“Sure,” Amity whispered.
The goop was chilled, making her skin tense. She watched as the woman splayed it tenderly over her, over her pregnant belly. Turning on the machine, the woman placed the monitor over her, gliding over the goop, revealing a very human life on the screen before her.
Amity frowned, trying to make sense of the image. The lines were squirming, almost like a baby kicking in the life-fluid inside her. “Is that her?” she whispered.
But the technician didn’t speak for a moment. She cocked her head, holding the monitor over the span of her belly.
After several beats, Amity felt as if she was going to scream. “What is it?” she asked, her voice suddenly harsh. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Finally, the woman turned her head slowly, her eyes brigh
t with humor. “Miss,” she said, giving her a wide smile. “What a wonderful day this is. You’re going to be a mother—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Amity said, rolling her eyes. Surely the technician saw babies on that monitor all day every day? What was she getting at? “I know I am. Does the baby look okay?”
“You’re going to be a mother,” the woman said again, “of three babies. You’re expecting triplets.”
Amity whipped her head back. She felt like all the air had been sucked from her. Her breath was caught in her throat. “I’m—I’m sorry?” she stammered. “Triplets?”
The woman nodded, maintaining that insane grin. “Three babies. Three babies at once.” She placed the monitor over Amity’s belly once more and pointed at the screen, showing the indentations in the darkness, the one-two-three. “Can you see?”
“I think I want a second opinion,” Amity murmured. Three babies. It was impossible. This woman was clearly insane. “Yes, I really do want a second opinion.”
But the woman shook her head, removing the monitor and beginning to sponge off the belly goop.
“Please. I want someone else to examine me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Winters, but we’re on a tight schedule here. If you want a second opinion, you’ll have to book another appointment.”
Amity spun her legs to one side of the chair, leaning heavily downward, looking at her shoes. Inside her, three babies squirmed. She felt like she was going to throw up. She slid onto the floor, hoping she could trust her feet.
“I’m not sure what to say,” she whispered.
“I would recommend having a chat with our in-house psychologist,” the woman said gently. She opened the door, whisking her arm into the hallway. “I’m sorry, but I really must prepare for my next patient.”
Amity felt like she was being dumped. She marched into the hallway, all of a sudden feeling like the loneliest person in the world. All she wanted, in that moment, was to call Aziz—to tell him that she hadn’t been able to quit thinking about him; to tell him that she was pregnant with not one, but three of his heirs. She wanted to explain that she hadn’t tried to trap or hoax him; it was a beautiful, wretched, life-changing, amazing mistake.
Amity opted out of meeting with the psychologist, choosing instead to rush back down to the street and hail a cab. All she wanted was to curl up in her apartment, cinched off from the rest of the world, to abandon herself to her reckless thoughts. She bit her fingernails as the cab whizzed through the city, finally coming to a halt in front of her apartment building. Imagine raising three children here, she thought grimly.
She felt outside of her body as she mounted the steps and entered, seeing every square inch of the well-lit, shabby place with new eyes. Besides her own, her bed hadn’t featured another human life form in something like three years. She slid her fingers over the sheets before faltering into bed, feeling chilled to the bone.
As she lay, she reached into her purse and drew out her phone. She had to tell someone, anyone. She thought about her friends, her loved ones back home in Minnesota. But none of them knew Aziz. None of them could understand the incredible world she’d lived in, if only for a moment, back in Al-Mabbar. None of them, except for Flora.
Okay, she thought, stabbing her palm against her forehead. She inhaled slowly, knowing Flora was the only person who wouldn’t judge her for this. In fact, she could imagine the girl congratulating her, telling her something like: “I didn’t think you had the ability to have fun anymore. Kudos. You did it!”
She typed out the email, then, watching in disbelief as her thumbs formed the words:
Flora—hey!
I promise this isn’t about work. For the first time in a long time, I have news of my own life to share. You see, when we were in Al-Mabbar, you weren’t the only one getting involved with someone. I don’t know if you knew this already, but I slept with the Sheikh. And I’ve just found out that I’m pregnant.
Yep. Pregnant. With royal blood, no less. Whoever said my life wasn’t exciting?