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“What will it take to get you out of here?”
“The truth,” he snapped. “Whose baby is this?”
Rachel looked straight into his cold eyes.
“Mine,” she said, without hesitation, forcing the lie through a suddenly constricted throat, because Ethan was hers.
It was just that she hadn’t given birth to him.
“Don’t play games with me, madam. You know what I’m asking. Who is the father?”
There.
They’d reached the impasse she’d been dreading. Now what? She should have known he wouldn’t be satisfied with her answer.
The Sheikh, the Prince, whatever you were supposed to call him, was not a fool.
Ethan looked like his parents. He had Rami’s coloring and eyes, Suki’s chin and mouth. Well, hers, too, because she and Suki resembled each other, but the Sheikh wouldn’t know that.
He didn’t even know Suki existed.
And she had to keep it that way.
“Answer me!”
“Lower your voice. You keep yelling—”
“You think I’m yelling?” the Sheikh yelled.
Predictably, Ethan began to cry.
The mighty Prince looked stunned. Evidently not even infants were permitted to interrupt a royal tirade.
“Now see what you’ve done,” Rachel snapped, and scooped Ethan into her arms.
His cries became wails; his little body shook with outrage. The look on the Sheikh’s face was priceless.
Under other circumstances she’d have laughed, but there was nothing to laugh at in this situation.
Instead, she walked slowly around the small living room, cooing to the baby, stroking his back, pressing kisses to his forehead.
His cries lessened, became soft sobs.
“Good baby,” she whispered.
She felt Karim’s eyes following her.
No way was he going to stop peppering her with questions. With one question.
