Jessica Gilmore - The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride

His uncle looked directly at Idris. ‘His Excellency is of course correct and if Fayaz died without any issue you are by law the next King. But there is the baby...’

Idris blinked. He’d seen Maya just a few months ago and she hadn’t mentioned any pregnancy. Besides, Fayaz would have told him straight away if he had had a child. Wouldn’t he? ‘The baby?’ The rest of the table looked as confused as he felt. ‘What baby?’

* * *

Saskia stretched and stared out at the enticing view. The sky was so bright and blue it almost hurt, the colour mirrored in the infinity pool just outside the folding glass doors and in the still sea beyond that. Another beautiful day in paradise, and if she could just drag herself off the insanely comfortable sofa and brave the intense heat for the ten seconds it took to step outside the air-conditioned villa and plunge into the pool then she would definitely have a swim. After all, the pool was the only place she was truly comfortable any more, her weight buoyed by the water, her bulk less ungainly.

Her hands strayed down to the tight bump as she caressed it. Just six weeks to go. Not that she was exactly looking forward to what awaited her at the end of that six weeks despite her daily private pregnancy yoga lessons, her doula, personal midwife and the deluxe delivery suite already pre-booked and awaiting her arrival. Nothing but the best to ease the birth of the new Crown Prince or Princess of Dalmaya.

Stretching again, Saskia winced as her back twinged. Even with the best care possible, pregnancy was the most uncomfortable experience she had ever been through. Don’t be so spoiled, she told herself firmly, heaving herself to her feet and padding towards the doors. She was safe, ultra-healthily fed, looked after and, more importantly, so was Jack. Once the baby was safely delivered and in the loving arms of his or her parents then she and her little brother could get back to their lives. Only this time she would be able to afford to give Jack the kind of childhood he deserved. And she would finally catch a break.

Right. Saskia heaved herself off the sofa and took an unsteady step and then another, regaining her balance as she did so. Balance. She missed that, along with being able to see her toes and not swiping things off tables with her belly when she turned around. A swim and then she would settle down and tackle the essay she had been putting off. She might have the money to go back to university thanks to Fayaz and Maya, but if she could just get the first year completed long distance then she would have more money for a house—and for Jack.

Shucking off the loose cotton robe she wore over the frankly vast maternity swimsuit, Saskia opened the door, almost recoiling from the scalding temperature that hit her the second she stepped out. She hurried as best she could to the pool and cautiously sat herself down by the side, near the wide steps that led down into its blissfully cool depths. Sitting on the floor without needing a forklift to help her back up, that was another simple pleasure she was looking forward to.

‘Sorry, little one,’ she murmured, her hand slipping back to her belly. ‘I do appreciate what a good baby you’ve been to look after for Maya but I think we’re both getting a little uncomfortable here. Besides, you must be looking forward to meeting your mummy and daddy, hmm? I know they can’t wait to meet you.’

That was an understatement. Fayaz and Maya were determined to be there for every step of the pregnancy. They had recorded stories for Saskia to play for the baby daily so that their voices would be instantly familiar when it was born and Maya had been as regular a visitor as she could manage. ‘Not long now,’ Saskia continued as she slid her aching legs into the deliciously cool water. ‘Mummy comes to live with us next week so she can spend every moment with you until she can take you home. Won’t that be lovely?’

Sharing this huge, luxurious villa would be very different from the old days, gossiping in the college student kitchen, but Saskia was still looking forward to some heart-to-hearts with her old friend and to some adult company. Fayaz and Maya hadn’t wanted anyone to know that Saskia was carrying their baby and so she had been confined to the villa since her arrival in Dalmaya nearly seven months ago. No matter how luxurious it might be, a place she wasn’t allowed to leave couldn’t help but feel like a prison. A self-imposed prison, sure; Saskia had known every single term and condition before she’d signed the surrogacy agreement, but a prison nonetheless.

She lowered herself into the water, a shiver of delight trembling through her as the cold enveloped her uncomfortably warm skin, and kicked off. She had been warned not to overexert herself and consciously made herself swim slow, considered lengths, concentrating on her breathing and the style of each stroke. Excited as she was to start her new life, there were some things about her prison she would miss. There were unlikely to be any infinity pools in her future, and in London grey skies were far more probable than this never-ending blue. Saskia turned onto her back and floated, eyes shut against the bright sun.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, an ungainly mermaid basking in the sunshine, but a prickling at her neck and a sense of unease penetrated through her sun-induced haze. Saskia opened her eyes slowly, lowering her body until she was treading water upright, her hair slicked back. Whatever, whoever it was that disturbed her was behind her, at the head of the pool. Slowly she turned, awareness of her vulnerability rippling through her. She stopped. Shock hitting her hard.

‘Idris?’

It couldn’t be. Maya had promised her he was in France and swore she would never reveal to him that Saskia had carried her baby. No one outside Maya and Fayaz’s immediate family was supposed to know the baby had been born to a surrogate at all.

