Ellie fell into the bed beside him, holding him tight, kissing him, whispering to him in Spanish, the phrases he’d taught her to express her love in his native tongue, and he kissed her back as the very last piece of their puzzle slid firmly into place.
“I remember you,” he groaned into her mouth. “All of you.”
She sobbed, because it was too utterly perfect.
Four months later, just after Joshua’s Christmas concert at school, the family of three was heading to their favourite Italian restaurant for dinner when Ellie’s waters broke and an intense contraction set upon her.
Already driving with his trademark confidence, Xavier sped up, cutting through the streets of London and finding his way to the hospital in record time.
“Have you called Arabella?” Ellie asked, as she gripped her stomach.
Xavier supported her with one arm and his other hand clutched Joshua’s.
“I texted when your waters broke. She’s on her way.”
Arabella, far from being a figure Ellie envied, had become one of her closest friends. It was hard to hate a woman who’d long ago stopped loving your husband, but who’d cared for him enough to marry him, just to stop him from hurting. And Arabella adored Joshua, and had taken on the post of honorary Aunt to him.
They arrived at the hospital in record time – heaven help anyone that got in their way! Xavier found a wheelchair and seated Ellie in it, despite her insistence that she was fine to walk. But as the elevator took her upwards, she had to admit she was grateful for the support. She’d heard that second babies could be born much faster than firsts and it felt like this one was rushing out of her.
“We need a doctor!” She called.
“Ellie! Xave!” Arabella was already in the maternity ward, and at the sight of them, she ran quickly through the hallway. “Are you okay?” She directed the question at Ellie but it was Joshua who answered.
“I’m great. I was a Wise Man.”
Arabella giggled. “I know. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“We’re fine. We just need to find a doctor,” Ellie said.
“This way!” Arabella gestured towards a central nursing station. And as they approached it, Ellie did a double take. The nurse’s hair was pink now, but it was unmistakably, unforgettably, the same nurse who’d helped her all those years ago, when Xavier had been injured.
“It’s you!” The nurse exclaimed. “And you!” Her eyes lifted to Xavier and then slid to Arabella and she blushed. “It’s the whole gang.”
Neither Arabella nor Xavier remembered the nurse and just then Ellie had a severe contraction that meant a walk down memory lane had to wait.
“This way,” the nurse said, her smile wide as she guided the trio of adults down the corridor, Joshua following obliviously in their wake. An enormous birthing suite awaited them, and a doctor was quickly called.
“I’ll take Josh home,” Arabella said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. “Good luck, mama. Call me as soon as you can.” She winked at Xavier then scooped Josh up. “Well, little man? Ice cream time?”
“No, Bella,” Xavier and Ellie called in unison but Bella pretended not to hear, winking exaggeratedly at her young friend instead.
And Ellie had bigger fish to fry.
The delivery was, indeed, fast, with their daughter arriving into the world in record time – before a doctor had even had a chance to arrive. Their nurse and a midwife oversaw everything.
“I expected a boy,” Ellie said with a smile, staring at their perfect child. “I had only boy names picked.”
“I have the perfect name for a daughter,” he said softly, stroking the little one’s thick black hair.
“Yes?”
“Elita,” he said, smiling at Ellie. “It means Chosen One. And she is - chosen by fate and destiny to join our little family.”
Ellie sighed. “It’s perfect.”
And then, the nurse returned, bringing with her a tray of food and a pot of tea. “Would you like me to take a photo?” The nurse offered, gesturing towards the three of them.
Ellie nodded, and held Xavier’s hand as the nurse snapped their first photo with their little girl. And then, tears in her eyes, she reached for the nurse’s hand. “Now one with you.”
The nurse grinned and nodded, calling for another staff member to take the picture.
“Thank you,” Ellie said earnestly.
“I’m just glad to see how well things worked out for you,” the nurse said.
“You and me both!” And when they were alone, Ellie explained, finally, the story to Xavier. He listened, enthralled, for he hadn’t known until that moment all the details of that day. His wife’s pain and perseverance, the love that had brought her to him. But then, another fragment of memories unlocked in his mind.
“I dreamed of your voice,” he said. “When I woke, I was sure that a mermaid had come from the sea to tell me to get well. I presumed it was an hallucination but now I know: it was you.”
Ellie sighed, her soul bursting with pleasure.
Three days later, they took their baby home, and three became four. Two years later, four became six, with the addition of twin girls, and finally, the Salbatore family was complete, and so bursting with love that no house on earth could easily contain them. Just as well then that they had several, and travelled between them as the fancy took them – living, loving and reveling in the life they’d made together.
And, like all star-destined beings, they lived exquisitely, deliriously happily ever after…
THE END
I hope you loved CLAIMING HIS SECRET BABY, the third book in
THE EVERMORE SERIES.
If you have a spare moment, I’d be so grateful if you’d click through and leave an honest review/star rating of this book, to help other readers of romance find CLAIMING HIS SECRET BABY. Thank you so very much!
