The Sheikh's Twin Baby Surprise (7 page)

ELEVEN

Four Months Later

Omar squeezed my hand and pulled it into his lap, sitting next to me on the plush limo seat. I looked over at his loving face and smiled.

“You look absolutely stunning, my love,” he told me, pulling my hand to his lips and giving it a soft kiss.

“I can’t say I feel very stunning,” I replied, only half-joking. Already, our son was proving to be a healthy, growing boy. My belly felt like it was getting bigger and bigger every day, and he was quite an active little thing, doing summersaults and kicking his tiny little feet into my ribs every chance he got. As I thought about him, he moved again, and I instinctively put a hand on my belly.

Omar repeated the gesture and grinned, his whole face lighting up when he felt the baby move. Even though he’d felt it dozens of times already, it still never failed to amaze him. “You
are
stunning, Carrie. Pregnancy is kind to you; your skin is absolutely glowing. You look like a goddess.”

I blushed and planted a kiss on his lips. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“Nonsense.”

From the other limo seat, Rafiq chuckled to himself, making both Omar and I look over with curious surprise.

“What’s so funny, Rafiq?” Omar asked lightly.

“Nothing, sir,” he answered quickly, looking suddenly shameful and self-conscious.

“Come now, out with it.”

Rafiq looked at me with a warm grin. “It is only that I remember teasing Dr. Green months ago, in this very car, saying that she needed to tell you about her feelings, and she promised me there was none to speak of. And now, here we are.” He followed up in a speedy voice. “I do not mean to speak out of place.”

I squished up my nose and gave Rafiq a playful little glare. “Yes, yes, you were right, Rafiq. Happy now?”

He chuckled again and nodded before turning away from the conversation.

“Well, his job
is
to be observant,” shrugged Omar with a laugh.

“Maybe he’s observed enough to tell me how your family will react to the news tonight,” I said, biting my lip with worry. “I’m still very unsure about this. I think you should tell them without me around. I don’t think they’re going to react well.”

“But why? You are the mother of my child and I love you.”

“I love you, too. But your mother scares me.”

Omar laughed loud and long at that, kissing me warmly when he’d calmed a little. “She is not as scary as she seems—that’s only her queenly demeanor coming out to take over when she needs it to do so. My mother grew up in a very different royal family; she was taught a different way of showing her power.”

“And do you think she might be keen to show it to silly American girls who fall in love with her son?”

“Not at all. You have nothing to worry about, my love. I’m going to be there right by your side through this whole dinner, and the baby will be here sooner than we think. Once he is born, neither my mother nor Sajid’s opinions—whatever they may be—will matter at all. I will be king, and they will have no choice but to accept that I love you. And I trust completely that they will come to love you, too.”

Omar meant his words to be comforting, but somehow they weren’t. There was nothing in my upbringing or experiences—even the most adventurous ones—to prepare me for this: a dinner with a royal family, during which we would announce that I was pregnant with the heir to the kingdom.

Not only that, but we would also be announcing our own deep love for each other, and revealing that this wasn’t simply a business arrangement. Tonight would be a night of history, and turning points, and as sure as Omar seemed to be about what would happen, I knew there was no telling how his family was going to react to the news. In my darkest anxiety dreams, I had imagined them disowning Omar, or trying to shame him, or hurt him for his decision to love me and have me carry his child. I worried about what would happen to his legacy.

But Omar wasn’t worried. He was still overjoyed at the thought of becoming a father to our son. He was already doting on him by doting on me, and never let me lift a finger around the palace. He had hired me my own assistant, a young woman named Zaynab who was helpful and intelligent and kept me company when Omar had to attend to his duties. Even though she was younger than me by almost a decade, we had become fast friends and had lots of fun going shopping or having lunch in the gardens. My fear of boredom meant I couldn’t just sit around in bed, waiting for the baby to arrive and doing nothing until he did. Zaynab seemed to understand that, and helped me find safe activities to keep my mind occupied and my body healthy.

Every day, Omar came in with new gifts for me and the baby. He had already re-arranged his enormous suite to include a grand nursery in one corner, complete with every bit of furniture we would need for the baby. I spent hours in the rocking chair, resting my back and feet that ached anew every day, reading stories to my unborn son, hoping he could hear.

Omar had come to every single check-up with me, beaming with joy when the doctors announced all was well and the baby was perfectly healthy. He promised them all raises and the finest casks of wine and whiskey the kingdom could offer, and they would just laugh at him and tell him they were just doing their job.

Watching Omar’s happiness at his impending fatherhood made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I could only imagine how much better it would get when our son finally arrived—even if a kingdom’s-worth of anxiety came along with it. On top of everything, I was simply terrified of giving birth. Even as a doctor, I knew the experience was going to be joyous and scary, painful and incredible.

I couldn’t imagine doing this alone; I couldn’t imagine doing it without Omar by my side.

We arrived right on time at the restaurant Omar had reserved for dinner with his family. The place had been fully bought out for the night so that the royal family could dine undisturbed, and a cadre of security guards was already surrounding the building, creating a wall of black suits to allow us clear passage to the front doors. A few paparazzi were here, anyway, trying to snap photos and get any gossip they could.

