“This baby trumps those concerns.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, trembling a little, because for Cora, his response only hardened her resolve. She didn’t want to get married ever again, but particularly not to someone who viewed her as a liability.
“Let’s talk about you instead,” he said quietly, moving closer again, his large body dwarfing hers, reminding her how great it felt to be wrapped in his arms and held close. “You ended things between us because I couldn’t give you more than what we had, which implies youwantedmore. So? I am offering more now—I’m asking you to marry me. We’re going to have a baby together. We could be a family.”
It struck at the heart of everything Cora did want, but not like this. Not out of obligation and duty, not marriage offered under duress, when he perceived it to be the only possible option.
Why didn’t he understand? What she wanted, really, was love. Whether that love took the form of marriage one day was far less important than knowing she was loved, loved enough to be fought for, to be proud of, to be wanted in every way. Samir would never feel that for her, just like Alf hadn’t. And she’d learned not to let herself love when there was no hope of reciprocity. At least, she thought she had, but with Samir, her heart had a mind all of its own. She could only hope to hide her feelings as well as possible.
“We’re just two people who accidentally got pregnant. That’s not a family, Samir. Not in the true sense of the word.”
His eyes glittered darkly when they met hers, and she held her breath, wondering if he was going to kiss her again, feet welded to the floor of the plane in the hopes that he would, even when she knew she had to fight their chemistry with every bone in her body.
“True,” he said, after a beat. “But that does not mean there are no silver linings to the predicament in which we find ourselves.”
Predicament. Situation. His phrasing was making her furious.
“The silver lining is this little person,” she said with quiet determination. “No matter how I feel about you, I could never regret anything that led to this.” She moved her hand to her stomach, eyes sparkling with the sincerity of her heart, a heart that was burdened with the pain of having lost one baby in her life. “I love this baby, with all that I am.”
His body was a study in straight lines and tension. “You will be an excellent mother.” He lifted a hand, cupping her cheek, surprising her with the tenderness of the gesture. “I am sorry that I’m the father, and that our marriage is necessary. I promise that I will do whatever I can to make you happy,azeezi. But make no mistake about it: you will marry me, and we will raise our child together, as the heir to the throne of Al Medina. Do you understand?”
* * *
The last timeCora was in Al Medina, she’d had a strange feeling of having come home, and now, she understood it. She hadn’t known then that she was pregnant but it hadn’t mattered. Her baby had been a part of her, taking hold of her, and she’d felt that connection, that ancient bloodline inside of her, forming a bond between herself and this stunning, ancient land.
Even at night, or perhaps especially at night, the desert was a place of beauty. She stood on one of the balconies of her extravagant guest suite and stared out at the sand—made to look silver by the moon’s light—and the palms silhouetted against the sparkly night sky. It was transfixing.
Ancient beauty flooded her with the consciousness of this land, culture and the place her child would have in it, if she was brave enough to agree. Because of course, that was the predicament she faced: she could stick to her guns and refuse to marry Samir. She could put all the might of her personal resources behind her, taking him to court to protect her rights, her custodial allotment. But she knew what such a protracted battle would mean: headlines. All the headlines, all the attention, all there on the internet for her child to read one day, when they were old enough to type their own name into a search bar.
And even if she took that route, and she won, what would her victory cost their child?
The way Samir had spoken of this land, of his connection to it, had taken her breath away. Their child would feel that, in his blood and in his bones. What if he or she grew up desperately longing to be here, to assume their rightful place on the throne, but Cora’s choice here and now made that impossible?
Weight pressed down on her as she slowed her frantic mind and saw this from more perspectives than she had, at first.
She hadn’t been prepared for Samir’s reaction. She’d presumed he would choose not to publicly acknowledge their child, for all the reasons that had precluded him from publicly dating her, and had thought only two options were possible: that he’d have nothing to do with their baby, or that he’d see him or her sparingly, fleetingly, as a small part of his life but in no way linked to his royal duties.
And now, she was in Al Medina, and for all her bravado and her family’s wealth and power, and their friendship with Samir, she knew she’d put herself into a difficult position by coming here.
Samir held all the cards. Politically, personally, she was too much a part of his orbit here, surrounded by him everywhere she looked, by people who almost worshipped him. He was the essence and lifeblood of this land and palace; everyone did as he wished. Would Cora be able to resist his ancient power? Would she be able to resist the whispering of her heart?
* * *
Fatima Al Qadihad always loved her rose garden, but after Adan’s death, she’d spent a considerable portion of each day tending to the fickle bushes. It was a task she enjoyed. The heat made it almost impossible to concentrate on anything, and there was a mindlessly meditative quality that came from dead-heading bushes and checking leaves for aphids.
It was no surprise that Samir found her there, early the next morning. In the centre of the large, meticulously kept area, was a white wrought iron table, and on top of it, his mother’s standard breakfast: a bowl of fruit, a pot of black coffee, and a small guava juice. Samir poured himself a coffee, needing the hit of caffeine to get his brain fired up, then navigated the garden beds until he reached his mother. She was crouching down, one gloved hand moving expertly over the leaves of a single bush, her face lined with concentration.
She didn’t hear his approach.
“Good morning.”
She looked up at him, and a few moments later, smiled. “Samir. What are you doing here? I thought you were away for the weekend.”
“I came home early.” It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d set off for the wedding, with the intention of spending at least the following day catching up with his Xenakis friends. And Cora? A voice in his mind taunted him. After all, hadn’t he half been hoping they might have one more night together, while he was in France?
“Oh.” Her disappointment was obvious. “You are working too hard.” She turned back to the rose bush, pulling one of the flowers a little aggressively.
He ignored her concern. “I must speak with you. It’s important.”