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A flood of pure bright light dipped and soared across her heart, her skin, her mind, before swooping to the floor and scattering like diamonds on marble.
This wasn’t how she’d imagined finding out that she might be pregnant. She’d thought that there would be joy and a dizzying happiness as she shared the special moment with her husband, not a sense of confusion and disbelief and the father-to-be looking so...soforbidding.
‘But it’s highly unlikely, isn’t it?’ she asked him, looking for reassurance.
‘That’s not really going to work with my advisors.’ His voice was heavy and grim in a way she’d not heard before.
‘It doesn’t have to,’ she said, wondering why such a thing would be decided by committee. ‘It only has to work with you.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll catch my flight home and when I can take a test I’ll let you know what the results are and we can speak about it then.’
He smiled. It was a firm line of determination. ‘There will be nospeaking about it then, Star.’
She studied him until he finally turned and locked his gaze on hers. ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling a tremble work its way down her spine.
‘What?’
‘The sheikh look. Does that actually work on your staff and subjects?’ she asked, forcing herself to keep her tone light.
‘Usually,’ he said, his tone still cold enough to cut stone.
‘I spend my days with thirty primary school children who throw much better tantrums than that.’
‘That wasn’t a tantrum,’ he ground out.
‘It was about to be,’ she said, relishing the heat that had entered his voice. Heat she could deal with, cold...not so much.
‘And that would be at Salisbury Primary?’
‘Yes, how did you...?’ Her words trailed off as she realised that if hewasthe Sheikh, if shemightbe pregnant, then of course his advisors would have looked into her background. As her heart slowly poked and prodded the idea that she might be pregnant, her mind ran like a stream over cobbles and stones. ‘I always wondered what that would feel like,’ she babbled. ‘You know, in romances, when the hero does a “background check”? He usually gets something horribly wrong and so there’s a big misunderstanding between them. I read this one—it was actually pretty funny—where...’
‘Can we focus here, Star?’
‘Of course,’ she replied automatically, wondering how on earth she was supposed to focus when her thoughts had been picked up by the wind and scattered across the desert floor.
She looked up, finding one thread of thought to hold onto. ‘Is it that bad?’
‘That depends on whether you are pregnant with the heir to the throne of Duratra.’
Khalif left the bedroom while Star showered and dressed. He wished he could ignore the room full of people—the guard, Amin, Maya... No. He’d not ignore Maya. She had made herself as invisible as possible, but the subtle comfort she offered was everything to him right now. He could rely on her confidentiality even if she wasn’t married to his best friend.
A best friend who would be calling him every shade of stupid for last night. And he’d be right. What had he been thinking? He’d been selfish. Completely and utterly selfish for wanting her, for acting on it, and now Star was going to pay the price.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to get to grips with running the throne for a few years and then, after his thirtieth birthday, there would be discreet enquiries as to the availability of a suitable wife who wouldn’t challenge him or interfere with his duty. And once the twins were of age, of course, the throne would return to them.
Years ago, he’d imagined something different,someonedifferent, to wear his ring and have his children. But then he’d learned. Duty, the throne, family. It all came first.
But this? Star being possibly pregnant? He ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the uneasy glance his assistant sent his way as he stalked through the living area towards the balcony, stopping himself before stepping out onto it, remembering Star in his arms, hair streaming down around them. No one had ever affected him in such a way. Not even the one woman he had loved and lost.
He cursed out loud, uncaring of who heard him, his mind taking him to all the places he didn’t want to be that morning.
Pregnant.
Star might be pregnant. And if she was? Then there was no doubt whatsoever. They would marry.
Showered and dressed in the previous day’s slightly rumpled clothes, Star was looking out of the window when there was a gentle knock on the door.
The doctor. Star’s pulse raced as she realised that she hadn’t asked him what kind of examination or questions she was expected to submit to. Expecting a grim-faced old man, she was surprised when a pretty woman a little older than herself came through the door.
‘Hello, Star, my name is Maya Mourad,’ she said, introducing herself in English lightly flecked with an Arabic accent. Her headscarf was a pretty green and Star was a little distracted by it, which was why it took a moment to connect the name.
