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‘And financially?’ he prompted.
Pride kept her silent on that score—he didn’t need to know how dreadful her situation was. ‘I’ll cope,’ she promised through gritted teeth. And even though the idea of child support was something she knew to be fair—and certainly given their relative positions—the thought of taking anything from this man, who thought so little of her and might not even want to know her child, was painful to think about.
‘You have support?’
Her heart felt heavy. She had no support, but again, she kept that to herself, not wanting to reveal anything more to Khalil than was necessary. He wasn’t on her side. Whatever she thought she’d felt in him that first night they’d met, he’d shown his true colours since then, and she would give him only the bare minimum details—details that would show him she had no intention of being pushed around nor dictated to by him. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she reiterated firmly. ‘There is a hospital near me; I’ve chosen to have the baby there. Obviously, I will keep you updated as the pregnancy develops and if you want to come and see the baby once he or she is born, then I’ll understand.’
‘How good of you.’ He lifted a coffee cup to his lips and took a drink, his features like stone. The cup was too small and fine for his enormous hands—it looked ridiculous.
‘So having a baby without being married means nothing to you?’
A warning siren blared in the back of her mind. Marriage was a topic she saw no sense in discussing. ‘Life has a habit of dispensing curve balls.’ She pressed a finger into a crumb on the edge of her plate, lifting it to her lips with no idea of the way the small, thoughtless gesture affected the Sheikh. ‘I know that I’m not afraid, and that I am resourceful and determined. Our child will never lack for anything it needs. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he muttered, refilling his coffee.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I have already seen the lengths you are prepared to go to in order to make a living. What will you do once there is a baby to support? What kind of environment will this child be raised in?’
‘A loving one,’ she responded, fear snagging in her throat. She had to get out of here. She stood, gripping the back of the chair in both hands, needing the support. ‘I will not sit here and be judged by you for having made decisions you cannot possibly fathom. I came here as a courtesy but let me be clear: this is my child. I have done my duty and informed you of the fact they exist, but that’s where I’m drawing a line. You don’t need to be a part of their life and you sure as heck don’t get to sit there and lecture me and act as though you’re so damn morally superior to me. I will love this baby with all my heart, and that is enough.’
‘Except it isn’t enough,’ he interjected quietly, something sharp in his gaze that stood as a warning to India. The warning siren was blaring louder now. She dug her fingers into the chair back, seeking strength.
‘Babies are expensive, and they require care. Who will look after this child if you are working nights? Or is your plan to find some other man and stooge him into marrying you, to help you care for our baby? Because if you think I am having my son or daughter raised by another then you are frankly delusional.’
‘That hadn’t even entered my mind,’ she denied hotly. ‘But, as a point of fact, I was raised by my stepfather from the age of four and he is so much more of a father to me than my biological dad ever was. So if I should choose to marry, at some point, that has nothing to do with you.’
‘I disagree.’
‘You disagree as a matter of habit,’ she snapped.
‘A habit we share.’
‘There is a difference between disagreeing and defending—I am forced to do the latter with you at every turn.’
‘If you are defensive of your lifestyle then that is a question for your conscience.’
She ground her teeth together. ‘I’m not defending my lifestyle, damn it! I am defending what you believe my lifestyle to be; there’s a difference.’
He held up a hand, in a clearly authoritative manner. ‘Let us not discuss your—profession. It is clearly upsetting to you and, given your condition, that should be avoided. Besides, it doesn’t matter now. You are pregnant, and whatever happened before is irrelevant to the future of this baby. Okay?’
No! It’s not okay!She wanted to scream the denial at him, to tell him she didn’t want to live in a world where he thought her capable of what he’d accused her. Where he could reduce what they’d shared down to a financial transaction. Her pride hurt with the knowledge that she hadn’t been able to simply tear up the cheque he’d written her, but without that money, she could never have afforded to come to Khatrain and tell him the truth.
A knock sounded at the door, making any response impossible, as Khalil stood and moved with his long, confident gait towards it. He drew it inwards and a woman entered, followed by a male with a large trolley.
‘Your Highness.’ She bowed towards the Sheikh, and the man behind the doctor did the same.
‘This way.’ His voice was grim as he gestured towards India. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl, being dragged before the headmaster. At the same time, even this brought her a hint of pleasure, because seeing a doctor in America was a luxury beyond her means. She’d done an at-home pharmacy test to confirm her pregnancy, then another to confirm the confirmation, but she had been waiting until closer to twenty weeks to book a hospital appointment for a scan.
‘Dr Abasha.’ Khalil gestured to India. ‘India McCarthy.’
‘How do you do?’ Dr Abasha’s smile was kind, and India warmed to her immediately.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ India murmured.
‘Of course, it is my honour.’ She turned to Khalil. ‘Is there somewhere private I can speak to the patient?’
India had to hide a smile; it was clear Khalil didn’t like being excluded, but after a moment’s hesitation, he exited the room.