So, what next in the series? Well, I hope you thought Arabella had an interesting story to tell because Bella’s book will be coming later in the year … and it will be a Christmas book. Hurrah! Sign up to my newsletter for the pre-release bulletin.
Following is an excerpt from the bestselling THE SHEIKH’S SECRET BABY.
THE SHEIKH’S SECRET BABY
by
CLARE CONNELLY
“The baby was more than just that; the infant was Hope.
A birth of newness and a promise of stability –
With his arrival came splendour and wealth and the kingdom was blessed once more.”
- The tale of The First Sheikh of Delani, 17 A.D
PROLOGUE
“THE WEDDING IS OFF.”
Four words, so simple and precise, seemed to reverberate around the ceremonial temple with undue force.
From where she sat in the front row, Jalilah couldn’t see the response her brother’s statement had wrought.
But she could feel it.
Murmured words raced at her like a high-speed train.
He was upset.
Not many in the room would be able to discern that fact, but Lilah knew him well.
His handsome face was grim, his expression intentionally kept blank, but there was something in his eyes that Lilah alone understood. A muscle flexed in his jaw and his shoulders were tense.
She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned forward subconsciously. What’s happened? She thought the incantation over and over, until his eyes clashed fiercely with hers.
She stood without meaning to, and as she moved towards him, the room silenced. A simple look from her brother stilled her movement.
“The wedding is off.” This time, he addressed the words straight at her, before sweeping from the room with the confidence that came naturally to a man such as him. He had been born to power and that power ran through his veins as blood did mere mortals’.
For as long as she could remember, this wedding had been spoken of. The union between the dashing, powerful Kiral Mazroui and the stunning princess Melania of the distant k
ingdom of Assing had been planned for almost their entire lives.
What could possibly have happened to put an end to such a perfect plan?
CHAPTER ONE
One week earlier.
THE SUN WAS COMPLETELY UNRELENTING. Just as Abi had imagined it might be. Though the ocean curved around the distant capital city, the monoliths of steel and glass were thick and heavy between her and the sea’s cool relief. There was no refreshing breeze offered here.
Only sultry sunshine and dust, and the ceaseless din of fevered crowds.
Her eyes scanned the assortment of people crushed against the palace gates. Beggars in tatty clothing had their slender hands extended in the hope that the royal household would favour them. With money or food, Abi couldn’t have said. She only knew that she would soon be doing exactly the same thing – asking the palace for money – and the thought filled her with despair.
Oblivious to the fettered crowd of paupers stood tourists like her. Yet not like her. They were smiling happily, selfie-sticks extended high against the backdrop of the crisp blue sky, eyes crinkling as they pulled picture-perfect faces to immortalise a single moment. The palace was the backdrop they all chose. And why not? It was a splendour beyond comprehension.
Her throat was dry and it had little to do with the temperature, or the fact she’d felt almost unbearably hot since she’d arrived in the capital that morning. No. It was the palace itself, and the man contained somewhere within its sprawling walls.
Abi had come to Delani with no idea what to expect. How could she have? By the time he’d told her that he was a powerful ruler of a faraway desert kingdom, it had been impossible for Abi to ask him about his country. He had broken the news to her at the same time that he’d broken up with her: in one fell swoop she’d lost the man she’d fallen in love with and realized that he’d never existed.
Delani, then, was a mystery to Abigail. She had a vague understanding of its geography, and she knew that it was supremely wealthy, but beyond that, she was clueless.
Now, staring at the palace she’d seen only once before – in the pages of the guidebook the travel agent had excitedly shown her when she’d booked her flight – she was engulfed by a sense of wariness.
This was going to be a disaster.
Her nerves bundled inside her chest and her heart hammered hopelessly. The guard who’d refused to help her was still at his post, his outfit unmistakably military; his weapon undoubtedly real – and loaded.
Sweat had beaded around her neck and was running in rivulets between her breasts. She wished, more than anything, she was back in New York in the comfort of her apartment, with Michael in her arms.
Ordinarily the thought of her adorable son would have brought a smile to her face, but this was not an ordinary day. She’d come to Delani to beg for help from a man she had sworn she would never contact again. Her success was vital. If she didn’t succeed … she couldn’t bear to contemplate what she’d do if he refused her request.
She couldn’t let any harm befall Michael. She couldn’t! And surely he wouldn’t. After all, Michael was his son too. His responsibility.
She swallowed.
The knot of tension was palpable. It was a noose around her mind; a nail in her heart.
For years she’d avoided this. For years she’d worried about the words she’d use if she ever had to tell him the truth. What would she say to him? How could she explain to one of the most powerful men on earth that their brief union – it hadn’t even been a month – had resulted in a little boy? A son she’d kept from him? She had worried endlessly about that conversation over the years, and yet she’d never imagined that she wouldn’t have it. That she would be prevented from even speaking to him again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, furious at herself for the foolish miscalculation. He was an Emir, and she’d expected what? That she could just fly into his country, drop this particularly messy bombshell, beg for his help and then fly home again unscathed?
