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CHAPTER SIX
INDIACOULDN’TREMEMBER the last time she’d slept so well. It didn’t make sense, with all that loomed over her head, and yet the previous day’s exertions, the heat, the mental stress had all combined to mean that as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was in another world. She was not aware of stirring at all through the night, and in the morning, it wasn’t nausea that woke her, but the sound of a door clicking across the room. She blinked open her eyes, disorientated by the sight that greeted her. This wasn’t her bedroom. It took her a moment to remember exactly where she was, and a moment longer than that to push up to a sitting position and realise that Khalil was standing just inside the door to her enormous guest suite, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes trained on her with the sort of possessive heat that definitely skittled her ability to think straight.
He wore a suit today, dark trousers, a crisp white shirt and a jacket that reminded her of the night they’d met. Her mouth felt dry; she looked towards the bedside table, then reached for the glass of water there.
‘Good morning.’ His voice was like treacle against her nerves.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, still disorientated.
‘Nine o’clock.’
‘Nine o’clock?’ she repeated, jackknifing out of bed in surprise before remembering that she’d slept in underpants and a singlet top in deference to the desert heat. His eyes skimmed her body and little flames leaped beneath her skin. Oh, how she wished she were less aware of him on a physical level! It would be so much easier to have this conversation if her body weren’t willing to betray her at every opportunity. She glared at him to compensate for the direction of her thoughts, then, as an afterthought, dragged the sheet off the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders like a superhero cape.
His smile made her feel like a ridiculous toddler; her expression grew defiant.
‘And?’ she prompted. ‘Is there a reason you’ve barged in on me?’
His face sobered but she had the sense he was concealing a smile, and that angered her more. ‘The doctor will be here soon. I thought you would appreciate a chance to eat something, and dress, before she arrives.’
‘What doctor?’
‘The gynaecologist,’ he said, as though this were something they’d discussed time and time again.
‘I don’t have a gynaecologist.’
‘You do now. Did you want to shower?’
She compressed her lips. ‘I don’t need to see a doctor.’
‘I beg to differ.’ He crossed the room, gesturing to the table. It was laden with trays of food and a pot of steaming hot coffee. Her stomach gave a little roll and a hint of nausea spread through her; she looked away again.
‘I just want toast or something simple,’ she said, then, aware it sounded ungrateful, she explained. ‘I’ve had pretty bad morning sickness. I find it hard to eat much.’
‘That explains why you have lost weight, rather than gained it.’
She dipped her head. ‘I know people talk about morning sickness being bad, but I had no idea. And it’s not just in the mornings, either, it’s all day.’
‘And that is common in the first trimester?’
‘Yes.’ Then, suspecting he was actually asking a different question, she expelled a sigh. ‘I really don’t know how I’m going to convince you that this is your baby.’
His eyes bored into hers, and she wished, more than anything, that he would simply believe her. But Khalil mistrusted her with every fibre of his being, that much was obvious, and this was a pretty important thing to have faith about. She moved to her backpack and lifted out the change of clothes she’d brought.
‘I’ll shower first,’ she said, moving towards the en suite bathroom. Hovering just inside the door, she turned to face him. ‘Are you still going to be here?’
‘Of course.’
She lifted a brow. ‘Great.’ If he detected the sarcasm, he didn’t react. She took her time showering—the steam felt impossibly good, and the products were the most luxurious, fragrant things she’d ever seen. A far cry from the simple bar soap she used at home for the sake of economy. The rest of the bathroom was just as well appointed, with moisturisers and a hairdryer, even a small selection of nail polishes and face masks. No convenience had been overlooked.
Not for her, obviously.
There had been no notice of her arrival, and certainly no expectation of her being accommodated. This was clearly how guest rooms at the royal palace were kitted out. If India were prone to bitterness, she might have experienced a wave of it to contemplate the disparities and inequities in life. She had become so good at making her toiletries stretch, cutting the bottom off the tube of toothpaste, to squeeze every last bit out, mixing moisturiser with kitchen oil to make it last longer—what must it be like to live in such obvious wealth? Without a care in the world, at least not a financial one. Her head swam when she thought of the bills she had back home—with no way to cover them. But pulling Jackson out of college wasn’t an option. She had to work out a way through this.
Her hand moved over her stomach in a habit she’d developed. Though she was only eight weeks along, she felt a fierce connection to her baby already, and she knew she would do anything to give them everything she could in life. How was she ever going to be able to care for her brother and her baby?
The dress she’d brought was a simple blue linen sundress, cut on the bias so it was floaty around her slender body, with sleeves that covered just the tops of her arms. She wore minimal make-up when she wasn’t working; India applied a hint of lip gloss and mascara now, then, in concession to a face that was pale from the ravages of her hormones—she had no idea when the ‘glowing’ stage of pregnancy began but she was far from it!—a light dusting of blush on her cheekbones. Her blonde hair she left down, pulled over one shoulder to keep her neck cool—even now, the sun was high and the day’s warmth could be felt penetrating the ancient glass of the palace’s windows.
Khalil was sitting at the table when she emerged, his legs spread wide, a large phone in front of him. His face bore a scowl, so she paused, wondering if he would prefer to be left to read whatever was giving him such displeasure alone? Except he’d come to her room, and they had only the morning to deal with their situation—she was already counting the minutes to her flight. Escape was imperative. Only once she lifted off the tarmac would she be able to breathe easily again.
