The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

How could he not? His parents showed him all too well the consequences of living for nothing but self. Thanks to them he had grown up always worrying how the next bill would be paid, where they would be living next, even what they would be eating that night. Thankfully he had been able to escape to his grandfathers, to the two men who had never met but would have liked and respected each other, if their paths had ever crossed. The men who had taught him that duty and honour and responsibility weren’t burdens but the measure of a man.

Sometimes he envied his mother, her carefree waltz through life, her refusal to be bound by convention. But such a path was selfish, had consequences for all those around.

A King’s life wasn’t his, he knew that all too well. His own needs, his own desires, his own likes always second to duty. And Idris saw his duty all too clearly. All of it.

His mind raced as he ruthlessly ousted all emotions from his mind, concentrating on the cold, hard facts, looking for the path ahead. First, it was clearly in the baby’s best interests to have a mother’s care right from birth. Second, he, Idris, was the legal heir, whether he liked it or not. But, third, at the same time the unborn baby was the rightful heir. Fourth, he was said baby’s guardian. The pieces began to fall into place one by one.

What had the lawyer said? That if a man was married to the mother when a child was born then he was automatically that child’s legal father regardless of actual paternity? He looked over at the other man. ‘Let me get this straight. If I marry Sayeda Saskia then the baby will be my child, my heir, in both law and in the eyes of the world.’

The lawyer’s words were drowned out by Saskia’s indignant, ‘There is no way I am marrying you, Idris Delacour, not if you were the last man alive!’ But Idris saw the nod and he knew what he had to do. For Fayaz, for the country, for the baby. He had to marry the only woman he had ever come close to loving. The woman he had walked away from. He had to marry Saskia Harper.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS ALL very well being told not to allow herself to become agitated but how was Saskia supposed to stay calm when Idris dropped a bombshell more explosive than she could possibly have imagined, and then calmly wrapped up the meeting and disappeared as if she had meekly fallen into line with his insane plans? Marry Idris? The man who had ripped her heart and self-esteem to shreds and then stomped on them without mercy? The man who had let her down at the lowest point in her life?

‘Sorry, baby,’ Saskia told it that sleepless night. ‘I know it’s scary now that Maya isn’t here to look after you, but marrying Idris isn’t the best thing for either of us. I’m not ready to be a mother yet, and you deserve more than that. He’s going to be King. He can give you everything you need.’

But he couldn’t give the baby a mother who would love it unconditionally—and she knew that was the only thing Maya would ask of her. Saskia’s eyes filled and she hurriedly blinked back the tears, trying to focus on her indignation instead. The only positive thing to come out of this whole mess was that her anger with Idris helped her to manage the shock of losing Maya and Fayaz. She was so busy thinking of one hundred ways to tell him that she would rather marry Jabba the Hutt than him that the grief had released some of its painful grip from her chest—although she did keep reaching for her phone ready to text Maya with a planned, clever comeback, only for the grief to descend again with all its painful intensity when she remembered she would never be able to text her again.

Not that she had had an opportunity to test even one of her scathing put-downs on Idris yet. Twenty-four hours had passed with no word from him and she had no way to contact him. Saskia stared out of the window. Of course, he had been a little busy burying his cousin and closest friend. She choked back a sob, the lump back in her throat. She wished she had had the opportunity to say goodbye too. No, that wasn’t true. She wished more than anything that she could have handed her newborn baby over to Maya and seen the moment her friend fell in love with her much-wanted child.

Yes, she had agreed to be a surrogate for the money, she had never pretended her motives were anything more altruistic, but she had also wanted to be the one to make her friend’s dreams come true. At least Maya had died knowing she would soon be a mother. Saskia twisted her hands together. Would Maya have wanted Saskia to raise her baby for her? She knew how much Saskia had sacrificed already raising Jack; surely she wouldn’t have expected her to sacrifice more?

‘His Highness Sheikh Idris Delacour Al Osman,’ the houseboy announced and Saskia jumped. She hadn’t even heard the car pull up, too absorbed in her thoughts. She turned, glad she had dressed ready for his return whenever it might be, in a severely cut grey linen shift dress, her hair coiled in a businesslike knot on the top of her head.

She sat upright in her chair—no more reclining, no more weakness—and folded her ankles and hands. Poised, collected and ready to do battle. But the cold words she had prepared faded as soon as Idris entered the room. He was grey with fatigue, shadows pronounced under his eyes and the grief lines cut deep. She held out her hand with no more thought than the need to comfort someone suffering as she suffered, only to drop it as he walked straight past it as if it weren’t there. She leaned back and regarded him, doing her best to hide her humiliation and anger. How dared he treat her like that when he was the one who had let her down at the most vulnerable moment in her life? She should be the one shunning him.

Idris stood, back to her, staring out of the windows. Saskia regarded him for a few moments before turning to the houseboy and requesting some tea and refreshments. She sat back, displaying a composure she was a long way from feeling, and waited. Several long minutes passed before he spoke, the tea served and the houseboy dismissed, Saskia not moving or speaking, refusing to be the one to break first. Finally Idris shifted, although he still didn’t face her.

‘I’ve discussed our marriage with the heads of the Privy Council. They agree a big royal wedding is not in the country’s best interests right now. We’re still in the mourning period and your condition will give rise to the kind of speculation it’s best to avoid. However, time is clearly not on our side so the consensus is for a quiet wedding here as soon as possible. The lawyer is drawing up the paperwork right now and we are thinking the day after tomorrow for the ceremony. In accordance with Dalmayan law it is simply the signing of a contract. Traditionally the elder of your house would negotiate the contract for you, but my grandfather decreed that women now act for themselves. As time and secrecy are of the essence the lawyer who drew up the surrogacy will advise you and I suggest you go over the contract with him before the ceremony.’

Saskia listened to every crazy word, her mind busily coming up with—and discarding—several considered responses pointing out exactly why this was such a bad idea but in the end she settled for a simple ‘No.’

Idris turned slowly. ‘No?’

‘No. No to the wedding. No to marriage. No to spending any more time with you than I have to.’

His mouth compressed. ‘Believe me, Saskia, if there was another way...’

‘You don’t need me. You’re the baby’s guardian regardless of whether I marry you or not. Marry someone else. Someone you can bear to be in the same room with.’

‘This isn’t about you and me. This is about what’s right.’

‘Oh, don’t be so sanctimonious. The last thing Fayaz or Maya would want is for us of all people to be trapped into marriage with each other. Not for us and not for the baby.’

‘And the baby’s right to inherit?’

‘If you adopt it...’

‘You heard the lawyer. Formal adoption is still an unknown process in Dalmaya.’

‘Well, then marry someone else and adopt the baby quietly, like Maya intended to.’

‘You want me to woo and marry someone in less than six weeks?’