The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride. Jessica Gilmore
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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.’
‘Oh?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘The baby doesn’t need a mother for its first three months? Being orphaned before birth isn’t in extremis enough? Tell me, Saskia, what have you been doing since the last time I saw you? Apart from dropping out from university?’
Her hands curled into tight fists. How could he be so dismissive? Act as if they hadn’t once been, if not in love, so very close to falling off that cliff? Maybe it had just been her, so besotted she hadn’t noticed how little he felt for her. But for all his faults, for all his arrogance, she had never known Idris Delacour be deliberately cruel. Even that last time...she hadn’t actually managed to tell him about her father’s death when he sent her away.
Surely Maya and Fayaz had filled him in on what had happened to her, told him about her father? She’d assumed so. But if he hadn’t known she was their choice of surrogate, hadn’t known she was in Dalmaya, then maybe not. Thinking about it, they had always been very careful not to discuss Idris with her beyond mentioning that he had achieved his dream of renovating the chateau and the vineyards. Her pulse began to race as she took in his politely contemptuous expression. He couldn’t know, not about her father’s death, not about Jack. After all, she hadn’t even known of Jack’s existence when they were together.
She lifted her chin. ‘This and that.’ If he didn’t know about Jack then she wasn’t going to enlighten him. The less he knew about her life, her circumstances, the better. The less ammunition he would have.
‘No husband? Fiancé? Significant other? Career? I thought not. I’m offering you it all on a plate, Saskia, a family, a home, a position that comes with all the luxuries and money a girl like you needs to get by.’
She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even a chin wobble. ‘You know nothing about a girl like me.’
‘Non? Well, I suppose I have the rest of my life to find out.’
‘The answer is still no. You can sue me, Idris. See what people think about the King of Dalmaya suing a woman into becoming his wife. I can take that kind of humiliation, can you?’
His eyes were hard and flat. That shot had gone home. He’d always been abominably proud. ‘I don’t need to sue you, Saskia. If you don’t marry me and legitimise the baby then the lawyer agrees you have broken the in extremis clause and the first three months agreement. We won’t owe you a red cent. You’ll leave here not a penny the richer for your year and a bit’s hard work.’ His eyes flicked contemptuously to the side table laden with little pastries and fruits.
The world stilled and stopped. No money? No money meant no house, no university, no way of clawing herself out of the exhausting cycle she had found herself repeating over and over for the last seven years. No money meant a return to long hours and mind-numbing work, to low wages and choosing between food and heating. To damp flats.