She cursed herself now for throwing out his business card. He’d given it to her so reluctantly; his expression had been one of cold detachment. It had obviously been a sop. Something he’d aimed to placate her with despite the fact he was leaving her heart broken. And so she’d ripped it up and sworn she’d never, not in a thousand years, think of him again. Of course she hadn’t known then about the tiny little life in her belly.
How many hours had she been sitting in front of the palace? Several. Her skin, despite its natural caramel colouring, had begun to burn. She looked left, then right, but there was no shade to be had.
She stood up and ran her hand around her neck before taking another step towards the guard. His eyes flicked to her speculatively. He’d been watching her. This pretty little foreigner who seemed to be demanding an interview with his supreme highness Kiral Mazroui.
She must have been crazy. He would lose his job if he actually passed her name up the ranks.
She was just a fan. Perhaps even psychotic. His eyes scanned her again. She was small in size, petite and slim, and nice enough to look at. But there was something in her face – a determination that spoke of true desperation.
He watched as her eyes scanned the crowd, and she lifted a hand to mop her brow. A small urchin boy approached her from the side, his face covered in dust. The child must have been four or five – only young. Such beggars were common near the palace. The young boy’s hand curled around the bottom of the woman’s shirt and the guard stood a little straighter, preparing to intervene if the child threatened her in any way.
The woman crouched down, so that her eyes were at the child’s level. She smiled at him gently and nodded, though the guard highly doubted the child had said anything intelligible to a foreigner.
He caught the sound of her words on the breeze but could not discern what she was saying. Then, she reached into her bag and lifted something out and handed it to the child. The guard had to squint to make out what she was holding: a sandwich and bottle of water.
The child looked nervous; shy, suddenly, but the woman was insistent and her expression encouraged the child to relax. Finally, he took the proffered food and then ran quickly through the crowd, as though she might change her mind and demand these gifts back.
The American watched him skip away with a forlorn look on her face and then returned her attention to the palace. Her eyes were focused on the walls, scanning them as though she could intuit facts from the marble that others could not.
The guard could not afford to lose his job. With four brothers to support, and he the only one old enough to work, his duties were sacred. Yet her small act of kindness had touched something deep within him, for it was a similar kindness that had, at one point, saved his family from ruin.
With a suppressed sigh, he signaled to one of the guards in the tower and waited until a relief sentry came towards him. Only then was he able to step away from his post and march swiftly towards her.
“Madam?” His English was poor but his tone was insistent enough to draw her attention.
“Oh, yes!” She spun around, her small nose covered in beads of sweat and tiny little freckles. “Yes! Thank you! You’re going to help me after all, aren’t you?”
His expression was lacking conviction, as though even he couldn’t believe what he was about to do. “I do not know yet. But I will let someone else decide. Okay?”
Her heart hammered. It presented yet another bridge to cross but she wasn’t going to complain. She was one step closer to the most excruciating and essential conversation of her life.
Michael. She thought of his sweet little body and bright green eyes and straightened her spine. “I must speak to him. It’s imperative. I know he’ll be … glad to see me.”
The guard wondered if he was signing his own arrest warrant but nonetheless, he nodded slowly. “I cannot promise a thing, Madam.”
“It’s enough that you’re trying,” she said in a rush, her whole body tense. “Thank you. Whatever happens.”
He didn’t lead her through the main gate of the palace. That was thronging with tourists. Instead, they walked the length of its fence line and around the corner, and then he paused at a checkpoint. There were four men like him inside, with identical uniforms. Though as they spoke quickly, in their own language, she saw that one of the men had three yellow arrows on his pocket, and he seemed to be speaking most. Apparently, he was in charge.
She stared at him directly and cut him off mid-sentence. “I need to see His Royal Highness Kiral Mazroui on a matter of enormous importance.”
The man in charge stared at her with obvious disdain. He didn’t speak, but his eyes seemed to say, “What could you have to say of any importance to our King?”
“Please,” she whispered, the word barely a breath.
“He is not available to waste time speaking to tourists,” the man said with a cold sneer. “Perhaps you have not heard, madam, that he is due to be married in a matter of days.”
Oh, she’d heard. She’d heard about little else since landing in this country of his. How excited his people were to be welcoming a new princess to the royal palace. She hid her hurt well, though her heart was barbing with tiny darts of pain. Pain was nothing new when it came to her relationship with Kiral. There had been pain all along. Pain in the intense pleasure he wrought. Pain in his departure. Pain in his deception. Pain, horrible pain.
“I’ll wait,” she muttered through gritted teeth. And then, as if remembering she was speaking to the very man who might hold her fate in his hands, she softened her words with an attempt at a gracious smile. “If there’s somewhere to do so.”
Claiming his Secret Baby_One night and a lifetime of consequences... Page 20