But of course Idris was their family.

Her toes found the bottom of the pool and Saskia anchored herself as she stared at the tall man regarding her inscrutably. He looked exactly the same as he had done seven years ago. No, there were a few small changes. He was more put together, less earnest than the young man she had once been so besotted with. It wasn’t just the well-cut, if slightly crumpled suit, the expensively tousled haircut or the dark shadow grazing his cheeks and chin. It was the confidence in the way he carried himself, a self-assuredness that, for all his pretence, the younger Idris hadn’t yet achieved. The harsh lines around his mouth were new and looked to be forged by fatigue and grief and the dark brown eyes were dull—at first anyway.

Saskia stood tall, wishing she weren’t in a tight swimsuit and stuck in a swimming pool looking up at him like a suppliant, as recognition dawned and Idris’s gaze kindled, his eyebrows snapping together.

‘Saskia? What on earth are you doing here?’ She’d forgotten the impact his voice had always had on her, low, almost gravelly, his French accent more of a hint than a full-on reminder of his heritage.

‘Taking a swim.’ Thank goodness her voice didn’t waver. ‘The question is, Idris, what you are doing here. This is private property and I don’t recall inviting you in.’ Petty but the words felt good. A small revenge for the way he had treated her all those years ago.

‘I’m here to see the surr...’ He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze dropping to her stomach, and incredulity stole over his face. ‘You? You’re the surrogate?’

Saskia raised her chin. ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business. I’m not supposed to be experiencing any stress so please leave and let me get on with my swim.’

He glared. ‘Gladly. Only I need to speak to you. It’s important.’

‘Okay. Make it brief.’

‘No, not out here. You need to be sat down. Dressed.’ His gaze swept down her, impersonal, as if he had never seen her body before. Never touched her. Saskia’s cheeks burned but she remained upright, head held high.

‘You don’t give the orders round here, Idris. You ask. Nicely.’

His gaze smouldered but he bit back whatever cutting retort sprang to his lips. ‘Please,’ he ground out. ‘Saskia, this is important. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.’

She held his gaze, searching for answers within its darkness, fear uncoiling down her spine. Something was very, very wrong here. Why wasn’t Idris in France? Where was Maya? Saskia nodded, slowly. ‘Give me fifteen minutes. Everything takes a little longer right now.’

* * *

For the last couple of months Saskia had lived either in yoga pants or sheer voluminous kaftans, which made her look as if she were about to act as a sail in an am-dram version of The Tempest but, crucially, were cool and comfortable. Neither seemed right just now, instinct warning her that she needed more armour than casual, comfortable clothes would provide.

Luckily Maya had provided her with a designer pregnancy wardrobe fit for a princess. Saskia had pointed out that, confined to the villa as she was, she wouldn’t have the opportunity to wear a tenth of the clothes but Maya had waved off her objections. ‘You can keep them all and use them when you have your own baby, Sas,’ she’d said. Saskia hadn’t had the heart to tell her that having a baby of her own didn’t figure anywhere in her plans, sensing Maya was buying her the wardrobe she herself wished she could have owned. So Saskia had accepted each gift with a smile and tried not to think about where on earth she would store several wardrobes full of unworn maternity clothes when she finally returned home.

She selected a pair of white cropped linen trousers and teamed them with a nude pink vest top, which gathered in a knot just below her breasts, the material flowing nicely over her bump. Many redheads eschewed pink, even as pale a shade as this, but Saskia loved the colour. She pulled her still-wet hair back into a loose plait and slipped her feet into a pair of flat sandals. She was ready.

Idris was here.

The enormity of what was happening hit her anew and Saskia reached out to the ornately carved bedpost for support. What on earth had brought him back to her after seven years? It was clear that he hadn’t expected to see her; he’d looked just as thrown by the recognition as she had been.

Her lips tightened. She was a different person now. Strong, independent. A survivor. Just because Idris’s kisses used to make her forget who she was didn’t mean he had any power over her now. She had this situation in hand. She had to.

Summoning a confidence that wasn’t quite real, yet not entirely fake, Saskia left her suite and slowly descended the villa’s majestic staircase. The stairway led to the large central hallway from which all the other ground-floor rooms were situated. All marble and dark polished wood, it was lined with two impossibly long, armless couches. Idris lounged on the right-hand couch, seemingly completely at ease as he scrolled impatiently through his tablet. He didn’t even raise his gaze to watch her as she walked carefully down the marble stairs.

One of the many occasional tables that were scattered around the villa had been brought to his side and a jug of coffee sat there along with a half-full cup. The aroma floated tantalisingly towards Saskia. Coffee was one of the many prohibited food and drinks she had agreed not to touch until three months after the baby was born and her duties had ended. Many she barely touched anyway—she didn’t have the budget for shellfish, brie or wine—but coffee was her lifeline and she missed it every day; mint tea just didn’t have the same effect.