Jessica Gilmore - The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

‘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?’

‘You’re about to be King. The kingdom must be full of women desperate to fall at your feet and into your arms.’ Funny to think she was one of those women once—and she hadn’t needed a title, just one of his rare smiles.

‘There can be no ambiguity about the baby’s heritage. No, Saskia, this is the best way. The only way.’

‘Then you are in trouble because I am not going to marry you.’ She clasped her hands to stop them shaking and waited, heart hammering.

There’s nothing he can do, she told herself. Dalmaya is a civilised country. He’s not going to drag you to the altar by your hair.

She stared straight at Idris, defiant but a little confused by the look on his face. He didn’t look angry or upset, he looked amused, bordering on smug. Her throat dried.

‘You signed a contract.’

‘To have a baby.’

‘Non, you agreed to a lot more than that. You agreed to do whatever is in the baby’s best interests until he or she is three months old and, if required to in extremis, to come to its aid in later life.’

Saskia blinked. ‘Yes, but that’s because Fayaz and Maya wanted me to express milk for the baby for the first three months so I need to stay here for those three months and adhere to the right diet. That’s all that the in the best interests part means.’

‘That’s not what it says,’ he said softly, gaze still intent on hers. ‘You did read the contract before signing it, didn’t you?’

‘Of course, and my lawyer took me through every clause...’ She halted. That clause was written exactly the way Idris had phrased it. They didn’t know what would happen, her lawyer had explained. What if the baby needed a blood transfusion and she, not Fayaz, was the right match? Or, later on, a kidney, unlikely as that might be? Even a donor sibling? The three months post birth she was glad to agree to; it was an opportunity to recover from pregnancy and birth in comfort and peace. The statistical chance of the in extremis clause being invoked had been low enough for her not to be concerned—compensation would be offered commensurate with whatever was needed and, besides, of course she would want to help if it was within her power to do so. ‘It doesn’t mean what you’re implying.’