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CHAPTER SEVEN
ITWASHER worst fears—fears she hadn’t fully acknowledged to herself until this moment—confirmed. She stared at him, shaking her head, even when she knew there had always been a risk of this. Why had she thought she could give him this news and then leave again? What kind of fool was she?
He crossed his arms over his chest, everything firming into place with the strength and certainty of lightning, bolting towards the earth.
‘You’re pregnant with my children. Clearly you cannot go back to America.’
‘I’m sorry, that is certainly not clear to me. What difference does it make that they’re twins?’ She stared at him in that way she had, as though he were so far beneath her, her blue eyes narrowing scathingly. ‘Or is it simply that you believe me now that a doctor has confirmed their gestational age?’
‘The doctor’s confirmation was important,’ he said unapologetically. ‘Anyone in my position would seek the same assurance.’
‘And my word wasn’t enough?’
Strangely though, Khalil hadn’t questioned the honesty of her statement until she had suggested that he might doubt her. Then, it had been easy to believe she was lying to him—after all, Fatima had already greased the wheels there, her dishonesty and ultimately viciously mercenary behaviour making it impossible for him to trust women, particularly when it came to children.
‘I have the confirmation I wanted,’ he said, as though that was all that mattered. ‘And now we must focus on the future.’
Indignation fired in her eyes so he was tempted to sweep her into his arms and kiss it away, reminding her that before there was this anger between them, a different kind of passion had flared.
‘I have been focussing on the future,’ she said through gritted teeth, looking around the room with a hint of panic in her eyes then striding towards the sofa, where she’d discarded a shirt at some point during her stay. She lifted it up and stuffed it into her backpack, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a small, zipped bag that she also added to the backpack. ‘I’ve been focussed on nothing but the future since I learned of this pregnancy, but that future is not here in Khatrain. I’m going home.’
‘The sooner you start to think of this as your home, the better.’
Her lips parted and she stared at him as though she couldn’t fathom this response—as though it had never occurred to her that he might fight to be a part of the children’s lives.
‘You said you would do whatever it took to give your child everything you could in life; are you surprised to discover I feel the same way?’
‘Yes, frankly,’ she said with a shake of her head, as if to dispel the very idea. ‘I’m not here because I want you in their lives! I came because—’
‘You thought I should know. Yes, you have said this, many times. But what did you think I would do with that knowledge, azeezi?’
‘I—don’t know.’ She zipped up her backpack and lifted it over one shoulder, but the gesture—while valiant—lacked certainty, and her trademark defiance was nowhere to be seen. The truth was, she’d feared this response, but she’d told herself it wasn’t possible. She’d lied to herself, because a desire to do the right thing had outweighed her self-preservation instincts. Or was it something else that had motivated her to fly to Khatrain? Had she actually hoped—but, no. India would not allow her thoughts to go in such a mortifying direction. She didn’t want any part of what he was suggesting!
‘I will be Sheikh of Khatrain—did you think I would allow my child to be raised in America? That I would simply visit from time to time, when I happened to be in the area? Did you think this pregnancy would mean so little to me that I would not turn my life on its head to accommodate it—and you?’
Her lip trembled and he felt, unmistakably, pity for her.
‘I thought you wouldn’t want it,’ she said softly, and shock split through him.
‘I thought you’d be angry at me for having conceived. I thought you’d offer money for me to disappear, and that you’d marry someone else soon enough and have royal heirs all of your own, so that you wouldn’t want the embarrassment of our illegitimate child hanging around your neck.’
He stared at her in shock. ‘Nothing you have described is what I feel, believe me.’ His eyes narrowed though as he replayed her statement in his mind. ‘Did you want money? Is that why you came?’
Sadness shaped her features. ‘No.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘And I wouldn’t have taken it, even if you’d offered it.’
‘Even for the baby?’
‘Not unless it was a matter of life and death,’ she said emphatically. ‘Children don’t need much beyond love and that I am well able to provide.’
Admiration flared in his gut, and something else too: gratitude. Because the most important trait he could ask for in the mother of his children was that she would want to protect them with her life, and India clearly felt that in spades.
‘This is a decision you no longer have to make.’
‘You mean it’s a decision I no longer get to make,’ she corrected, fidgeting with her fingers. ‘If I stay in Khatrain, it will be because you’ve forced me.’
‘How about we try a different word?’ he said as he crossed towards her, lifting the backpack off her shoulder and placing it on the floor. ‘What if we speak of persuasion instead?’
‘You have not persuaded me. You’ve dictated to me.’
