The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride. Jessica Gilmore
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to keep them was a whole other matter. London was out of the question financially. But London was all she knew, except for nine months spent in Oxford a lifetime ago.
‘A bedroom of my own? I hope so.’
‘And will we have a garden? With a footie goal and a basketball hoop and space for me to ride a bike?’ He was drowsy now. This was the way he always fell asleep, talking about all the things they would have once their stay in Dalmaya was over. He wasn’t greedy, he didn’t want video games and gadgets, just space to run around and play. Saskia brushed the hair back from his forehead, her heart aching. He deserved to be able to play.
‘That’s the plan.’
‘I wish we could have a pool like we have here. Dan’s dad said he would teach us to ride and to sail, but I won’t be here much longer.’ Dan was his best friend and Jack had spent a lot of time at his house, although due to the secrecy surrounding the surrogacy he had never invited any of his friends to the villa. Another thing she had promised him: a home open to anyone he wanted. ‘Can I learn to ride horses and to sail when we get home?’
‘I’m not sure about that. It depends where we end up.’
‘I’ll miss the sun. And the sea. And the sand. I like it here. I wish we could stay...’ And he was gone. Saskia didn’t move, continuing to stroke his hair, watching his face, mobile even in sleep.
Funny to remember how resentful she’d been when she’d realised there was no one else to care for him, that along with the shame and the debts and the mess her father had bequeathed her, there was a toddler who needed clothing and feeding and taking care of. If she hadn’t taken him in her life would have taken a very different turn; she would probably have taken her degree, got a job. She wouldn’t have lived the gilded life she had enjoyed before her father’s suicide; those circles had closed to her as soon as his embezzlement had been discovered. But she would have found something approximating her original plans of a career in the media, a shared flat in Notting Hill, parties at the weekend, skiing in winter and beaches in summer.
Instead she had spent her days filing, answering phones, typing up reports, eating her packed lunch on a bench in a city square, shopping in sales and charity shops. No holidays anywhere, weekends spent exploring London’s abundance of free museums and city parks. She knew every exhibit in the Natural History Museum, every room, every sign.
She couldn’t remember when resentment had turned to acceptance and then to love. Couldn’t remember the day she’d looked at Jack and seen not a burden, but a gift. The day she had started to be grateful for what she had, not what she had lost.
Hauling herself to her feet, Saskia adjusted Jack’s covers. He looked so well; no longer pale and over the winter he’d escaped the hacking cough he usually caught in the damp London cold. The dry desert air agreed with him; he’d grown inches, filled out a little, and he loved the international school he now attended. He was going to find it hard to adjust going back, especially when the promised new home didn’t materialise and she was preoccupied with a newborn baby.
Saskia went straight to her room, opening the sliding doors and stepping out onto her terrace. The moon was bright and round, its reflection on the sea offering her a path to who knew where. If only she could get into one of the boats moored on the wooden pier and follow its enticing, silvery road. She leant on the balcony and breathed in, enjoying the faint sea breeze that cooled the warm, desert night.
She had agreed to become a surrogate to give Jack a better life. But, damn him, Idris was right. As soon as the baby had been implanted in her womb she had taken on an obligation to put him or her first as long as they were dependent on her. She had worked so hard not to get too attached to the baby, to remember she wasn’t its mother, merely its caretaker, but of course she loved it. It was half her. She felt it move, hiccup, knew when it was sleeping and when it was restless.
Didn’t the baby deserve a better life too? The life it was supposed to have? It was supposed to be the Prince or Princess of Dalmaya. To grow up surrounded by the sea and the desert, to be loved and cosseted and so very much wanted. And that life was still within her power to bequeath.
Jack could learn to sail and ride, stay at the school he liked so much, keep growing stronger and healthier.
And she? She could endure...
Slowly Saskia reached into her pocket and pulled out the white card with Idris’s name and number on it. She stared at it, her mouth dry and her hands numb. Married to Idris. No university, no home of her own, instead a life with a man who despised her. Who she despised.
A life that would provide for the two children in her care.
She had told herself that she had a choice but, really, she had no choice at all. Fumbling, she reached for her phone and, blinking back the tears, dialled.
THE YEAR SASKIA turned eight she was a bridesmaid for her friend’s elder sister. The wedding was held in the village church and afterwards the whole congregation had walked in a joyful procession along the narrow lane to Saskia’s house, where her father had allowed a marquee to be erected in the old manor house’s extensive gardens. It was a perfect wedding and small Saskia, starry eyed, vowed that one day she would have one just like it. Of course the manor house had been sold to pay off her father’s creditors and she had given up on romantic dreams a long time ago. Still, she had never imagined that she would get married while heavily pregnant to a man who disliked her and although she had no desire for white lace or ivory organza the calf-length, long-sleeved black dress screamed funeral rather than wedding—which seemed fitting enough.
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