Omar kept a protective arm around me as we left the limo for the restaurant.

“Aren’t you worried about our pictures appearing in the gossip rags?” I asked him, pressing my lips against his ears.

“It won’t matter after tonight,” he replied. “Once my family knows, there will be no reason to keep our relationship a secret. No one will be able to do anything about it, no matter how much they dislike it. Let them gossip, I don’t care. I only care about our family.”

I smiled up at him and let him lead me delicately inside. The restaurant’s maître-d’ was waiting eagerly for our arrival. He didn’t seem to think my presence was odd or unusual—either that, or he was very good at his job of not looking like he cared about his guests’ business.

“Your Highness! Good evening, good evening.” He bowed before us. “Welcome, both of you. Your brother and his family have already been seated. We’ve received word that your mother is on her way, but that she’s running a bit late. Appetizers have been served to the table.”

“Wonderful,” said Omar. “Can you please find some pomegranate juice and bring it to the table, chilled? My love has grown quite fond of it lately.” He gave me a smile and squeezed my hand.

“Certainly, sir, right away. Let me take you to your seats.”

He led us through the romantically-lit restaurant. All the other tables had their place settings out, waiting perfectly for dinner guests that would not arrive tonight. The table Omar had reserved was near the back, far away from the prying eyes of the street crowds or paparazzi, where the family could talk together in private.

As we approached, Sajid stood from the table, as did his beautiful wife and daughters. I could see the dawning shock on his face as he realized Omar was leading me by the hand—not something one would do with an employee. Sajid frowned at us, as if he were trying to figure out what was going on, as we approached the table and Omar pulled my seat out for me.

“Brother,” said Omar. “I’m sure you remember Dr. Green?”

“Of course,” said Sajid curiously, reaching out to take my hand for a polite kiss. “How are you, Doctor?”

“I’m well, thank you,” I replied with a stiff smile.

Omar greeted his nieces and sister-in-law with kisses and hugs, complimenting each of them as he did. The girls giggled at him, and I smiled; I loved seeing how wonderful he already was with children. Even Sajid’s wife turned a little pink in the cheeks when Omar complemented how beautiful she looked in her glittering gold and white dress.

“Mother should be here soon,” Sajid said. “And then we can get on with this big news.”

“Yes, it is big,” agreed Omar. He thanked the waiter who had interrupted to serve me the pomegranate juice. I’d been craving it something fierce ever since the second month of my pregnancy—Omar told me it was just the legacy of my son’s Middle-Eastern blood coming forward, craving the fruit his ancestors had loved for centuries. I loved the idea.

It wasn’t long before Mirah arrived, looking as gorgeous as ever with her long black swept up on top of her head. She beamed at her sons as she walked around the table to greet everyone. Though she was used to the sight of me around the palace, there was some surprise on her face as she saw me standing at Omar’s side.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” said Mirah as Omar helped her take her seat. “There was some nonsense business at the palace to attend to; some problems with the caterer for next month’s fundraiser.”

“Don’t worry, Mother, we haven’t been waiting long,” assured Sajid.

“And I hope I haven’t missed the big announcement?” Mirah asked.

“Of course not,” smiled Omar, pouring her a glass of wine. “But let us have some dinner first. There’s no need to rush into official business.”

As she picked at the appetizers already laid out on the table, Mirah seemed to agree. But Sajid only snickered at his older brother in a way that made me angry and want to jump in and defend Omar. I stayed quiet.

“Must this all be so dramatic?” mocked Sajid. “Or is it that you want us to have food in our tummies because you the news you need to share is less than pleasant?”

“Quite the opposite. I only thought it would be more civilized of us to enjoy each other’s company instead of meeting simply to exchange news,” retorted Omar. “We are still a family, are we not?”

For whatever reason, that line made Sajid shut up, and he accepted Omar’s suggestion of waiting until after the meal had been served. The cook had prepared an amazing feast of roasted pheasant spiced with flavorsome peppers, and garnished with an array of roasted veggies and potatoes.

The baby started to kick much more after the meal, but I said nothing to Omar. I knew what he would say.
My son is already remembering the spices and flavors of his kingdom.

The family made small talk during dinner, most of which I was left out of simply by virtue of my position. They discussed diplomats I had never heard of and big royal plans that were far above my pay grade. Both Alima, Sajid’s wife, and I were silent during most of the meal. I stole glances at her, and noticed she looked a little bit paler than I remembered. I thought perhaps she must be feeling ill, but had said nothing, not wanting to inconvenience anyone. I didn’t know her very well, so couldn’t be sure—we had only spoken a few times over the last six months, and it was always little more than small talk and pleasantries.

Once dinner had been cleared away and dessert had been served—a chocolate mousse Omar had arranged just for me, knowing how bad my chocolate cravings had gotten—Omar cleared his throat, clearly deciding it was time to discuss the big news.

“My family, thank you for coming here tonight,” he began. Under the table, he grasped my hand and pulled it into his lap. “I know the last year has been very hard on us. We have carried a great heaviness in our hearts at the loss of father, and at the issues of succession we have to face.”

I expected Sajid to have a snotty retort to this, but he was silent, staring at his brother intently.