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Chapter 3
HER EARS WERE RINGING, and the walls of the room – for all its enormous size – seemed to be closing in on her at a rate of knots.
“What did you say?”
“It’s the only option.” His lips formed a grim line, making it obvious this was the very last thing he wanted. Panic stirred in Millie’s blood.
“I beg to differ. There are myriad options, you’re just jumping to the worst case scenario. And let me save you some trouble here, buster. I would never agree to marry you. Not if you were the very last person on earth and my very survival depended on it. Got it?”
His eyes narrowed speculatively. “A few years ago, it was something you wanted with all your heart.”
“That’s a bloody cheap shot,” she snapped. “And it wasn’t ‘a few’ years ago, but four and a half. I was nineteen years old and living with my head in the clouds. I’ve changed – I’m not that girl anymore. Marrying you is the last thing I want, believe me.” She’d sworn she’d never get involved with Zafar again – what a fool she’d been to allow this latest one night stand to happen.
“I do,” he agreed after a moment, his voice quiet, and for a second she almost regretted speaking so emphatically. But he deserved to know the truth. He was, after all, the one who’d changed her, who’d made it impossible to view life and love in the same simplistic terms she’d seen it as back then. “But this isn’t about either of us, it’s about our baby, and what they deserve from us.”
Her lips parted. “And that’s to have two loving parents, if possible. You can come to England and be involved in their life. We don’t need to do anything so drastic as getting married. You’re crazy if you think I’ll agree.”
“You’re just not seeing it clearly,” he said with a gentleness that took the sting out of her anger. Strangely, it almost made her want to cry. She dug her fingernails into her palms, focussing on a point beyond his shoulder.
“Our child isn’t just a baby; he or she is the heir to all this. Certain things need to take place in order for me to be able to acknowledge them as such. As you pointed out, they must be legitimate. It’s written into our constitution and is non-negotiable. If you stand by your refusal of my proposal, you are ensuring our child can never sit on the throne of Abu Qara.”
Her lips parted, the finality of that digging beneath her breastbone.
“And before you say that it doesn’t matter, look around you. This is an ancient calling, a birthright that has been passed down through generations of al Habibs. For almost a thousand years, my family has ruled this country. Do you really wish to make a choice now that denies our child any possibility of taking their place in this?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “You feel this way because you were raised to,” she said unevenly, without conviction. “But if you’d lived in another country all your life, do you think you’d care so much?”
“I do,” he murmured. “Because it’s in my blood to care.”
She almost rolled her eyes, except she couldn’t really deny the strength of his argument. She just didn’t want to acknowledge it to him. The landscape of her future was shifting rapidly, but she reached for a rope, knowing she had to steady herself. “You’re the King now. Change the constitution.”
“No.”
Her eyes flared wide.
“Setting aside for a moment the difficulties of that, and how my people would resist this change in particular, I happen to believe our child will do better being raised by a mother and father who love him or her. Do you really disagree with that premise?”
Her stomach was in loops. She stood up because her body simply needed to move; nervous energy was overtaking her. “You’re saying single mothers can’t raise happy children?”
His lips formed a grim line in his face. “No. I’m not saying that at all. One of my closest friends was raised by a single mother and she did a fantastic job. But his father had died, Amelia. There was no alternative. Here we have two people who both want to raise this child – would you really deny him or her being part of a family?”
“This ‘child’ is still an abstract concept for you,” she muttered. “You aren’t seeing things clearly. You’ve just found out about this; you need time to digest it before you decide what you want.”
He followed her, standing in one swift movement, the power of a wild animal captured by his lithe athleticism. “If I were to walk past a cliff with a pack of hyenas on the ground beneath the precipice, I would instantly choose not to stray too near the edge, yes?” His eyes flashed over her face. “Some decisions can be made this quickly. Knowing I want to be a part of my child’s life is one such example. I won’t ever let him or her wonder about me, wonder why I didn’t fight to have them near me, wonder if I didn’t care enough to make room for them in my life.”
Inwardly, she acknowledged there was something worthy and reassuring in his statement, something that made her maternal instincts warm, but as a woman who was being backed into a corner, she lashed out, latching onto the last statement he’d made. “And what kind of room do you seriously expect to make for our baby, Zafar?” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “Isn’t it far more likely I’ll end up in a foreign country with no support, no help, and a child you see when it’s convenient – and God knows how often your schedule will even allow that! Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if you just fly to England whenever you have the time to see our son or daughter?”
“Better for you?” He prompted, taking a step closer. “Let’s analyse that. In England, you have a tiny flat in Brixton, a job that pays moderately well, except when your bills are taken into account, and the fact you’re supporting your mother.”
“How the hell do you know so much about my life?” She demanded, her skin prickling with goosebumps.
“I made it my business to know.”
Her heart was strangled. “Why?”
“Because you’re pregnant with my child.”
Her eyes swept shut and the rapid beating of her heart slowed to a moderate throb. He’d done all this research this morning. He hadn’t been keeping tabs with her.
