“But you will now, because of the pregnancy.”
“Neither of us has a choice. This baby deserves better than to be shunted to the side as the unacknowledged offspring to a future king.”
“I would never refuse to acknowledge my child.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, in fact, I do not.”
“Never mind. This arguing is making me even more nauseated than usual.”
The sickly pallor to her skin lent truth to her claim. He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for recriminations. What was done, was done.
He had been right earlier; she clearly needed taking care of.
“Then we will not argue.”
“Thank you.” She sighed again, letting her eyes close as she seemed to concentrate on her breathing.
When the driver opened the door, Zahir wasted no time exiting and then leaning back inside to help Angele alight from the car. Once she’d cleared the vehicle, he bent and lifted her into his arms.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
Flashbulbs went off and he knew this picture would show up in the media sooner than later.
“I am caring for you. You clearly need looking after.”
“The papers are going to have a field day with speculation accompanying those shots.”
“They’ll have more than enough juicy tidbits of truth to publish over the next weeks.”
“We’re not going public with the …” She looked around and closed her mouth.
He carried her toward the building allowing his bodyguard to go inside first and the rest of the detail to bring up their rear. “These things have a way of making it to the light. Better to announce the happy event than scramble to respond when some tabloid does.”
She let her head fall onto his shoulder. “I don’t want to.”
“We will talk about it later,” he said in his newly formed determination not to cause her stress with further disagreements.
Angele sat at the bistro-style table in her kitchen and watched with bemusement as Zahir efficiently prepared a pot of peppermint tea.
“You are awfully comfortable in the kitchen for a Crown Prince,” she observed, happy to focus on anything but recent revelations.
She’d done a lot of facing reality and growing up over the past weeks. Realizing she was pregnant at all, but much less with the probable heir to the Zohrian throne, was all the catalyst she’d needed to shed the last of her naiveté. She’d been shocked by her own joy, even in the face of all this pregnancy would mean.
Like she’d told Zahir, the baby came first, but more than that, she already loved her child and always would.
Angele would do what needed doing to make sure her child’s life was all it should be, but that didn’t mean she wanted to talk about it right then. She was just starting to feel something other than nauseated.
Zahir shrugged as he finished pouring the boiling water through the infuser into the teapot. “According to my mother, the inability to do something as basic as make a cup of tea is the mark of laziness rather than wealth.”
“I’m sure Lou-Belia would agree with her.”
“Your mother is an imminently sensible woman.”
“You think it sensible to stay with a man who chose infidelity over argument in the attempt to convince her to have another child?” she asked, curiosity rather than bitterness in her voice.
Between discovering she was pregnant and accepting the inevitable consequences that would have for her life, Angele had come to terms with a lot of things. Her present required all her energy; she didn’t have any left over to dwell on her family’s past.
Zahir carried the teapot and two mugs to the small wrought-iron table. “Life is what it is.”
“I think I’m finally learning what that really means.”
“She chose what she considered the lesser of two evils.” Zahir’s tone said he knew what that felt like.
In his position, she would be surprised if he didn’t. Nevertheless, Angele warned, “It’s not a choice I would make.”
“You cannot doubt that things are completely over between Elsa and me.”
“No, but there are other Elsas in this world.”
“I have no interest in them.” “I hope that’s true.”
“You doubt my word?” Zahir’s shock was almost comical.
She poured the tea, adding a scant teaspoon of sugar to hers. “Not exactly.” “Then what, exactly?” “The future. I doubt the future.” “Well, don’t.”
She wanted to laugh, but simply shook her head. “If only it were that easy.” “It can be.”
“Certain safeguards would make it easier.” “The conditions.” “Yes, my conditions.”
“For you to marry me, despite the fact you carry my child.” He stirred not one, but three teaspoons of sugar into his tea.
She’d always found his sweet tooth endearing, something she knew about him that few people noticed. Because he didn’t eat desserts. But he did drink cocoa and put lots of sugar in his coffee and tea. Seeing evidence of that sweet tooth now brought a measure of comfort, a reminder that not everything had changed.
He was still the same man she’d fallen in love with from afar, the same man she’d planned for most of her adult life to marry.
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to like them, am I?” “No.” There was no point in sugarcoating it—no matter how much he might like sweet things, but she wasn’t going to feel guilty for trying for some semblance of assurance for her future, either.
She might not be that naive, year on from university woman who believed she could have a one-night stand with the man she loved and come out of it relatively unscathed, but she still had to have some level of hope for her future. His agreement to her conditions would give her that.
He sat back, his mug in one hand, his eyes fixed on her with that patented intensity of his. “I am all ears.”
She took a deep breath and went for broke. “I want a prenup that guarantees me the right to raise our children in the United States in the event you take a lover.”
She waited for the explosion, but none came. He simply sat, sipping his tea in silence and looking completely unperturbed.
“Nothing to say?”
“I assume there is more since you said conditions plural, not condition in the singular.”
“Yes.” Was he really as sanguine as he appeared? “I mean it.”
“I assumed you did.”
“You aren’t angry.”
“Considering your past, such a condition is hardly a shock.”
“But …” He would never countenance his children being raised outside of Zohra. She finally stuttered as much out loud.
“Naturally not, but since it won’t happen, I fail to see why I should become upset over your need for the reassurance on that score.”
He was right, it was a reassurance. He might not maintain fidelity for her sake. However, she was wholly convinced that he would for the good of their children and the sake of the throne he protected so carefully.
Feeling