered what she would have done if Maya had still been alive. Was this instant rush of utter love because she knew he was hers to love and care for or would she have felt like this anyway? Would giving him up have torn her in two? She would never have to find out but, for the first time, Saskia was easier about the choices she had made and the life that lay ahead. It might not be what she had dreamed of but her brother and son would be with her and safe. She wasn’t trapped, she was lucky.

  She straightened as the nurse brought the baby, bundled up in a white blanket, into the room, shaking her head when the nurse made to hand him to her, even though every fibre in her wanted to reach out and take him and never let him go. ‘It’s time he meets his father,’ she said, her gaze fixed on Idris.

  Uncertainty played over Idris’s face but he pushed off the wall and allowed the nurse to settle the baby in his arms. He pushed the cloth off the baby’s head and stared down at the small, wrinkled face. Saskia held her breath.

  Please let him love him.

  He looked up, finally, his eyes suspiciously wet. ‘He looks like an Al Osman,’ he said gruffly and she knew exactly what he was trying to say: The baby looks like Fayaz. He did; from the silky black hair to the dark eyes, the coffee-coloured skin such a contrast to her own, he was Fayaz’s son through and through. She swallowed, fighting back her own tears, grief rising once again for the young parents who would never meet their perfect son. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a look of you too.’

  She almost snorted. ‘Me? There’s nothing of me in there, which after all I went through feels a little wrong.’

  ‘Oh, there is, a certain expression, a tilt of the chin. He might not have inherited your red hair but I am pretty sure he’s inherited your stubbornness.’ He looked across, his expression soft. ‘Was it very bad?’

  She shot a quick glance at Jack but he didn’t seem to be listening, standing close to Idris and engrossed in pulling faces at the baby. ‘I’ve never been torn apart by wild horses but I imagine it was close.’

  He grimaced. ‘Lovely.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t. Maya was keen
I try and do it all naturally although, believe me, nothing about that felt natural, but in the end I had no choice. It all happened very quickly, too quickly they said. I couldn’t have had drugs if I had wanted.’ She blew a breath out, trying to wipe away the memories of those shocking, agonising hours; she’d felt so alone despite the team of doctors, despite her personal midwife and doula. She’d needed a friend, someone she trusted to tell her it was all going to be okay. She had even wished that she hadn’t sent Idris to Jack, had asked him to come with her. He might not be friendly but he was familiar. ‘So, what shall we call him?’

  He glanced up, surprised. ‘I get a say?’

  ‘You are the dad.’

  Surprise and something she couldn’t read flared in the dark eyes. He didn’t answer for a while; when he did his voice was hoarse. ‘Something that works for all of us. Something Dalmayan, French and English for a baby with all those cultures in him.’

  Saskia’s heart clenched at his words. By including France in there Idris had claimed the baby as his in the most natural way possible. ‘That makes it easy. It’s going to narrow down the choices anyway! What do you think, Jack? Any favourite names?’

  Her brother frowned. ‘Harry after Harry Potter?’

  She nodded. That would work. ‘Maybe. Idris? What do you think?’

  He was looking deep into the baby’s eyes. A private communion. At her words he glanced up. ‘Did Maya and Fayaz have any preferences, do you know?’

  ‘I think they mentioned Sami. It means...’

  ‘It means exalted,’ Idris said softly, staring down at the baby. ‘A big meaning for a little person. Do you like it?’

  ‘Yes. I really do. Do you?’

  ‘Yes. Come along, Prince Sami Harper Delacour Al Osman, I think your mother wants you.’ Carefully holding the baby, he walked slowly across the room, bending as he handed Saskia her son. Their hands met and for the first time in weeks Saskia didn’t flinch away, holding his gaze, answering his smile with one of hers. He had claimed her son, accepted her brother and by doing so he had bound her to him irrevocably. For the first time that didn’t feel quite so much like a prison sentence. For the first time Saskia hoped they could really be a family.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘THAT WILL BE ALL, thank you.’ Saskia smiled at her assistant, breathing a sigh of relief when the diminutive brunette left the courtyard Saskia tended to use as a living-room-cum-office. It wasn’t that Saskia didn’t want to be busy, to be useful, but she was hoping for something more interesting than learning how to address an ambassador and the exact depth of curtsey needed when she met another Queen.

  She had come to the palace straight from the hospital. A huge, sprawling, ancient monument in marble, the Al Osman seat of power felt more like some kind of gigantic temple combined with a government building than a home. High walls kept the city at bay but the palace complex was as busy as any thriving metropolis: armed guards, civil servants, advisors, gardeners, drivers, maids and cooks working and in many cases living inside the gates.

  Saskia and the boys were housed at one end of the building, their rooms at the back away from the hustle and bustle of the formal governing offices and chambers. Saskia’s own suite was on the first floor: a bedroom, sitting room, small but well equipped gym, study, bathroom and dressing room arranged around an internal courtyard. Her rooms were traditionally decorated with jewel-coloured mosaics and cool, marble floors, bright throws, rugs and cushions softening the effect. The bedroom and sitting room both had doors leading onto the terrace, which boasted a small infinity pool as well as shaded hammocks and seats overlooking the vast, lush gardens. Not that she could reach the gardens, not without travelling through what felt like acres of corridors and down staircases, flanked at all times by her guards and maids. It was easier to stay on her terrace and look out.

