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She’d given in eventually, because she always gave in. She’d watched their grifter mother work her marks since she’d been six years old and despite the fact that Isabella cared for and respected Feraz, her mother knew all the right buttons to push to get her mild-mannered daughter into doing anything she wanted. She’d used the guilt card, the you’re-pregnant-with-your-sister’s-baby card, the Feraz-never-has-to-know card, and worst of all, the if-you-don’t-do-this-I’ll-die-because-I-can’t-afford-my-treatments card.
Not exactly the kind of parenting that won Mother of the Year Awards.
Isabella tensed, present reality
smacking her upside the head. Oh, God. She was pregnant. With Feraz’s baby. And he thought she was her sister, Roxanne. And she was literally going to be the worst mother ever, based on the less-than-stellar example she’d had growing up.
Struggling not to hyperventilate, Isabella stared at the screen, the tiny arms and legs moving and that tiny heart—beat, beat, beating away. At the time that Roxanne had convinced her to have the IVF done, it had all sounded so reasonable, so foolproof. Roxanne craved her freedom, and would give her generous allowance from Feraz to Isabella if her twin would only grant it. Isabella could pay for the most promising experimental treatments for their mother’s illness. Feraz rarely visited anyway, so keeping the secret deception from him wouldn’t be an issue. And Roxanne had planned to tell Feraz she would deliver the baby at a private hospital in Switzerland and that he wasn’t allowed to be there, to avoid any confusion. Then she’d gotten herself killed joyriding around France with some married playboy and left poor Isabella to pick up the pieces of a shattered life, a shattered marriage, a shattered future.
Her breathing grew shallow again and Feraz rubbed her back to calm her, tiny circles that sent shivers of awareness straight through her. She was nothing like her sister, never had been. Roxanne was sharp as a tack, sarcastic, slick and gorgeous. Isabella was quiet and mousy, preferred staying home and reading a book to attending fancy parties, and she didn’t know designer clothes from thrift shop finds. Still, they were identical twins, so much so that when they’d been younger few people could tell them apart. At first, it had been a fun novelty. The sisters had enjoyed playing tricks on their teachers and neighbors. But as they got older and their mother used them more and more in her cons, Isabella didn’t like pretending anymore.
It figured she was now in the biggest con of her life and in too deep to get out.
“Would you like to know the baby’s sex?” the ultrasound tech asked.
Isabella opened her mouth then realized she had no idea. She glanced over her shoulder at Feraz, not realizing he was so close. Their lips were mere centimeters apart, his warm minty breath ghosting over her face. This close, she could see the tiny flecks of green and gold in his warm brown eyes, smell his spicy cologne, feel his heat surrounding her. His gaze flicked to her mouth before returning to her eyes, and for a moment she almost believed he wanted her. Then he cleared his throat and moved back a tad to smile over at the tech.
“Yes, please. We would very much like to know,” he said.
She’d forgotten the rough, deep timbre of his voice, how it made her knees tingle and her core clench with feminine need. And how pathetic was that? She was heart-eyes in love with her dead sister’s husband and the guy had no idea. Would never have any idea because she could never tell him. The plan was to carry out the guise of this pregnancy as Roxanne, have the baby, then file for divorce shortly thereafter, leaving with a tidy settlement along the way. Her mother had assured her it would be perfect. There’d be enough cash to pay for the expensive cancer treatments that promised to extend her life and a tidy amount left over for Isabella. She’d leave the baby with Feraz. He was the biological father after all and the child belonged with him.
Still, she couldn’t help placing a protective hand over her stomach, feeling the baby kick. Funny, she’d never expected to become so attached, so quickly. The thought of leaving her baby after it was born turned her stomach, but what choice did she have? Her mother was depending on her to get that money and Isabella was nothing if not steadfast and reliable. A rock in times of trouble. Only problem was, who could she turn to when she needed help?
No one.
Feraz squeezed her arm and smiled, and she gave him a tentative half-grin back.
This was such a bad idea and her instincts said it wouldn’t turn out well at all.
“Looks like…” the ultrasound tech said. “You’re having a baby boy. Congratulations!”
The tech printed off several pictures and handed them to Isabella, then wiped the cold gel off her belly while Dr. Phillips clicked on the lights. Feraz stayed by Isabella’s side instead of returning to his chair, a strange expression on his face and his hand on her shoulder, protective and reassuring at the same time.
“Excellent.” Dr. Phillips jotted some notes in the chart while the tech finished up then left the room. “I’ve got a new script here for you for prenatal vitamins, Ms. Nazrani, and we’ll see you back here in another four weeks. Any questions?”
Isabella stared at the ultrasound pictures in her hand while Feraz discussed things with the doctor, but she didn’t pay much attention. She was too fixated on the tiny face staring back at her from the photos. Her son looked like he was giving her a thumbs-up sign.
A joker already, just like Roxanne had been.
She smiled and blinked back fresh tears, vowing to make sure the little guy always knew what a wonderful woman his mother had been, despite her flaws.
“I’ll see you next time, Ms. Nazrani,” Dr. Philips said, raising a hand at the door before walking out. “Please don’t hesitate to call the office if you have any questions or concerns.”
That left Isabella alone with Feraz in the small exam room. The air seemed to thicken and things felt awkward as hell. She attempted to climb off the table by herself, but with her center of gravity becoming more cumbersome every day, she wasn’t exactly graceful.
Feraz, ever the gentleman, rushed to help her, his touch on her skin sending jolts of awareness through her. Heat prickled Isabella’s cheeks and she looked away fast, stepping back away from him, away from temptation. This was so not good.
At twenty-six, she should’ve been able to control her reactions better, but she’d never been able to with Feraz. One more reason she never should’ve agreed to do this, but it was too late now.
“So?” she said, waddling over to grab her jacket off the hook on the wall. “Guess I’ll see you around then, huh?”
“Yes, you will,” Feraz said, coming over to help her on with her coat. “Because I think it’s time you come home with me to Djeva, Roxanne.”
2
His wife said very little as they left the doctor’s office and even less once they were back in the limo, heading for the penthouse he kept in Manhattan for when he was here on business. He hadn’t visited in some time, given the busy nature of his work getting his new government up and running back home. But now that he’d confirmed Roxanne was truly pregnant and he’d seen his son—my son—things would be different going forward.
Feraz’s own father had been a kind, affable man, if a bit lax when it came to the raising of his children, or the running of his country. Not that Feraz had lacked for anything growing up. He’d attended the most expensive and exclusive private schools in the States, gone to elite summer camps for leadership training, and even traveled the world to gain life experience and practical people skills. That was all thanks to his mother, Zuhra, who’d loved her husband deeply but also knew his flaws. She’d wanted more for her eldest son, wanted to groom him to be the leader his father never was, the leader Djeva needed to move them into their rightful spot on the world stage.
