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“I think Zafar has been worried ever since he learned the truth,” Farrah said with a shake of her head, her lips pursed. “The way he’s been treated is truly abominable.”
“I know. There’s no changing that now, though.”
“No, but I’m glad he has you. My dearest friend, you are kindness personified. If anyone can make him see that he’s earned the place he holds, it’s you.”
“I’m working on it,” she promised, smiling from ear to ear. To be married to her best friend’s brother, and to know that marriage brought happiness to all, was a blessing Amelia could never have hoped for. As for her own brother, she knew how happy he’d be to know she was living her best life, grabbing hold of what she truly wanted.
“Now, shall we go for a walk?” Millie suggested. “I feel as though I’ve eaten a horse.”
“You’ve barely touched your lunch,” Farrah contradicted.
“There is literally no space in here for food,” Millie complained as she stood. “It’s all—,” but at the moment, water gushed from her, so for a moment she thought she’d knocked a glass from the table and looked around for the telltale pieces, only there were none.
“Oh my goodness, Mills, are you okay?”
“I’m—I think my water just broke,” she said with huge eyes, turning to face her best friend.
“Yes, definitely,” Farrah agreed, beaming. “Let’s get you ready to deliver a baby.”
“Oh my God,” now it was Millie’s turn to panic. “This is happening.”
“Yep. Right now,” Farrah agreed amiably, waving to a servant who stood by the glass doors across the terrace. “Please send word to my brother: the Emira is in labour. And organise a wheelchair.”
The servant bumbled something then turned, moving quickly away from them.
“I can walk,” Millie assured her best friend.
“Come on then,” Farrah urged, offering her arm for support. Together, they moved to the doors, until Millie had to stop, to grip Farrah’s arm tight as a contraction exploded through her, unlike any of the Braxton Hicks she’d become accustomed to feeling throughout the day. This was like that, on steroids. Pain radiated from her belly to her back, in sharp waves that got worse, then less bad, but still awful, then worse again. Each time the waves hit, she had to stop walking and grip Farrah’s arm, until Zafar appeared at the doors to the corridor. Even then, mid labour, her heart gave a funny little jump and her tummy knotted at the sight of him, all six and a half feet of gorgeous perfection.
“Habibi,” he said with urgency, encompassing Farrah in his glance. “What happened?”
“Her water broke about five minutes ago,” Farrah said. “She’s having contractions. And fast.”
“How fast?” Zafar demanded, brows knitted together. “Only a little over a minute apart, I’d guess.”
“Hell,” he cursed, looking around, just as a servant arrived with a wheelchair.
“Your Highnesses,” the servant dipped his head. “The hospital is on standby, the helicopter—,”
“There’s no time for that,” Zafar and Millie said in unison, because she could already feel an unbearable pressure between her legs, and a need to push.
“Oh, crap. I need to—,”
Farrah understood. “I’ll organise everything, you stay here.” She grabbed hold of the servant, pulling him towards the door, issuing instructions as she went. And such was Farrah’s innate sense of command and organisation that the servant nodded after each directive, then moved quickly to complete the list.
“Help is on the way,” she said, when she returned, to find Millie lying in the middle of the corridor, her brow covered in sweat, legs parted, Zafar between them.
“You can do this, darling,” he murmured, over and over, so all that was left for Farrah was to kneel beneath her best friend’s head and hold her hand, being used as tension release in a way that was agonising and also impossible to feel at the same time, so excited was she by what was to come.
Millie’s nostrils flared as she pushed, ancient, feminine instincts aided by an uncomplicated pregnancy meaning that only minutes later, the head of their baby appeared between her legs, right before a doctor ran in, identifiable by the white coat and a servant at the rear, holding a medical bag.
“I see things are well under way,” she said with a deferential nod, even then, as she crouched down to see what was happening. Another doctor appeared, using a stethoscope to listen to Millie’s heart as she let out an almighty, primal scream and the shoulders broke free.
“You’re doing so great,” Zafar said in total awe, his eyes on his wife’s face, then dropping to their infant, who was so perfectly formed that even then, half-birthed, he felt a keening, undeniable love for the child.
“I.want.this.to.be.over!” Millie demanded, so the doctor agreed gently:
“Just one more push,” and put her hand underneath Millie’s legs, preparing to take over in case Zafar wasn’t capable of handling the infant.