  Sami had his own suite next to hers: a bedroom, nursery, bathroom and en suite accommodation for his three attendants, and Jack’s rooms were on the floor above, a secret staircase connecting his playroom directly to Saskia’s courtyard. She didn’t know where Idris’s rooms were; she hadn’t been invited to see them.

  Living in the palace was like being a guest in a sumptuous hotel: lovely at first but cloying after a while. For the first six weeks, still adjusting to the demands of a tiny baby and healing from the birth, it had been wonderful to have no demands made on her at all. No laundry, no meals to even plan let alone cook, no need to lift a finger or use her brain in any way. It had been the same at the villa but there the staff had been much, much smaller, the villa her domain. If she wanted to cook or bake the kitchen was hers to use or not. Here she had no idea where the kitchens were. She relayed her instructions to one of her maids, or phoned or even ordered online. Just like a hotel.

  Odd how appealing her old staple of beans on toast seemed now, eaten at the kitchen counter, book in one hand, cup of tea right by the other.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Startled, Saskia looked up. She hadn’t even heard Idris come in—but then her rooms were about as private as Piccadilly Circus, an ever-rotating crew of cleaners, florists, stylists, masseuses and aides wandering in and out seemingly at will. ‘Funny?’

  ‘You were smiling.’

  Were her smiles that rare? She realised with a shock they probably were, especially when he was around. Grateful as she was for the way he seemed to have taken to the boys—and they to him—the past was still too present, too raw, especially after its exhumation on the night of the wedding. She wanted to find a way to be friends, partners, but she couldn’t help being wary. She had to protect her bruised heart somehow.

  ‘I was just thinking that only a year ago I would have been happy never to eat beans on toast ever again—and now it sounds like the most delicious meal imaginable.’

  ‘Order it, then. There are plenty of British supermarkets around if the kitchens don’t have any in stock. Which they probably don’t have,’ he added with a superior sneer, which was all French.

  ‘I can’t order it, Idris. That’s not the point of beans on toast.’

  He didn’t reply, just raised a sardonic eyebrow and she shut her mouth with a snap, achingly aware of how entitled she sounded before trying again. ‘It’s not the beans exactly.’

  ‘It’s not? That’s a relief. The palace chef has earned Michelin stars at three different establishments. If he knew you were yearning for baked beans he would walk out on me.’

  ‘The truth is...’ Saskia looked around her, at the gorgeous courtyard in which she sat. Trees shaded the shallow long pool filled with fish, plants growing with an abandon not allowed in the extensively manicured gardens, at the carved wooden benches laden with cushions, the coloured lights that came on with a tap of an app. There was even a large TV screen hidden behind a mosaic if she wanted her own secret cinema experience. ‘I’m bored.’

  That eyebrow again. One day she would shave it off. That would teach him. ‘Bored? You’ve just had a baby. I thought being a new mother was meant to be tiring and hard. I didn’t know there was time to be bored.’

  Stay calm, Saskia.

  ‘Most new parents don’t have night nannies, day nannies and nursery maids,’ she pointed out. ‘They are trying to fit in never-ending piles of laundry, buying nappies and snatching sleep. My laundry is done for me, the nursery is equipped with everything Sami needs before I know he needs it, I get more sleep than I ever have before.’ She blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Listen to me. It’s not that I’m not grateful. I got six weeks to rest up and recover and thanks to all the amazing people who have been helping me and taking care of me I actually feel fitter than before I got pregnant. I know how incredibly privileged I am.’ She paused, trying to find the right words to express her frustrations.

  ‘For the last seven years I’ve worked and taken care of Jack and started studying for my degree
but now I’m not needed to take Jack to school or make his snack or supervise his homework or make sure he has everything he needs. And I know that I should be relieved to be freed of some of that work but I’m not made to do nothing. I can’t even get on with my degree; I didn’t register to study online this year because I expected to be back in London by now. And part of me wonders what the point of studying even is if I’m never going to be able to practise anyway.’

  Now she had started venting she realised she couldn’t stem the words if she wanted to. ‘I spend my days working out, letting the stylist tell me what to order and learning about etiquette. The highlight of my day is when Jack gets back from school and I’m not alone any more. Truth is I thought I was hemmed in in that tiny flat of ours but at least I was free to walk out the door whenever I wanted...’

  ‘You’re free here.’

  ‘If I take my maid and the guards.’

  He didn’t deny it. ‘It’s safer that way.’

  ‘In the palace? In my home? These apartments are gorgeous but I have barely set foot outside them in three months. I need a purpose, Idris.’

  ‘There’s time.’ To her surprise he walked purposefully across the room and sat on the bench by her side. It was a long, wide bench, made for reclining, it should have been plenty big enough for two, but his proximity made the bench shrink or maybe she, like Alice, had grown bigger. He was dressed in Western clothes, light linen trousers and a short white shirt. Saskia stared at his forearms, at the light smattering of dark hair on olive skin, trying not to remember how it felt when she used to slide her hands along his arms, the strength in every muscle, the way his hands would capture hers. ‘We haven’t even planned the Coronation yet.’

  ‘The Coronation?’ Her stomach contracted at the thought of the pomp and circumstance surrounding such a huge event. At the thought of the publicity. She’d had a tiny taste of notoriety after her father’s death; there was nothing like a former society girl brought low to get the paparazzi salivating, and she had no desire to ever be in the spotlight again.